Rulers of the World

Introduction to The War of Worlds

In 1989, the aliens were reanimated by exposure to radiation which destroyed the bacteria that had affected them. They found that they could take over human bodies, but they needed radiation to stave off infection. The US government sanctioned the Blackwood Project to fight against the aliens. General Wilson commissioned Harrison Blackwood, the adopted son of Dr. Clayton Forrester (who was a participant in the events of 1953), to lead a secret war against the aliens. The Blackwood Project consisted of computer scientist Norton Drake, micro-biologist Suzanne McCullough and her daughter Debi, and Colonel Paul Ironhorse. The team fought against the aliens for a year and foiled their plans to conquer the earth.

By 1990, society had collapsed to a great degree. A wave of survivors from Morthrai arrived on Earth, two years before the deadline under which the invasion fleet of 1953 thought they operated. These new aliens, the 'newcomers', had been biologically engineered to appear, at least outwardly, as human. General Wilson disappeared around this time. Without his influence, the Blackwood Project had been forced to go alone without government support. More devastating than the loss of government backing was the loss of two members of the Blackwood Project, Colonel Paul Ironhorse and Norton Drake. The mercenary John Kincaid joined the remaining members of the Blackwood Project and took the team underground to continue the struggle against the aliens.

Duncan MacLeod walked into the metropolitan airport. It had been a long flight from Paris. The world's situation seemed to be deteriorating, but things seemed especially bleak in this city. It was a good time in Paris. He had spent a few days with his old friend, Charlie DeSalvo. Charlie had been doing some great work in helping keep Eastern Europe from collapsing. Duncan reached into his travel bag and made sure that the letter was still there that Charlie had given him. Charlie wanted Duncan to get it to his cousin. Charlie said that the last he heard, his cousin was doing some work for the government in the city. He had not heard anything about him since. Charlie had also told Duncan that his cousin should not be that hard to find.

"He's got my great looks, MacLeod. Everybody thought we were twins instead of cousins," Duncan remembered Charlie saying.

Duncan was brought back from this recollection as he walked through the airport and looked out a large window towards the city. He was affected by the utter squalor of the city. It was the state of affairs in most communities around the country.

"What was Methos fond of saying?" Duncan tried to remember. "'Civilizations rise and fall.' It looks like this one's time has come. I hope I don't get dragged down with it." Duncan's attention was drawn to a crowd gathered by a video screen. He walked over to see what was so interesting.

The anchorwoman began, "An amateur photographer sold this station the following tape. Police authorities say that it might have something to do with the rash of killings. This string of killings has been witnessed by many, but police have never been able to find the victims."

The newscaster looked to the screen behind her in the studio. The tape began to roll.

A trenchcoated figure with a sword attacked a number of black clad opponents. With fatal precision he ran his opponents through and then decapitated them. The picture zoomed in on the face of the swordsman, who was apparently unaware of the fact that his actions were being filmed. MacLeod recognized the face immediately. "Martan..."

Duncan fumbled to get his bankbook out of his coat's inner pocket as he walked up to the bank teller. He greeted the lady behind the desk as she looked up to him. "Good morning, Jean"

Jean smiled at Duncan. "Good morning, Mr. MacLeod. Which accounts are we going to deal with today?"

Duncan handed the bankbook over to Jean. "Just this one. I'm in sort of a hurry today."

Jean opened up the bankbook. "Ah, the trust fund that your grandfather set up for you. He must have cared for you very much."

Duncan tugged at his collar and offered a sheepish grin. "Yes, good old Grampa MacLeod." He produced some checks and handed them to Jean as well.

Jean gave Duncan a confused sort of smile. "You know, Mr. MacLeod. Most people take money out of trust funds. You seem to put more in than you take out. In fact, the fund has more than doubled since it became available to you. If you weren't such a valued customer, I would think that you might be involved in some questionable business."

Duncan smiled "What can I say? I like the security of this bank."

A scream came from someone by the entrance to the bank. Duncan turned around to see a masked figure burst into the bank brandishing a semi-automatic rifle.

"OK, people. You know the drill. This is a robbery. Nobody tries to be a hero. Nobody gets hurt. It's that simple," the robber declared.

The robber looked at Duncan. He felt the same sensation that Duncan did. He was another Immortal. The robber pointed the rifle at Duncan, "You're not feeling heroic today, are you?"

"Just don't hurt anyone and we won't have a problem." Duncan responded.

The robber sneered at Duncan and then turned his attention to the rest of the people in the bank.

"Everybody, down on the floor. Except you, cutie." He pointed to Jean. "You, fill up three bags with money. Big bills only. And don't be smart and put one of those paint bombs in there as well."

Everybody else in the bank got down on the floor. Nobody was feeling particularly heroic. The robber walked over to Duncan's prone form.

"It would be very easy to take your head with you in this position, Mr. Immortal."

"The name's MacLeod. Don't you do anything stupid and make me hunt you down, punk."

The robber bent down and talked softly in Duncan's ear as he put the barrel of the gun to the back of Duncan's head. "Punk?!? I'll have you know that John Martan has been around a few centuries. So don't insult me, especially with my gun pointed at your head."

Jean had been dutifully filling some bags when fifty and hundred dollar bills. She put them on the counter. "There. They're full. Do you want any more?"

Martan walked up to her and grabbed her by the hair. "No paint bombs or tracers, right?"

"No, just the money. That's all." Duncan noticed that Jean was acting very bravely in this tense situation. Prior experience, perhaps.

Martan continued to hold Jean by the hair as he poked through the bags with his gun. "Looks OK. Good job, sweetie." Martan threw Jean to the ground and she landed with a large crash. Jean got up, however, and looked at him with a defiant stare.

Martan laughed, "Tough girl. I like that. Maybe in another time, another place."

"I don't think so." Jean scowled and stepped on the alarm button on the floor. Suddenly, alarm bells started clanging and red lights started flashing.

"Damn!" Martan exclaimed. "Who did it?" His gaze met Jean's.

"So you wanna be the hero? Here's your reward." Martan grunted and fired a couple of rounds at her.

"No!" Duncan screamed as a number of wounds on Jean's body started spurting blood. She looked at Duncan and then collapsed.

Duncan stared at Martan with anger in his eyes. When Martan caught sight of Duncan's stare, he pointed the gun at Duncan's head again. "Don't even think about doing anything. I'm leaving and you're not following. Understand?"

MacLeod scrambled to reach Jean's side. Her blouse was covered with blood. Duncan feared that it might have been too late already. His fears were lessened as he got a better look at the wounds. There were a lot of them, but none of them looked they hit any vital organs. Jean was unconscious but had a strong pulse and normal breathing. Blaring sirens could be heard as they got closer to the bank.

"Somebody get some paramedics!" Duncan ordered. The shock of the situation seemed to be wearing off of some of the other people in the bank. A guard rushed outside to see if an ambulance was among the emergency vehicles that came screeching to a halt just outside of the bank.

Moments later, a team of paramedics relieved Duncan of Jean. They worked quickly to care for her wounds. A couple of policeman approached Duncan to get his statement.

"Look, I have to go. I'm in a hurry." Duncan told the officers.

"Why, were you part of it?" one of the officers asked.

"Ask anybody here. Here's my card. If you need my statement, you can reach me there," Duncan said as he handed the policeman his card.

Somebody spoke up. "Yeah, he wasn't involved. The robber seemed to be scared of him."

As the policemen turned to see who was talking, Duncan took advantage of the opportunity and made a break for the door. He hoped that Martan did not have an escape vehicle nearby. Otherwise, Duncan figured that he had a good chance to overtake Martan and to take his head. Duncan sped by the officers outside and made his way down the street in the direction that Martan had headed. He strained to pick up the sensation of another Immortal, but he could not.

"I'll find you, Martan, someday."

In the underground base of the Blackwood Project, the team planned their next move. John Kincaid, Suzanne McCullough, and Debi McCullough paid close attention to the bearded man in front of them. Harrison Blackwood stood in front of a video screen. The screen displayed nothing but a blue background.

"Let's go over the tape one more time." Harrison suggested.

Suzanne McCullough cued up the tape in the video recorder. "It's ready."

Harrison played the tape at normal speed. "This is the video from the news tonight. Pay attention."

On the screen, the scene from a newscast of the sword-wielding man in a trenchcoat stabbing and beheading his assailants was played.

John Kincaid cleaned his gun with a rag. "I don't see anything besides some maniac with a sword slicing some street punks. What's the big deal?"

Harrison punched some buttons on the machine. "Let me adjust the picture first." He played the picture again, this time in slow motion and focused in one on of the victims. As the black-garbed figure was wounded, the tell-tale sign of an alien - phosphorescent green blood - could be seen.

Debi pointed at the screen "Green blood! They're aliens."

Harrison paused the tape. "Yes, they're aliens. But I'm more interested in the swordsman."

Kincaid loaded a clip of ammunition into his gun. "So what? Some guy is doing us a favor."

"That's not just 'some guy'." Harrison countered. "Listen closely." Harrison played the tape again with the volume amplified.

As the swordsman went about his business, he could be heard to be saying something in a somewhat unfamiliar tongue.

"OK, so he's not a local resident and speaks a different language. Again, what's the big deal?"

"That's not just any language. That's the alien tongue."

Suzanne nodded. It had certainly been a while since they had heard that eerie alien language being spoken.

"Harrison, I don't see your point. So the aliens have a murderer of their own kind among them, that's good for us."

"That's not just an alien. That's an old alien."

"Old, young, middle-aged, who cares. An alien is an alien."

"No, an old alien. Like the ones we saw being executed a while back. Those were the ones we fought against before you joined us, Kincaid."

"I thought you figured the newcomers killed off all of the old ones?" Suzanne asked.

"I did, but apparently I was wrong. At least one survived, and he doesn't seem too friendly with the newcomers."

"Like I said, this old alien is doing us a favor." Kincaid smiled. "He's cutting down the ranks of the aliens, literally."

Kincaid stood and put his gun in his holster. "So why are we bothering with him? Let him do his stuff; it means less for us to do."

Harrison met Kincaid with his eyes "That may be true. However, I'm not sure if the old adage of 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' This alien may be a threat to humankind as well as the newcomers. He may be the greatest threat, if the newcomers are after him as well."

Kincaid "So we let him do his stuff. When he's done, we can take care of him too."

"We need to find out what his agenda is. Perhaps we can convince him to ally himself with us. He's fighting for his survival too. Maybe that's all he wants - to live. He could be a powerful ally for us."

"This could be a big risk," Kincaid pointed out.

"I know, but we need help in this fight. If this old alien is a threat to us, then we do as Kincaid suggested as 'take care of him'."

Suzanne looked at Harrison with concern. "You certainly have become more vicious, Harrison. It sort of frightens me. I remember when you refused to use any weapon."

"After we lost Ironhorse and Norton, I finally realized that we're in a war." Even as Harrison said it, he knew it was not the whole truth. The loss of two trusted teammates and friends was tough, but it was not the real reason behind his new attitude. "We have to fight to win."

"You sound like a killing machine now," Suzanne noted.

Harrison certainly had changed since this 'War of the Worlds' resumed. When the aliens had taken Karen McKinney from him, he had tried to bury his hate of them deep inside. When the team found her lifeless body after the aliens were done with her, Harrison could keep the hate buried no longer. The hate had time to fester in the months between that event and the arrival of the new group of aliens. Harrison was no longer a scientist trying to reason his way through this war; he was now a warrior willing to fight in it.

"My humanity won't mean much if the Morthrain destroy all of humanity."

Everyone fell silent at Harrison's comment.

Harrison slowly smiled. "But I'm not a machine, none of us are. We're all humans and this is our planet. We won't let the Morthrain rule our world."

With Harrison's attempt at a pep-talk, the group's somberness was dispelled.

"Where do we start?" Suzanne inquired.

"Let's try the Marketplace." Harrison responded. "That's where he was when he was filmed."

Duncan made his way through the filthy streets. Things had gotten far worse here than he had expected. Paris was still Paris, but even that city had lost some of its luster lately. There was litter everywhere. The local residents were dressed in drab colors. Most were clothed in outfits that were sorely in need of mending. Duncan wondered how society had taken such a nose-dive. It was about as bad as he had ever seen in his Immortal lifetime.

The man that Duncan referred to as Martan walked through the Marketplace. He passed through the crowds of people and the hundreds of tables where people bought, sold, and bartered all sorts of goods. It was no man, however, only the appearance of one. Inside of the human shell was the alien known as Mordex. Mordex thought about how he had come to acquire this extremely powerful human form...

A trio of men walked down the dark alleyway. To the ears of the drunks that lined the alley, the men were talking in a very strange language.

"Stinking foreigners" was the common thought to the drunks, at least those that were sober enough to form a coherent thought. The trio paid no mind to the comments of the locals.

A businessman with some very severe looking burns covering his body began, <We must find me a new body and soon, comrades. This one cannot last much longer.>

A healthier looking construction worker responded, <Agreed, Mordex. Why don't you take one of these lowlifes?>

The third man, apparently a police officer, chuckled at the suggestion. <Yes, with all the alcohol these human scum have imbibed, you'll be able to forget the pain that the current host is causing you now. Ha ha ha.>

Mordex scowled at his associates. <Laugh if you will, but soon those host bodies of yours will wear out and you will be in same predicament as I am. The radiation therapy can only allow us to inhabit these bodies for so long. Then the human tissue begins to break down ...>

The policeman interrupted, <Spare us the medical treatise on these lower life forms. We will certainly assist you in procuring a new body, won't we, Spotak?>

<Most assuredly, Gafon. We must preserve our three,> responded the construction worker.

Spotak continued, <However, these vermin are not suitable candidates. We must find someone else.>

Suddenly, a masked man in a trenchcoat carrying a number of bags rounded the corner into the alley. The trio noticed the man immediately. They looked at each other and shared a smile. This one would be more than adequate for Mordex.

When the masked man caught sight of Spotak in his police uniform, he skidded to a halt and unleashed a string of expletives. He did not know what to do. He could not go back, that was certain. He did not want to give up. It had been such an easy heist initially. Finally, he decided that he would fight his way through. What would a few more deaths mean at this point.

The policeman and the two others approached him silently. He considered this a little strange; cops always liked shouting commands, but this one said nothing. Whatever the reason, he was not going to let him bother him. As he ran toward the trio, he reached inside his coat and began draw something out. Before he could, the three men were on him with lightning speed. The masked man dropped the bags and tried to get his assailants off of him. He could not even get one off; they were so strong. Two of them pinned his arms down. Suddenly, he felt something drive into his abdomen. He screamed out in pain and then fell silent.

Mordex's alien arm worked his way into the masked man body. Within a few seconds, he had transferred his alien self into the masked man. The form of the businessman quickly melted into a pool of sludge.

As Mordex finished the transfer to the masked man, Spotak and Gafon released the body and began to dust themselves off, keeping an eye on the drunks that inhabited this dreary place.

Gafon pointed to the thousands of dollar bills that had spilled out of the masked man's bag. <Look, the scum's currency. They assign value to scraps of paper.>

Spotak nodded, <They are a worthless lot.>

Mordex meanwhile began to complete taking control of the body. As he tapped into the human's brain, he was overcome by a jolt of excruciating pain. The body convulsed violently as Spotak and Gafon took notice of this most unconventional transfer. Mordex's own mind was being flooded with all sorts of memories of times and places distant. He struggled to keep control and slowly fought off the pain and the convulsions. Spotak and Gafon agreed that it was the most unusual takeover they had ever witnessed.

Spotak offered the new Mordex a hand up. <Mordex, are you feeling acceptable? Is there something wrong with this human host.>

Mordex accepted Spotak's aid gracefully. <I am not sure. This body feels different. As if it is not quite human.>

Gafon offered, "Maybe it was deranged or addicted to the mind-altering drugs that these humans seem to enjoy."

<I do not think so. However, I am having some difficulty accessing this body's memories. There seem to be considerably more than a human this age should have. This human has been many places, been many people.>

Gafon looked at Spotak. <Drugs, without a doubt.>

Spotak nodded. <Yes, unquestionably. Let's get back to the base.>

Gafon added. <We will find out there how the mission to the Great Plains region progressed.>

Spotak agreed. <Yes, hopefully they were successful in procuring sufficient radioactive supplies from the humans' nuclear power plants there.>

Mordex was oblivious to his comrades' conversation. He could not seem to get a fix on what this human called himself. Then he remembered that humans typically carried a form of identification with them. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. He fished out a driver's license and read the name - John Martan.

As Mordex made his way through the Marketplace, he recalled that he occasionally suffered from intense mental pain. It seemed to emanate from certain people. He assumed that the Fourth Wave had developed some device with which they were trying to find him. Whatever type of organo-tech device it was, it created some kind of feedback in Mordex's brain. Mordex's was confident in his explanation. The Terrans did not have the technology to create such a device. When he felt this sensation, his first instinct was to grab the human's sword. He did not know exactly why. However, he feared that this device might cause him even more pain at a closer range, so he always put a great deal of distance between him and the source as quickly as he could.

The human's sword was very useful to him, though it was an archaic weapon. Apparently, not all of the Fourth Wave carried the mysterious device. When he came across members of the Fourth Wave who did not wield it, the human's skill with the blade proved to be very deadly and efficient. He could dispatch them before they could bring their organo-tech weapons to bear.

The situation on Morthrai must have seriously deteriorated since the Third Wave embarked. Organic technology was completely unnecessary even then. The biosphere provided enough free energy for all types of equipment. It had supplied power to propel the invasion fleets to Earth. The biosphere must have been severely depleted if the Fourth Wave had to channel their own personal energy to operate their weaponry. One would have thought that there would have been more than enough energy to get the Morthrain people to Earth. Perhaps they drained every last erg of energy in order to get here so quickly. That would explain how they arrived before the deadline.

Duncan spotted Martan in the marketplace. "Martan, your time has come," he whispered to himself. Duncan quickly bounded over some reclining beggars and toppled trash cans. As he closed in on the other Immortal, he exclaimed, "Martan, we have unfinished business."

Mordex turned and felt a wave of pain flowing through his body. He was certain that it came from this long-haired figure. "It must be a Fourth Waver," he thought. "But how does he know this human body's name and why does he use it instead of mine?" Suddenly, his mind was overtaken by a memory of the human's past. This human had been running away from this other man, this MacLeod, when he and his comrades met the former John Martan in that alley.

"It's not a Fourth Wave device." Martan was astonished. The feeling was coming directly from this long-haired human named MacLeod. His previous encounters with the feeling must have been from people like this MacLeod. He wondered what kind of human these people were. He felt the urge to unsheathe his sword, but something prevented him from engaging this human out in the open. He did not know why; he just could not do it. So he ran. He wove his way until he came upon an old, abandoned warehouse. Duncan was still on his tail, about a block behind him.

"I can lose him in here," Mordex thought. He burst through the door and barricaded behind him. Duncan arrived at the door but could not seem to open it. After a number of attempts, he knocked the door open. He could still sense Martan.

"He must be in here," Duncan thought. "I'll make sure he stays."

Duncan rebuilt the barricade in front of the door. "This should keep him in and any uninvited guests out."

Meanwhile, the Blackwood Project team arrived at the Marketplace. They carried reproductions of the fuzzy image of the swordsman. They went up to the locals who did not look too belligerent and asked, "Have you seen this man?"

Most of the locals just ignored the question. A few claimed to be the person in the picture. Some responded with the question of how much the information was worth. After a few unsuccessful transactions (after which Kincaid 'diplomatically' got their payments back), the team was ready to give up. A man in tattered clothes came up to them.

"You looking for the sword guy that kills the freaks?"

Harrison grabbed the man by his shoulders. "Yes, have you seen him?"

"Yeah, he's been around."

"Have you told the police? Are they investigating?"

"Do you really think they care about what's going on down here?"

"Whatever. Tell us what you know!" Kincaid interjected.

Harrison tried to calm the situation "Easy, Kincaid. Look, friend, you know about the swordsman. We'd like to know about him."

"Information ain't free. You guys with the feds?"

"You could say that." Kincaid was getting impatient.

"I see. Well, I'll tell you what I know for, say, a twelve pack of beer."

"That's reasonable. Suzanne, if you would? But first, tell us about the freaks, then we'll deal. We need to know you're on the level."

"Sure, we call 'em freaks down here cause they act real strange. They carry weird plants around sometimes. And sometimes when some the tough guys mix it up with them, it's real weird."

"Weird? How?"

"I know a bunch of guys who swear that they plugged a freak, but they don't find no body."

Harrison looked to Kincaid. "I think we're onto something here."

Suzanne brought the beer that was stashed in the van. The team had found it useful to carry some items of barter along whenever they came to the Marketplace.

"Harrison?" Suzanne asked.

"Give him the beer."

The old man took the beer. He pressed it to his cheek. "Hey, it's warm."

Kincaid grabbed the man, "Look, you got your beer, now tell us where we can find the swordsman."

The old man shook himself from Kincaid's grasp. "OK, already. He's been around the Marketplace looking for freaks. I saw him about fifteen minutes ago. He seemed to be running away from somebody. Over towards that way." He pointed in the vicinity of the warehouse.

"Great, thanks. Let's go." Harrison said excitedly.

In a room draped with all sorts of organic-looking machinery, the Morthrain leader, Malzor, and the chief Morthrain scientist, Mana, discussed the current situation.

Malzor ranted, "By the Eternal, these human forms are so disgusting. If the Third Wave had not been riddled with such incompetence, we would have never had to transform ourselves into these hideous shapes."

"If we had more time on Morthrai, we could have avoided it," Mana retorted.

"Speak no more of the old Morthrai, Mana. This planet is Morthrai now!" Malzor responded indignantly. Malzor knew that Mana was the best scientific mind that they had, but, at least in his mind, she did not measure up to his ideal. It had been some time since he had thought about his ideal, his late wife. He decided that it was time to view the past, his past. Malzor went deep into the alien facility to the place in which the Obelisk was stored. He needed affirmation about the righteousness of his cause. He slowly opened the Obelisk and revealed the two crystals inside. Malzor carefully removed the green crystal.

"This crystal shows our past with perfect truth," Malzor thought. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The crystal began to glow as Malzor's mind received the images...

Lord Tallok, draped in robes that signified his position as leader of the Morthrain people, studied the view-screen. There was no doubt among the Morthrain scientific community that the Terrans had developed atomic power. The others around Tallok whispered among themselves about what this could mean for the invasion effort.

Lord Tallok announced "I have consulted the Obelisk. Teela will be in command of the Third Wave. An Advocacy will be selected to serve as her second-in-command."

Mana, standing close to her father, turned to Malzor "The new magnetic shielding system is ready, although we have not tested it against Earth bacteria. Simulation proves it to be effective. You will have to accelerate your program for crystal production. We will need all the crystal you can generate to power the fleet."

Malzor was taken aback by these startling announcements, "Impossible, the depletion will cause an imbalance in our ecosystem."

Lord Tallok looked sternly at Malzor, "You will find a way."

Malzor was not going to accept this willingly "Lord Tallok, may I speak with you."

Lord Tallok accompanied Malzor to a different part of the Council building.

Lord Tallok broke the silence, "You are worried about the crystal?"

Malzor responded "No, it's Teela. I don't want her to command the invasion. I need her here to help with my work."

Lord Tallok offered, "She is our most brilliant scientist. We need her scientific mind to command the fleet. The military aspects of the invasion are a mere formality. We will crush the Earthlings in a matter of days. The real work will be in transforming the planet into something more hospitable to our people. That is why Teela has been chosen. Her background makes her ideal for the task."

Malzor countered, "She is my wife!"

Lord Tallok tried to provide some consolation to the distraught husband, "It is not easy for me either."

"Then don't send her. I need her. We can do great work here on Morthrai. Tallok, the resources needed to power this new invasion wave so soon after the last one will drain us. We need to find a new planet. Earth is too far, and we have failed twice already."

"You have a right to your opinion," Lord Tallok said somewhat self-righteously.

"It is not opinion; it is fact! I want this tabled at Council." Malzor demanded.

Lord Tallok became indignant. "You will abide by my decision."

Malzor bowed insincerely and took his leave. Lord Tallok thought deeply about what Malzor had said, but he was sure that Earth could be taken without accelerating the inescapable self-destructive path that Morthrai was on.

Malzor returned to his home. His found Teela waiting there for him. She could see the concern on his face, and she went to comfort him. She knew where she he had gone and she knew that there was no point in trying to dissuade Tallok once he had determined a course of action.

"You'll be Tallok's successor. You'll lead our people someday. We'll be together and we can share that life ... on Earth."

"I'm afraid for you," Malzor said sullenly.

"Don't be. I love you."

Malzor concentrated on the crystal. The memories that formed in his mind were from eight years later...

Malzor stared out of the window of his home. His projections were correct - the production of crystal had weakened the ecosystem irreparably. The climate was out of control now. The biosphere had become unstable. What was worse was that the current reports indicated that the Third Wave had failed. The magnetic shielding was insufficient to protect the Morthrain soldiers. Now he was only waiting for the inevitable news about his wife.

**Mana entered the room and handed him a crystal, "Malzor?"

Malzor took the crystal and looked up at her, "Teela?"

Mana bowed her head, "Yes, I'm sorry." She turned and left the room.

Malzor stared at the crystal. It was the log from Teela's war machine . It showed the initial success of the Third Wave. The Earth was being overrun at a lightning pace. However, once again, the Earth bacteria had beaten them. He saw her last moments as her war machine crashed into a building. He saw the hatch open and her hand reach out as she expired. He burned with rage and knew what he had to do.

Malzor marched off to Obelisk room. Lord Tallok stood in front of the icon deep in thought. At the sound of Malzor's approach, he turned to address him.

"Our invasion attempt was costly. We pay a price for what we learn." Tallok said with the emotionless tone of a true political official.

"What we learn? You drained our planet of energy to satisfy your own vanity. We should have waited for the ecosystem to recover after the last Wave. We should have at least waited and tested the magnetic shielding. You sacrificed the greatest minds we had to that malignant planet. And for what?"

Malzor calmed down momentarily. "Mana is finishing the final tests for the process that will enable us to overcome the bacteria that destroyed each Wave. We will genetically re-engineer ourselves to a form that will allow us to exist on the Earth." In his thoughts, he wondered why Mana had not been part of the Third Wave. Was it because she was Tallok's daughter? Malzor shook with anger at Tallok's hypocrisy.

Tallok was angered by this surprising information. "I had ordered that program halted. I gave her no such instruction to resume."

Malzor sneered, "They are my orders."

Tallok shook with rage. "She will stop immediately! You have overstepped your rank!"

Malzor retorted, "We must go back and conquer the Earth. Your folly has given us no other option."

Tallok pointed at Malzor, "We follow the wishes of the Eternal, not yours!"

"Was it his wish for Teela to die like that?"

Tallok bellowed, "Enough! There will be no further Waves. The Eternal has decided our fate."

Malzor shook his head, "Teela and the others must be avenged."

Tallok was becoming enraged. "If you cannot accept this, you will not succeed me!"

Malzor laughed, "With what you have done to our world, what makes you think we will survive long enough for you to require a successor? No, Lord Tallok, you have destroyed Morthrai. You have made it necessary to launch a Fourth Wave to capture the Earth. However, your failure makes you unfit to lead."

Malzor pulled out a weapon from underneath his cloak and fired it at Tallok. The greenish beam struck Tallok in the head. Tallok screamed as he disintegrated into nothingness.**

"As Daltar was removed for his incompetence, so I remove you for yours," Malzor smiled.

"Now I will lead."

Mana and Malzor walked through the battered shell of the Council Building. The years of destructive weather had taken their toll upon the building. Mana and Malzor were different now, as were the other occupants of the building. They had shed their Morthrain shapes and looked to be human. A strong wind blew against the western wall, shattering a window and sending the broken shards flying.

**"You've destroyed our world." Mana screamed.

"We had no choice. The last of the power must be used for escape to Earth; we could not afford to waste any power to discover a new world. The fools who went before us are responsible for this destruction. We had no other options but do drain the biosphere to provide us with the energy for the exodus to Earth."

"Collect the others and board the spacecraft." Malzor ordered.

"They won't hold us all." Mana objected.

Malzor said, "Then choose our best."

"I can't," Mana replied.

Malzor responded, "You must. If we are to survive, you must. We must only have our best." He held out his new humanoid hands in front of him. "We are a new race. You and I must lead it."**

Malzor put down the crystal. Once more he was resolute in his belief about the righteousness of his actions. "This planet will be ours. We will be rulers of this world."

Inside the warehouse, Duncan was having a relatively easy time with his opponent. For someone who had been alive for centuries, Martan (whom Duncan thought his adversary was) was a very poor swordsman, in Duncan's opinion. Every attack that Mordex tried was easily countered by Duncan's swordsmanship. Mordex did seem to be uncommonly strong, much stronger than his appearance would suggest, but his skill was lacking. Mordex swung with two hands at Duncan's head, but Duncan deftly parried it. Mordex seemed to becoming increasingly frustrated as his incessant attacks resulted in no damage to his opponent. Just when Duncan figured Mordex's rage had reached its peak, Duncan began to press his own attack. He feinted at Mordex's heart. Mordex fell for the feint and moved to block, but Duncan instead drove the point of his sword into Mordex's hand. Mordex yanked his hand away from Duncan's sword, blood streaming from the wound. Duncan continued to attack and Mordex did his best to defend despite his sword hand shaking very noticeably. Duncan locked blades with Mordex and both swung their blades, still locked, in large circles trying to disarm the other. Duncan felt an opening and broke out of the circling and drove his katana deep into Mordex's chest. Mordex screamed in agony and dropped his sword. Duncan pulled the sword out and Mordex screamed again. Duncan still could not figure out the strange sensation that Martan emanated, but it did not matter anymore to him. Soon, Duncan would not feel it and Martan would not feel anything at all.

Mordex dropped to his knees. The pain was growing weaker due to the human's recuperative powers, but he knew that it would not be soon enough. Duncan poised over him with the katana at the ready; Mordex thought about all that had happened to bring him here...

Mordex stood in a group with the rest of the Third Wave. Even the members of the Advocacy were there, draped in their cooling suits. Someone was screaming at the them. Mordex could not be sure of who it was since the Fourth Wave had adopted humanoid form, but the feeling that he received indicated that it was Council member Malzor. Mordex remembered that Malzor was next line to succeed Tallok as leader. Perhaps Malzor was the leader now. Mordex strained his ears to hear the conversation.

Malzor continued screaming at the Advocacy, "Where is Teela? What happened to my wife? I know that the bacteria did not kill you of the Third Wave, only put you in suspended animation. Where is my wife? Who put you three in charge?"

One of the members of the Advocacy draped in a brown, leathery outfit responded, "Commander Teela was destroyed when her war machine crashed. Most of the scientific leaders were destroyed as well. We of the Advocacy assumed command in her stead."

Malzor would not accept this, "Lies! Lies! You plotted against her and killed her. You failed in your mission. You of the Third Wave are an affront to the Eternal. You must be purged from the Morthrain race."

Malzor motioned and two aliens dressed and masked in black hurried to his side. He told them, "We'll execute the traitors, all of them."

#Malzor turned to face the assembled members of the Third Wave. "You failed the Morthrain race. You failed the Eternal. You are condemned to darkness. The Eternal casts you out!" #

It seemed as if the Fourth Wave was going to show no mercy. Some more guards appeared and were organizing the Third Wave into a single-file line. Mordex could see that they were all being slowly filed through to an execution chamber now.

Mordex grumbled to himself, "We were supposed to have two more years until they arrived. That was the deadline. They can't execute us. We had more time."

Mordex was brought into the execution chamber by the guards. The hooded Executioner repeated the same droll sentence that he had given to each Morthrain before, "For betraying the Morthrain race and failing the Eternal, you are sentenced to death. The Eternal casts you out." With that, the Executioner activated the device. As the energy pulse passed through him with excruciating effect, Mordex saw his life passing before his eyes...

A youthful Mordex eagerly watched the video screen. The invasion fleet had finally reached Earth. A base had been established on the surface of the system's fourth planet. The transport rockets were launched from there to the Earth. Mordex asked his parents why they were invading the Earth. They told them that Morthrai was running out of resources. Within a century (or the Morthrain equivalent thereof), Morthrai's resources would be depleted. They also told him that the Earth was capable of becoming just like Morthrai, with a few minor changes to its environment. It was all too confusing to Mordex, but he was interested in how the invasion was going.

Military officials confirm that the invasion forces    
have disembarked from the fourth planet of the Terran  
solar system.  A launching base had been established   
there a few years prior.  Transport cylinders began    
launching towards Earth earlier today and military     
officials estimate that the entire force should be on  
the Earth in a very short order.  Stay tuned for       
further reports ...                                    

Reports of the First Wave invasion just in.  The       
planet is defenseless against our military might.  In  
a matter of days, our forces have captured what        
appears to be the Earthlings' mightiest concentration  
of power.  Conquest of the rest of the planet is       
expected to soon follow.                               

Mordex smiled. He hoped that they would show footage of the slaughter, but none was forthcoming. For a few days, there were no reports about the progress of the invasion. Everyone was expecting an announcement of triumph, but no such announcement appeared. Instead, the Morthrain populace was shocked by this report:

In an unbelievable turn of events, our invasion        
effort of earth has failed.  All Morthrain troops      
have been killed.  Information is sketchy about how    
the Terrans accomplished this.  Current conjecture is  
that the planet is protected by some type of           
radiation with which we are unfamiliar.  Observation   
satellites were put in orbit as the invasion           
commenced and will transmit information back home for  
researchers to analyze.  Top military officials are    
calling this only a minor setback.                     

On the political front, Defense Minister Aurtark has   
resigned and Lord Daltar has named Tallok to serve as  
the new Defense Minister.                              

Mordex's father said his farewells to the family with a slightly despondent look upon his leathery face. He was wearing a uniform that denoted the Morthrain military

"Father, must you go on this invasion of Earth?" Mordex had grown but was still quite young by Morthrain standards.

"Yes, I must, my son. Earth must be ours. I have explained this to you many times. Look over the reports stored on the console. They will explain it to you in detail. Study them carefully. You will attend the military academy soon, and I want you to be prepared."

Mordex's mother intertwined her arms with those of her husband. "How long will you be gone?"

Mordex's father replied "I'm not sure. With the new protective systems, we should be able to overrun the planet in a matter of days. I will send word to you as soon as I can."

Mordex's father left the house and boarded the military transport that was waiting for him. As Mordex's mother watched her husband leave, Mordex activated the console and loaded up the reports about the impending 'Second Wave.' That was the term that the military had developed to describe this invasion. Even a youngster like Mordex could recognize this as political doublespeak. The military was trying to make it seem that the first invasion was not a failure but rather a part of a larger plan. Mordex turned his attention from his thoughts to the video screen.

Morthrain scientists determined a number of years ago that     
the casualties suffered in the First Wave were the result of   
Terran bacteria.  New protective systems have been             
incorporated into all the vehicles of the Second Wave fleet.   
Orbital satellites have confirmed that numerous areas of the   
planet are undergoing civil war.  Tactical analysis of these   
outbreaks has determined that Terran military technology has   
not advanced very far from the time of the First Wave.         
Military officials predict swift victory now that the only     
threat, the Terran bacteria, has been neutralized by superior  
Morthrain technology.                                          

The original launching base on the Terran system's fourth      
planet has been used once again for the delivery of Morthrain  
troops to the Earth.  Military sources report that the         
spearhead of the invasion will be directed at a different      
point of the globe in the Second Wave.  A larger landmass, to  
the west of the island upon which the First Wave centered,     
has been deemed the most vital location in the Terran          
military scheme.  The invasion will begin along its eastern    
coast.                                                         

Mordex listened gleefully. His father was in command of the lead transport cylinder. His father would be one of the glorious heroes. Mordex stayed glued to the video screen for days on end, greedily absorbing every bit of information that was reported. His spirit was crushed when he heard the final military report.

Military sources confirm that the Second Wave has been         
destroyed.  Initial reports suggest that the new protective    
systems incorporated into the invasion fleet were inadequate.  
 Anonymous sources indicate that insufficient testing of the   
protective systems was performed.  These sources also say      
that the systems were approved by Lord Daltar despite his      
knowledge that the protective systems might fail.              

This just in from the Ruling Council -  Lord Daltar has been   
deposed and replaced by Defense Minister Tallok.               

Mordex was heartbroken. His visions of glory for his family evaporated in an instant. His father was dead, and the Earth was still not under Morthrain control. Mordex silently vowed that it would not happen again when his turn came. He swore by the Eternal that Morthrai would rule this new world.

At the military command center, whose ranks he had rapidly ascended, Mordex read the report about the War Ministry's latest findings.

The Earthlings are developing rapidly in terms of      
technology.  Recent sightings by observatories report  
that they have harnessed atomic power.  Their          
continued progress could pose a threat to our          
conquest of their world if they continue at this       
pace.  A Third Wave of invasion will be launched       
soon.  We must conquer Earth soon.  Morthrai's         
resources are ever-dwindling.  After analysis of the   
reports of the First and Second Waves, scientists      
have identified the weaknesses in the Terran microbes  
that were responsible for the destruction.  New        
warships with special  magnetic shielding are being    
developed to protect the Third Wave.                   

Meanwhile, enviro-engineers are producing some         
machinery that will be transported to the Earth with   
the invasion fleet.  This new technology will enable   
us to transform the Earth into a Morthrain-like        
environment. In related news, bio-engineers are        
working on techniques to adapt the Morthrain people    
to be able to survive on Earth as it currently is.     
However, this research is, in this reporter's          
opinion, unnecessary since the invasion fleet will     
have ample time to transform the planet to a           
habitable state before it becomes necessary for us to  
leave Morthrai.  Current estimates are that the        
exodus must commence in approximately 50 years.        

Mordex stood in front of the war machine that we was to command. Like his father, Mordex was in command of the lead machine. An entire division of war machine personnel was being spoken to by the War Minister. Mordex began to think about how easy this invasion would be. The large transport ships would be loaded with the war machines. The transport ships would carry the war machines to the base on the fourth planet that had been used in the previous invasion attempts. From there, the war machines would travel to Earth and easily subjugate the planet. It was a very simple and effective plan in Mordex's mind. His thoughts were interrupted by the War Minister's speech

"Soldiers of Morthrai, you are about to embark on a glorious endeavor. Twice before have we invaded the planet whose inhabitants call Earth, and twice before we were defeated not by them, but by their environment. With these new warships, you will have sufficient power and protection to bring that world to its knees. We, on the homeworld, will begin preparations for an exodus to Earth. After we have collected sufficient biospheric energy from Morthrai, we shall depart. Current projections put our arrival date at 1995. By that time, you will have overrun the planet and have completed its transformation into a new Morthrai. Good luck. May the Eternal guide your way, and stay true to the Trinity.."

Mordex thought about the long occupation that he and the rest of the military would have to endure - fifty years. Still, it would not be all that long. The Morthrain life span was approximately a thousand years. It would not be that great of a sacrifice. He mentally reviewed his orders. His war machine along with two others would be transported from the base on the system's fourth planet in the first cylinder. They would be landing on the same land mass as did his father, but its western coast. The Eternal had made a visitation unto Lord Tallok and presented him with the revelation of the Trinity. It was the holy word upon which the entire Third Wave was based - three cylinders per group, three war machines per cylinder, the triangular sweeping attack plan. Even the military's term for the invasion, the Third Wave, fit in with the revelation. It was a divine sign of their impending victory. The Eternal had shown the Morthrain people the way to rule the planet Earth.

As he slumped to the floor, Mordex's last thoughts were, "They must have been successful in transforming our people into these hideous human forms."

The Executioner dragged Mordex's body over to the pile of other executed victims. "Failures all. How could they not conquer this world?" he mocked and walked back into the heart of the base.

It was deathly quiet in the execution area. A few moments later, Mordex's body stirred. He was sure that he crossed over into afterlife.

"Is this the life Immortal?" he wondered. He opened his eyes slowly, expecting to see the brilliance of the Eternal all around. Instead, he found himself still in the complex, buried in a pile of his fellow Third Wave members.

"I live?" He asked himself under his breath. "By the Eternal, I still live." He tried to assess his situation. What did it all mean? Was this a sign that he was to lead the Morthrain?"

"No," he concluded. "The Fourth Wave has betrayed the Morthrain birthright and betrayed the Eternal by callously murdering the loyal soldiers of the Third Wave. They do not respect the tradition of the trinity. They are not deserving of life. In the end, I will be the only one!" That last phrase leapt into his mind unexpectedly. It must have been from this human's memories. Terms like "the Prize" and "Quickening" seemed to be floating around in his head, but Mordex could not comprehend what they meant. What he did comprehend was his mission. It was very clear to him: "I will be ruler of this world!"

Mordex slowly crawled out of the pile of his dead comrades and made his escape from the facility. "They must all be destroyed. I will create the new Morthrai!"

"Your time is up, Martan." Duncan declared.

"To life immortal." Mordex responded defiantly while gasping for breath.

"Not anymore." Duncan swung the blade at Martan, cleaving his head from his body. Duncan turned away as he prepared himself for the inevitable Quickening. He did not notice the slimy, three-fingered limb that burst through Martan's chest, nor did he pay attention to the inhuman sound that Martan made as he was struck down.

As the energy stream of the Quickening entered Duncan, he felt something he had never experienced before. With the previous Quickenings he had received, he had felt the evil, the madness, the despair of the Immortals that he had beheaded. This Quickening felt so strange, so ... alien. It was powerful, too. It almost felt as if he was receiving the power of two beings. Duncan twisted and turned as he tried to ride the pain out. After what seemed an eternity, it was over and Duncan collapsed to the floor.

After a few minutes, Duncan used his sword as a crutch to get back up on his feet. He wondered what Martan had done over the years to have developed such a strange Quickening. When he looked over at where Martan was, all he saw was a pool of brown sludge.

"That never happened before," Duncan thought. This had to be the strangest Quickening he had ever experienced in his mortal life. Despite his exhaustion and musing about Martan, Duncan detected the quiet footsteps of a number of people approaching.

Kincaid led the team to the warehouse. "This is where that bum said he saw the alien swordsman go. Let's go in ... quietly." Kincaid looked around to see if anyone was watching. Convincing himself that the coast was clear, he motioned Harrison and Suzanne to enter. The door was jammed or bolted. It took the combined strength of all three to open. Harrison and Suzanne went in first. Kincaid followed them and softly closed the door behind him. He hoped that the noise from them toppling the barricade did not alert whoever was inside.

Kincaid pulled the gun out of his shoulder harness. "OK, we take no chances."

Harrison responded "Agreed, but remember, ask questions first, shoot later."

Kincaid added, "We'll do it your way, Harrison, but I'd rather just knock this old alien off or let him be. None of this detente stuff."

"I know, but the old alien might be just what we need to finish the newcomers."

"If this old alien doesn't try to finish us first." Kincaid muttered. "OK, quiet now."

Harrison and Suzanne drew their guns and followed Kincaid through the labyrinth-like maze of the warehouse. They were all startled by the flashes of blue light that erupted from the opposite end of the warehouse. As the team closed in on the area from which they figured the energy discharge came, the air was suddenly still. Not a noise could be heard except for a slight scraping of metal.

Duncan made it to his feet and tip-toed to the end of a row of crates. He was sure that sounds he heard were coming from the other side of this row. They would not surprise him. He knew it was not another Immortal. He was glad of this fact, since Martan's Quickening still left a sickening feeling within him. He hoped that the sounds were not those of Hunters. He was prepared to fight, but he was not sure if he could hold off more than a couple of those crazed zealots in his weakened state.

Kincaid signaled for Harrison and Suzanne to keep quiet as they arrived at his position. He inched along the row of crates. He was quite certain that there was someone or something on the other side. He looked at his teammates and gestured to them to follow his lead. The trio braced themselves for a confrontation.

Duncan steadied his shaking hands upon his sword and turned around the corner at the end of the row. Kincaid put both hands on his gun as he did the same from the other side. Duncan and Kincaid's eyes met. It was like looking in a mirror for each of them. Harrison and Suzanne jumped behind Kincaid and froze in astonishment. Kincaid and Duncan looked each other over from top to bottom. They could have been identical twins. Duncan relaxed and began to put his sword back in his trenchcoat. He saw that they only carried firearms. They could not be Hunters. He was surprised to see someone who also sported Duncan's good looks, but Duncan had seen many look-alikes down through the centuries, though never one who was the spitting image of himself.

Kincaid's mind raced as he tried to figure out what he saw in front of him. Finally, a thought formed in his head. "He's a damn clone!"

"Wha-" Duncan began to respond but was interrupted by Kincaid pumping five rounds into Duncan's chest. Duncan reeled with the first four rounds. The fifth put him down on the ground.

Kincaid stood with his gun still pointing at the prone form of MacLeod. He was trembling slightly and sweat dribbled down his forehead as he gripped the gun even tighter. Kincaid almost felt like he had killed himself. Suzanne walked over to Kincaid and eased his arms down.

"It's all right, John. It's going to be OK," she said soothingly. She pried the gun from Kincaid's fingers and set it down on the floor.

Harrison got down on his knees to examine Duncan. "I don't think he's a clone."

Kincaid shook his head as if to clear it "Not a clone? Look at him. He has to be a clone!"

Harrison inspected the body very closely. "He looks very similar to you, Kincaid, but he's not an exact duplicate. He looks to be a couple of years older. Besides, the aliens never had you in their possession. How could they clone you?"

Kincaid fell silent. The ordeal had apparently affected him deeply.

Suzanne suggested, "Maybe they've developed some new cloning technology? One that doesn't require to have the original? They could do it from cell samples."

Harrison thought about it for a moment. "It's possible, but unlikely." He got up and walked over to Suzanne and Kincaid.

"So this is the old alien then?" Suzanne inquired.

"I don't think so. Remember, the old aliens dissolved eventually after they were killed, too. But this fellow is still here."

Harrison pointed a flashlight at the wounds on Duncan's chest. "And seeing as he has human blood there, he's not one of the newcomers, either." Harrison did a double-take as he looked at the wounds. "That's funny, I could have sworn those wounds looked worse a minute ago." A gleam of light bounced off of something metallic about ten yards away from Duncan's body.

"Harrison, over there." Suzanne said.

Harrison snapped his fingers, "Just a minute. Remember what Ceto, the alien boy, told us about clones. They are perfect copies of the originals, without flaws. We just have to look for a scar and that should rule him out." Harrison interrupted his examination of Duncan's corpse and joined Suzanne.

Harrison and Suzanne approached the metal object cautiously. As he shone the flash light directly on it, all could see that it was another sword. As he bent down to pick it up, Suzanne noticed the pool of brown sludge.

"I think I know to whom the sword belonged," she stated.

Harrison pointed the flashlight at the pool. "Our old alien." It had been a few years since they had last seen the remains of an old alien. The new aliens did not decompose in the same way. He was almost sad to see that the old alien was dead; at one time, he would have been overjoyed to know that the old aliens were all gone. Now they were, but a new wave of them had taken their place, aliens even more menacing. The old aliens had to try to utilize Earth technology since all of it had been destroyed or secreted away by the government in unfindable locations; the newcomers had brought their own. Now the team was on its own against this menace. He wondered if the aliens had been behind the breakdown of society. Nobody could pin down what had started it all or when it began. It certainly aided the efforts of the aliens. That was a good enough reason for Harrison to suspect them. Harrison's main concern, however, was to defeat the aliens; society could be rebuilt later.

"I guess our alien swordsman was defeated by Kincaid's look-alike." Harrison concluded matter-of-factly.

Kincaid was still visibly shaken. "This still doesn't explain what this fake me is. Is he a newcomer?"

Harrison nodded "Newcomers dissolve too when killed. Maybe it's just a coincidence that he looks like you."

"Come on, Harrison. They're virtually identical. The odds of two humans looking so alike are astronomical."

"You're right, Suzanne. They are astronomical but not impossible. But if the aliens can make clones without complete originals, we are in big trouble."

Harrison pondered the ramifications of the existence of this technology upon the effort. He was interrupted from his thought by Kincaid's exclamation.

"He moved! I saw it! He moved!"

Suzanne moved to comfort him. "Easy, John. He's dead."

Harrison followed and whispered to Suzanne "I think he's suffering from some kind of trauma from killing his doppelganger."

Suzanne whispered back, "I think you're right. We should get him back to the base."

Harrison nodded, "Of course. Damn, I wish we could have found out about that old alien."

The duo reached Kincaid's side. Harrison rubbed his chin as he postulated. "I wonder why this guy killed the old alien. The newcomers might have hired him. He's obviously no slouch with a sword. But if he is a newcomer or a product of their technology, why use a sword?"

Harrison figured that he would not determine the answer. He really needed his tuning fork. That always helped him clear his mind and come up with solutions, but the fork was still at the base.

Harrison grabbed Kincaid's arm, "C'mon, Kincaid. Let's go."

Suzanne grabbed the other arm and they began to leave when suddenly Duncan sat up. Kincaid turned around and threw off the arms holding him. "See, he's not dead."

Harrison started to turn around "But of course, he's dead ...." Harrison stopped as he looked at Duncan and Duncan looked right back at him.

Suzanne looked to Harrison, "He's alive. How?"

Harrison shook his head "I don't know. He must have something to do with the aliens."

Duncan appeared to be very pale. He moved his head around a little bit. He put his hands to his chest and found that his wounds had healed. He tried to get up but could not make it to his feet. He began to say something but collapsed to the floor.

Harrison rushed over to Duncan. "He is alive. I don't know how but he is. We've got to get him back to the base for inspection. Suzanne, help Kincaid back to the van. I'll bring the look-alike."

Suzanne started to lead the dazed Kincaid back to the warehouse entrance. "Do you think it's wise to bring this ... thing ... back to the base? We've had bad experiences with the aliens' creations before."

Harrison fumbled with some wire as he secured Duncan's hands and feet. "Nothing is safe these days, Suzanne, but this, whatever it is, could give us vital information. We can't just ignore it. I don't know if we can destroy it. Thus, we have to analyze it."

"I suppose you're right. I'm not sure if I want to know the answers it will give." Suzanne stated with a noticeable worry in her voice.

"Lighten up, I'm sure its just some new cloning technology now. What else could it be?"

The team got into the van along with the captive Duncan. They quickly wove their way through the streets back to the base. They parked the van in its secret garage and carried their captive through the tunnels that led down to the main part of the base.

They propped up Duncan's unconscious form on a chair. Debi pulled back the curtain that served as a doorway to her room. She was somewhat surprised that they had brought someone back with them. Kincaid was usually a stickler for tight security. When she looked at Kincaid, she could tell that he was a little bit out of sorts. She was about to ask her mother about what happened to him when she got a good luck at the prisoner.

"Mom, who is he? He looks just like Kincaid!"

"Yes, Debi. We noticed. We're trying to figure out who or what he is. Now, don't get to close." Suzanne put her hand out as Debi approached. "He could be dangerous."

Debi put on a pouty look. "C'mon, you got him all tied up. What can he do?"

Harrison interjected "We don't know what he can do. That's what we can't to find out."

Kincaid slowly sat in a chair. This, whatever it was, was getting to him. If the aliens had cloned him, by God they were going to pay. He had not seen someone who looked so much like him since he last saw his brother Max. The damn aliens had killed him, right around the time that General Wilson disappeared. They were on an undercover mission for the General. It had been a few years since the brothers got out of the Army. Colonel Ironhorse was too demanding of a commanding officer. Sure, he was an excellent tactician and a fighter of lethal ability, but he was too insistent on following regulations to the letter. The Kincaid brothers could not deal with that, so they got out. However, General Wilson knew that they were very capable agents in the right situations - those that the government could not or would not undertake overtly. The pay had been very good, but the cost was too high. The aliens were waiting for them on that last mission. They got Max, but Kincaid made sure that none of them, except for one alien, lived to celebrate the fact. He was ready to march on Washington by himself get an accounting from Wilson. When he called in, he found that Wilson had disappeared. This had shocked him back to his senses. Wilson had always been straight with them. The thought that Wilson sold out and was aiding the aliens was a possibility. If Wilson had known that the aliens were aware of the operation, he would have told them. Kincaid figured that the aliens must have gotten him. Now, Kincaid was operating with the Blackwood Project. He shook himself out of his reminiscing and saw that Harrison had begun interrogating the doppelganger.

"How long have you been fighting in this war of the worlds?"

Duncan had not completely regained his senses. He shook his head with a confused look "The movie? Or the radio show? Or do you mean the book?"

"No, the real invasion. You should know." Suzanne responded.

"You Morthrain came in 1953." Harrison added. "There was also an invasion in 1938. Not many people remember the second one, and even fewer the first."

"Morthrain? War of the worlds? What are you talking about?"

Harrison explained "Yes, Morthrain. We found out a few years ago that you didn't come from Mars."

Duncan was not paying close attention to Harrison. His gaze was on a picture sitting on a desk nearby It was a picture of the team from a few years back. There was Harrison, Suzanne, Debi, some Army person, and ... Charlie in a wheelchair?

"What's Charlie DeSalvo doing with your team, and in a wheelchair?"

"That's not Charlie DeSalvo, that's Norton Drake, our computer specialist. We lost him and Colonel Ironhorse" Harrison pointed to the man in Army fatigues in the picture, "a few years back."

"That's Norton Drake, Charlie's cousin? Charlie wasn't kidding, they do like alike," Duncan thought. Then it dawned on Duncan that Charlie's cousin was dead, and that he would have to tell him; that is, if he got out of here with his head still attached.

Duncan also thought about what the Army man in the picture was called - Ironhorse. Duncan remembered an Ironhorse he knew - an Immortal that was the medicine man of a neighboring tribe to Little Deer's. Duncan seemed to remember Ironhorse telling a story about strange 'star-bears'. Now that he thought about it, the description sounded like the aliens these people were talking about. He wondered if this Colonel Ironhorse could possibly be related. Years later after the massacre, he had heard rumors that Ironhorse's adopted son had escaped from the soldiers that Kern had led to the settlement. Duncan hoped that Kern was burning in hell for all of his evil. Duncan considered asking about Ironhorse, but he did not want to antagonize his captors with questions about family history. Perhaps there would be an opportunity later.

Mana disengaged herself from the large organic-tech device. "It is done." She pulled away some of the tentacles that had connected her to the control panel

Malzor rubbed his hands together. "Finally." He walked over to the double-bed like container that held two humanoid forms. The two bodies were exactly identical to the casual observer - a Caucasoid male with white hair and appearing to be around sixty years old. Malzor leaned over the edge of the left receptacle and began tearing away some of the membrane that covered the body inside. He grasped the occupant's right arm at which the occupant's eyes opened. Malzor helped the occupant out of the receptacle and onto the cold, hard floor.

The man stood tall and proud, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was naked and in a completely alien environment. He stared directly ahead. Malzor studied the man up and down. Mana joined him in this visual inspection. They could not find any imperfection on his body.

Malzor looked at Mana with rage, "I thought you had gotten rid of that flaw of the cloning process. The machinery is not supposed to make ideal copies of the original."

"Yes, I did adjust the machinery. It is a perfect copy. There were no flaws on the original to begin with." Mana countered.

"No flaws? I find that hard to believe. Do not try to cover up your incompetence. You can be replaced," Malzor responded.

Mana stomped back to the strange apparatus. "Look at these readings! They will show that I speak the truth. Inspect the original yourself. You will find no flaws."

Malzor went to take a look at the readings on the control panel. They were of much more detail than he could comprehend. From what little he did understand, it seemed that Mana was telling the truth. However, he did not want to portray any ignorance to her. He was the leader of the Morthrain people after all. He could show no signs of weakness to them.

"Very well. I agree with your assessment. Now that the physical success is verified, let us see how well the mental replication proceeded."

Malzor turned away from Mana and approached the naked man. He moved to about a foot away from the man and looked him straight in the eyes. "Who are you?"

The man confidently replied "I am currently Brigadier General Henry J. Wilson, United States Army."

Malzor was somewhat surprised by the clone's answer. "Currently? Were you a different person before?"

"I have had many names over the years."

"How many Earth-years has that been?" Mana inquired.

"Two thousand, five hundred." Wilson responded.

"Two thousand, five hundred?" Malzor was even more surprised by this response. "Either he is delusional or the mental replication was faulty. These human vermin have much more limited life spans than that."

Mana stopped Malzor before he could begin raging again "Perhaps his unstable mental state is the reason why the cloning process was so difficult. It has taken almost five Earth-years to produce the clone."

"Perhaps, but that is not important now. The clone is viable and we can afford to wait no longer to utilize it. We will use this clone to finally destroy the Blackwood Project. Assign two soldiers to escort the clone outside."

"What will his mission be?"

"We will set the clone out in the Marketplace. Eventually, Blackwood and his team will find him. They will undoubtedly take him to their base. The clone will be able to determine what other operatives this Blackwood has. Once he has the information, the clone will dispatch the core operatives and return to us with the information. It then will be simplicity itself to rid ourselves of the human scum who oppose us."

"What about the soldiers that will accompany?"

"They are inconsequential to the overall mission of our people. They may be killed when Blackwood and his team come to rescue the clone. They might escape, but under no circumstances are they to harm the humans. Make sure that the weapons that they are provided are not adequately charged."

"You are going to allow the humans to slaughter two of our people?!?" Mana was incredulous.

"I will decide what are acceptable losses. Sacrifices must be made for the greater Morthrain good. Do not seek to question my leadership. Even you can be replaced, Mana!"

Malzor was raving with a manic fury. Mana had seen this overcome Malzor many times in the past. She often wondered what her father saw in him that made him choose Malzor as his successor to leadership. Tallok had died so suddenly; Mana did not even get to say good-bye to him. Mana choked off the painful memories. Malzor had commanded that they not dwell on the past. In some respects, he was right. If they continued to think about the past, they would have no future on this world.

Malzor hoped that the dementia that this clone and presumably the original suffered from would not affect his memories of actual facts. Malzor had been able to acquire some information from the original a few years ago, but that was all. Somehow, the human learned to fight off the mind-control devices. The first application had resulted in some information about the Blackwood Project and the operatives known as the Kincaid brothers. The operation against the Kincaid brothers, led by Mana, and the other against the Blackwood Project were both of limited success. The former resulted in one casualty for the humans; the latter resulted in two. Later applications of the mind-control device were completely unsuccessful. Torture seemed to provide no results as well. The human was able to withstand levels of pain that were unheard of, even by Morthrain standards.

Malzor escorted the clone to another area to prepare him for his mission. "We have known about the existence of the Blackwood Project for some time, courtesy of your other self, but we have not been able to acquire much information about them. Tell me what you know about the project, tell me everything."

"Look, how many times do I have to tell you. I'm not an alien and I'm not a clone," Duncan pleaded as he struggled against his bonds.

Kincaid arose from his stupor and got right into Duncan's face "Whatever you are, you're not human. Human beings don't just get up without a scratch after somebody blast a few holes into him."

"Easy, Kincaid." Harrison took Kincaid by the shoulders and moved him away from Duncan. "Let me handle this, OK?"

"Now, I assume you have some sort of name. Can you tell me it?"

Duncan responded "Duncan MacLeod. I'm in the phone book, you can look it up."

Harrison nodded along "OK, we might do that. Kincaid, do we have one?"

Kincaid put his hands up with an 'I-don't-know' look. "Maybe, but it would probably be a few years old." Kincaid took Duncan's sword and examined it closely. "It's Japanese. A katana, right?"

Duncan nodded "Yes, it is, but it's a long story about how I acquired it."

Kincaid continued to study the blade "Oh, I'm sure it is. I'm sure it is."

Harrison turned to Debi, "Debi, could you go look for a phone book, please?"

"Sure, Harrison," Debi replied and scampered off.

"All right, Duncan. May I call you Duncan?"

Duncan strained against the ropes that held him fast "I'm not in a position to argue. 'Duncan' is just fine."

Harrison nodded "Duncan, you say you're not an alien and you're not a clone. We say you're not human. What do you say you are?"

Duncan fidgeted "It's kind of difficult to explain and it will sound sort of strange."

Harrison smiled "We've got time. Beside we fight against aliens, how strange could your story be?"

Duncan proceeded to tell them about his past, the Immortals, the Game, the Prize, and the Quickening. When he was finished, neither Harrison nor Suzanne nor Kincaid were able to say anything.

"See, I told you it was pretty far-fetched," Duncan offered.

Kincaid exploded. "That has to be the most insane story I've ever heard. People going around for centuries cutting others heads off. It's preposterous. Especially considering that no one knows about it. What about the headless bodies? Wouldn't somebody notice them? There's no way that this fake is telling the truth. I say we shoot him and be done with it."

Harrison scoffed at Kincaid's suggestion "We did that already and he's still among the living."

Kincaid frowned. His anger had gotten in the way of his reason. "Well, why don't we cut his head off? If one of us 'mere mortals' cuts it off, do you stay dead?"

Duncan nodded.

Suzanne voiced her opinion "It almost seems like a witch trial here. Look there's nothing in science to explain what Duncan is. He's told us and I'm pretty sure that he's not an alien or a clone. That leaves just his explanation, unless anybody has another explanation to offer."

Nobody had any response to that.

"OK," Harrison began, "I'm willing to believe you, Duncan. So what were you doing in that warehouse. Why were you hunting that old alien."

Duncan scowled. "I was not hunting an alien. I was hunting an Immortal. I found him and I took his head."

Harrison scowled right back. "The remains we found there were alien, decapitated but alien."

"Waitaminute. I know what an Immortal is and John Martan was one. I took his head and received his Quickening ... though ..."

"Though what, Duncan?" Harrsion pressed.

"Well, it was the strangest Quickening I ever received. I didn't feel right. It was like their were two life forces that I was absorbing. And then the body dissolved."

Harrison snapped his fingers. "You say it was an Immortal. I say it was an alien. What if it were really both?"

Kincaid looked upon from studying the katana. "What do you mean, Harrison?"

"It all fits, Kincaid. An alien took over an Immortal. Remember what we saw on the videotape. The alien looked perfectly healthy - no radiation burns. Running around with a sword. It's probably why he was still around. They executed him, but the host body wouldn't die."

"You're just speculating, Harrison," Kincaid said.

"Host body? Radiation burns? What are your talking about?" Duncan was not grasping the connection that Harrison was describing.

"OK, Duncan, since you told us about Immortals, we'll tell you about the aliens."

Harrison described everything that the team had uncovered during their years of battling against the aliens - the invasion of 1953, the radio broadcast of 1938, the true home planet of the aliens, the new wave of aliens, etc. Duncan took a few moments to digest it all.

"OK, your theory makes sense to me, Harrison. It would explain some of the crazy images I have in my head now. I'm sure they came from Martan or whatever it was inside of him."

Debi came back with the phone book. "Yep, he's listed. He's also listed as the proprietor of an antiques store along with a 'Tessa Noel.' "

"Tessa." It brought a lump to Duncan's throat. He missed her terribly, probably more than any other person he had ever cared about in his Immortal life.

"Thanks, Debi," Harrison said.

Suzanne motioned for Debi to sit down by her and listen to the discussion. Suzanne whispered what had happened so far to her.

"Umm, can I ask a question, Harrison?" Debi asked.

Suzanne frowned but Harrison smiled. "Sure, Debi."

"If you're Immortal and all, Duncan, and were around back then all grown-up, do you remember what happened in 1953 or 1938?"

Duncan searched his memories and could find nothing. "I don't remember anything about an alien invasion. I don't remember the radio broadcast, either."

"Interesting." Harrison commented. "It seems that most people don't remember the invasions. We've never been able to figure out exactly why, but we figure the aliens had something to do with it."

"So, do you believe me now. Can you untie me?"

Harrison looked to Kincaid. Kincaid nodded but not happily.

"Sure, have you out in a second." Harrison worked on the knots and quickly had them undone. Duncan got up and rubbed his wrists, trying to restore the circulation.

"Well, as someone who's seen history as it happened, I'm sure we all have a lot of question for you. Let me ask the first ... "

Whatever Harrison was saying did not even register with Duncan. A strong feeling washed over him - it was another Immortal.

Harrison wove his hand in front of Duncan's face. "Hello? MacLeod. Are you all right."

Duncan snapped out his momentary reverie. "Somebody's out there."

Kincaid sneered. "Of course there are people out there, but none of them can get in here."

"No, I mean, a somebody like me, an Immortal."

"Let's see what the exterior video cameras show." Harrison went over to the control board and played with a number of dials. An assorted of images appeared on the numerous video screens. Harrison pushed a few buttons and programmed the cameras to scan. Everyone studied the screens.

"Which one is it, Duncan?" Debi asked.

"I can't tell, not from a video image. I'll have to go out there.

Suddenly, Suzanne pushed Harrison aside and froze camera #5 on a trio of men right outside the entrance to the base. Two men in what appeared to be maintenance worker uniforms were escorting a third similarly clothed man. Suzanne punched in some more buttons and focused in on the third man.

"It's Uncle Hank! Harrison, it's General Wilson!"

Suzanne's exclamation startled everybody. Harrison explained to Duncan that they had given up hope for General Wilson a long time ago. However, there was no doubt about what was appearing on the screen. It was definitely General Wilson - in the flesh, if not the blood.

Kincaid looked closer at the men escorting Wilson. "Those look like aliens to me." He put down the katana and picked up his pistol. "Wilson's got some things to answer for. I'm going out."

Duncan wondered about the possibility of a coincidence - that his sensing of an Immortal and the re-appearance of the long-lost comrade were unrelated. Experience told Duncan better. "I'll go, too."

"Whatever." Kincaid strapped on some extra ammunition. He turned around. "The rest of you, stay here." Harrison and the others grudgingly agreed.

Duncan grabbed the katana and put it back in his coat. He hurried after Kincaid.

Duncan found Kincaid crouched behind a garbage dumpster, his gun trained on the aliens dragging Wilson along. Duncan could sense the other Immortal much more strongly now, but he was not close enough to pinpoint it yet. His gut feeling was that 'General Wilson' was the Immortal.

"What are you going to do, Kincaid? Just shoot them on the street?"

Kincaid scowled. "No, I'm waiting to see where they go."

Duncan nodded and watched the trio walk down the street. They went a few blocks and then turned around and came right back. It appeared to Duncan that they were looking for something. The trio then turned and headed into an alley.

Kincaid hopped to his feet. "Let's go! That alley's a dead end. We've got 'em." He took off with a sprint to follow them. Duncan followed his twin, but decided to take a more subtle approach. Instead of going in the alley, he decided to go into one of the apartment buildings that faced the alley. Kincaid, meanwhile, slowly stalked along the dark alley, staying close to the walls. He could see the aliens and 'Wilson' standing in front of the brick wall at the end of the alley.

Duncan worked his way through the building until he reached a door that exited to the alley. He looked through the screen door and could see Kincaid at one end and the group at the other. He quietly slipped his sword from his jacket to his hand and waited.

Kincaid hid behind an abandoned refrigerator. He peeked around the side and decided which alien he would take out first. The aliens and 'Wilson' started to walk back towards the alley. They had just about reached the door through which Duncan was peering. Kincaid leaped out from behind the refrigerator and fired at his target. The alien took the round directly in the chest. Glowing green blood spurted from the wound as the alien fell to the ground. 'Wilson' jerked his head to see the alien fall and then looked back at Kincaid. The other alien had immediately gone into his pocket and his hand had come out with an organic weapon wrapped around it. He raised his arm and pointed the weapon at his attacker. Kincaid was too quick and pulled the trigger first, but his gun jammed.

"Damn!"

Before the alien could fire, Duncan's sword burst through the screen door and then through the alien's side. Duncan twisted the sword once and the alien went limp. From this distance, there was no question in Duncan's mind that 'Wilson' was the Immortal. 'Wilson' looked up at Duncan with surprise on his face.

"I've not come for you!" Duncan tried to reassure 'Wilson'. "I won't take your head."

Kincaid rushed up and grabbed 'Wilson'. He turned to Duncan grudgingly expressed his gratitude. "Thanks." Then he looked at 'Wilson'. "We've got some talking to do, but first we have to get you safe. C'mon!"
Kincaid yanked 'Wilson's' arm and they took off running down the alley. Duncan pulled his sword out of the alien body. Already the alien was starting to dissolve. Duncan looked down at the green blood that coated his blade and then followed after Kincaid.

As he ran back towards the base, Duncan tried to describe to himself the strange sensation that he received from 'Wilson'. It seemed rather weak and different than any Immortal's he had ever felt before. It was certainly different than the sensation he got from Martan. He would try to make sense of it later back at the base.

"So Wilson is an Immortal, too?" Harrison asked Duncan.

"Yes, he is, but ..." Duncan answered.

"But what?"

"I'm not sure. It's probably nothing. Let's join the others."

Everybody else was huddled around 'General Wilson'. Suzanne had gotten him some normal clothes. "Wilson' was draped in a blanket and drinking some hot chicken broth as he tried to explain where he had been for the past few years.

"After they first captured me, they tried to find out what I knew about the Blackwood Project. I don't know what kind of inhuman devices they used on me, but I was eventually able to resist them. I think they found out something about the Project and also about you and your brother, Kincaid. Where is Max?"

"They got him. They knew where we were." was Kincaid blunt answer.

"Oh, Lord. I'm sorry, John. I really am," 'Wilson' sighed convincingly. He put his head in his hands. "It's my fault that Max is dead. John, what can I say?"

"Nothing, General. We go on. We get rid of the aliens. End of story." Kincaid's face showed no emotion save bitter determination.

"What were they doing with you outside?" Harrison asked.

"They were transferring me to another headquarters, I think. The guards got lost, I think. Then you two look-alikes showed up. You have my thanks, John, Duncan." 'Wilson' nodded to each in turn.

Duncan studied 'Wilson's' face. Wilson seemed to know who Duncan was, but Duncan could not place the face. 'Wilson' was familiar, but Duncan could not recall when or where he met 'Wilson'.

"I can't seem to remember when I met you, but I'm sure we have."

Wilson smiled "It was in London, in 1898."

"1898? London? That's when H.G. Wells' book was published. You can't mean ..." Harrison was realizing the possible implication of the situation.

Suddenly Duncan felt the rush of an impending flashback. This one was different, however. Duncan had not thought of these events since they happened. He could not figure out a reason why. Then a full realization of what the memory was struck him.

"Omigod, there was an invasion in 1898. How could I forget that?" Duncan began relating his memory of the events at the turn of the century...

London
1898

It had been some time since Duncan had last served in the British Army. Though it had been a number of years since the tragedy, he was still trying to escape the memory of the death of Little Deer and her tribe. He had remained for a while on the ancient holy ground, but now he had become restless. Despite Connor's urgings, he was not ready to get back into the Game. He figured that he could spend some time in the Army and hone some of his fighting skills. He was not likely to see any real action, but the training would be good for him and the strict, disciplined routine would keep his mind off of painful memories.

{The regiment of infantry was camped in the forest outside of Aldershot, England. The men were outfitted in small round caps, dirty red jackets unbuttoned, and showing their blue shirts, dark trousers, and boots coming to the calf.} The official designation was the Cardigan regiment. Duncan MacLeod nonchalantly flicked little pieces of wood into the campfire burning in front of him. He looked up at his comrade sitting across the campfire from him.

"So how long have ye been with the outfit, Fraser?"

The scruffy faced, red-haired man named Donald Fraser responded gruffly with a strong Scottish accent "Oh, about two years? What was yer name again, recruit?"

"MacLeod. Duncan MacLeod."

"MacLeod? That reminds me of something. My grandfather used to tell me stories about our family. There was one that he told about a battle with the MacLeods. It was in the sixteenth century."

"1536." Duncan specified.

"Aye, so you know it then. Then you must also know that my clan sent yours back to Glennfinnan with their tails between their legs."

"That's not the way I heard it." Duncan replied as he tossed some more pieces of wood into the fire.

Fraser stood up and pointed at Duncan, "No? Then prithee tell me how your clan has revised the history, then. Me grandfather has a book of Fraser history that's been passed down from generation to generation and that's how it happened. What do you got, an eye-witness account?"

"Something like that." Duncan smiled as he remembered Connor's tale of the battle.

Fraser was about to ask Duncan what he meant by that when their commanding officer, Sergeant Keith O'Leary, came racing over to the campsite. He began barking orders to all of the soldiers gathered there. He made his way over to Duncan and Fraser.

"Get packed up and ready to go. We're moving out."

"Where are we going, sergeant?" Duncan asked

"Over to Horsell Commons. They got some trouble there. Now move it!"

"Yes, sir!" the two soldiers replied. Fraser once again was about to ask Duncan about his cryptic statement when Duncan bounded off to where some of his equipment was stacked.

"When this is over, MacLeod, we'll find out who's telling the truth. That's to be sure," Fraser decided.

{A day had passed and Duncan MacLeod was standing sentinel under a railway bridge near the common. The regiment had heard some reports about what was happening in the area. Apparently there were some strange things that came out of the meteor and some people were killed. A civilian walked up to the bridge and talked with the soldiers for a time; he told them of his sight of the Martians on the previous evening. They told the civilian that they did not know who had authorized the movements of the troops; their idea was that a dispute had arisen at the Horse Guards. The civilian described the Heat-Ray to them, and the members of the Cardigan Regiment began to argue among themselves about what to do.

"Crawl up under cover and rush 'em, say I," said O'Leary.

"Get aht!," said another. "What's cover against this 'ere 'eat? Sticks to cook yer! What we got to do is to go as near as the ground'll let us, and then drive a trench."

"Blow yer trenches! You always want trenches; you ought to ha" been born a rabbit Snippy."

"Ain't they got any necks, then?" said Fraser.}

Duncan was momentarily worried about why Fraser made mention of that point.

The civilian repeated his description of the Martians.

{"Octopuses," said Fraser, "that's what I calls 'em. Talk about fishers of men--fighters of fish it is this time!"

"It ain't no murder killing beasts like that," said O'Leary

"Why not shell the darned things strite off and finish 'em?" said Fraser "You carn tell what they might do."

"Where's your shells?" said O'Leary. "There ain't no time. Do it in a rush, that's my tip, and do it at once."}

The soldiers continued to argue amongst themselves about what approach to take. Everyone that the opinions of the others were complete idiocy. The discussion devolved into a shouting and name-calling affair. Duncan decided not to become embroiled in the 'debate' and turned to the civilian "I'm sorry, but I didn't get your name?"

The civilian offered his hand to Duncan "It's Herbert. Herbert George Wells"

Duncan shook the civilian's hand "Nice to meet you, Herbert. I'm Duncan MacLeod."

Duncan and Herbert exchanged pleasantries and proceeded to discuss the current situation. Herbert told Duncan about his literary aspirations. Herbert thought it might be a good idea to write a biography of Duncan.

"We could call it 'The Immortal Soldier'. A story of the common man in the military," Herbert suggested. "I'd have to talk to your family and get some background information about you."

Duncan was about to object when he felt the presence of another Immortal. Before he could do anything, Sergeant O'Leary came barking orders for the troops to move out. The Cardigan Regiment was going to engage the Martians. Duncan looked back hopelessly as they marched out, trying to pinpoint the other Immortal. He saw a group of officers in the distance. Could the other Immortal be one of them?

"Well, good-bye, Herbert. Lots of luck in your writing career," Duncan shouted back as the Cardigan Regiment stepped up to double time.

"Thanks. I'll catch up with you after this 'war' is over. In the meantime, how do I get in touch with your family?" Herbert yelled back.

"You'd need a machine that could travel in time to do that," Duncan responded.

"A time machine?" Herbert hummed. "That could be the basis of a good piece of fiction."

Duncan was not sure of where he and his comrades were. The route that they had marched had had no illusions of being a direct one. As far as he could tell, they had marched about ten miles to this meadow in the middle of nowhere. The tall green grass of the meadow was silent and motionless in the windless air. In fact, the only sound that could be heard was the slight humming emanating from the crater.

The Cardigan Regiment took up its position near the landing site of a Martian craft. It was deathly quiet. No Martian activity could be seen in the area. The men of the regiment gripped their rifles tightly as they waited for what they knew would be the inevitable order - to charge. That is what the regiment did best, after all.

Fraser crawled over to where Duncan was settled. "So, laddie. Do ye wanna place a wager on which of us kills more of them Martians?"

"What makes you think we're going to kill any? You heard the reports. The last attack was wiped out in seconds," Duncan exclaimed.

"Ah, but they weren't the Cardigan Regiment then, were they?" Fraser slugged Duncan slightly on the shoulder. "They dinna have Highlanders like us fighting then, did they?"

Before Duncan could answer, the call to charge resounded through the meadow.

"Let's have at them, laddie!" Fraser yelled as he bolted towards the crater. Duncan soon followed but with a decidedly lower level of enthusiasm.

Before Duncan or any of the other soldiers had made it halfway to the crater, the device that they were warned about - the Heat Ray - appeared, rising above the edge of the crater. It began firing with methodical precision at the onrushing members of the Cardigan Regiment. The Heat-Ray hit its first target head-on, and the unlucky victim promptly burst into flames. After the first few blasts, the charge was broken and the Cardigans began a hasty retreat, looking for some type of cover in the flat field.

Duncan was running rapidly when he looked back to see where Fraser was. As he turned, Fraser was struck by the red beam of the Heat-Ray. In mere seconds, Fraser was reduced to a smoldering corpse. Duncan stopped and stood aghast at the carnage that the Martians had wrought so quickly in the meadow.

Duncan's terror was multiplied tenfold when he saw the massive metallic tripod climb out of the crater. Its Heat-Ray projector continued to blast, starting up fires all over the field. Duncan had never seen something so impressive and terrifying in all of his Immortal years.

A second and then a third tripod followed the first out of the crater. They quickly joined the first unit and the trio began marching out at a rapid pace, their legs taking huge strides at a time. There was no way for Duncan to outrun these mechanical monstrosities. He saw one of the tripods bring its Heat-Ray projector to bear on him. Duncan steeled himself for death. The red beam zipped through the air and cut through Duncan's chest. Duncan slumped to the ground, his eyes frozen in a deathly tranquillity.

After a few minutes, Duncan's body shook as life returned to it. He looked up to see a black shape hovering over him. At first he thought it might be one of the Martians coming to finish him off. His lungs still hurt from the wound and he began coughing uncontrollably. His ears were ringing so he could not understand the sounds that the figure was making. All of a sudden he realized that he was also sensing the presence of another Immortal. He kicked what he figured was a leg belonging to the figure and clumsily got himself to his feet. The figure stumbled back a bit but did not fall. Duncan squinted hard at the figure as he tried to make out who or what it was. As he did this his hand went to the sword at his side.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod., and I fear no man or Martian." Duncan defiantly declared as he drew his sword.

"Easy there, Scotsman. I'm not here for your head," the figure responded in decidedly British-sounding English. Duncan's vision began to clear up and he was now certain that the figure was indeed a human. His head, however, hurt very severely and he toppled to the ground.

The man went over to Duncan and propped his head up with Duncan's field pack. At this close distance, Duncan could now see that the man was also a soldier, an officer by the look of the uniform.

"I was about to say 'at-ease, soldier' but it looks like you anticipated that order," the man stated with what looked like a smirk through Duncan's blurry eyes.

"I'm Brigadier-General Marvin, in charge of operations here, and even if I wanted to take your head, I don't have the time. I've got a bigger problem with these Martians here."

"Sir?" Duncan asked.

"Yes, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, these things really are Martians. And we have to defeat them and soon. The world's in a precarious position as it is, what with all the alliances that have been forged. We don't need to worry about aliens, too."

Marvin rose from Duncan's side and began pacing as he thought out loud. "This is all the world needs - an outside threat. It's just the thing to spur these industrial types to build ever more destructive weapons. Coupling that with the tenuous political entanglements that Europe has engineered, it could be real trouble. But how to deal with it, how to deal with it?"

Duncan still felt that his brain was rattled somewhat and continued to address Marvin with military respect, "Sir, exactly what are you talking about?"

Marvin interrupted himself to respond to Duncan "The Martians, of course. Ah, how quickly they forget." Marvin snapped his fingers "Forgetting, that's it. But how?"

Duncan slumped back on the field pack. The pain he felt in his head was more sever than even the worst hangover he had ever had in his Immortal life. Part of him felt that whatever was going on was not real, that he would soon wake up from this strange dream."

Marvin continued to discuss things with himself. "I can't exactly go around and hypnotize everyone. I have the skill just not the time. Ha ha ha, that's a funny one, isn't it MacLeod? An Immortal not having enough time. Ha ha ha."

"I'll need to erase this event from the world's memory. That is, assuming, we defeat these aliens and there's a world left. I need to reach the masses. I can certainly take care of the military, but what of the general public? How do I reach them."

Marvin sat upon a tree stump, a victim of the alien heat ray, and assumed the Thinker's position. "How to reach them? What did that Marx fellow say. 'Religion is the opiate of the masses'? I can't exactly go into every church and preach, can I?

Marvin stood up and spread his arms apart "Listen unto me, people of the world. The Lord has revealed unto me that the Martians did not come in this year of our Lord, 1898." Marvin began to laugh at himself. "No, that most assuredly would not work. It would take too long."

"Perhaps I could apply some of the subliminal message concepts I've developed and include them in rewrites of the Bible or Koran or Pentateuch or whatever?" Marvin shook his head "No, it would take too long. I can't rewrite the Good Books."

Marvin snapped his fingers again. "But a good book, that could work. A book written about this event, but as a work of fiction. With some subtle manipulation, I could get the world to believe that this was only a work of fiction. The fiction would be the truth, and the truth would be fiction. Ironic, isn't it, MacLeod."

Marvin went back over to the reclining MacLeod "Who was that civilian you were talking to, when you were on guard duty? I've seen him before. I think he wants to be a writer. What was his name, man?"

Duncan managed to recall the name despite the ringing in his head "Herbert George Wells."

"Ah, Herbert George Wells. Once this is over, I will find you and we will write the greatest novel of all time, only the world will not recognize what it truly is. As for you, MacLeod, you must understand that I must ensure that my plan works. As I said earlier, I will not take your head, but I cannot allow you to have knowledge of this endeavor. I know that the memory of Immortals is very good. It will take some effort to make you forget." Marvin pulled a pocketwatch out of his jacket. "Look into the watch, MacLeod, look into it. You are feeling very sleepy..."

Duncan could not fight the pain that still resounded through his head along with the powerful mesmerism that Marvin was applying. His eyes closed and he fell into a hypnotic trance.

"Good, MacLeod. Now you will forget everything that happened here..."

'General Wilson' chuckled to himself as he remembered the portion of the conversation in 1898 about why he engineered the "forgetting" of the first invasion. Duncan's recollection had included the portion about using the book as a cover-up but not his reason behind it.

'General Wilson' added "I was in charge of all military documentation relating to the invasion. Anything relating to the invasion in the press had to go through my office. With some subtle adjustments to the text, I was able to put most of the populace into a very receptive state for the publication of the book."

"Why did you do it? Why did you make everyone forget the invasion?" Harrison demanded.

'Wilson' feigned a very exhausted look. "It's a long story. I'll tell you in the morning. I really need to get some rest."

Suzanne agreed "Yes, it's been a rough day for you, Uncle. Let me show you to a room where you can sleep."

'Wilson' kissed Suzanne on the cheek, "Thanks, Suzanne, you always were my favorite niece."

"It's been a long day for all of us. Let's all get some rest." Harrison said.

"If it's all the same to you, I'll stay up a while longer." Duncan mentioned.

Kincaid objected "Oh no you don't. I'm not letting you have free reign around here. You'll sleep in my quarters. I'll take guard duty, in case those aliens managed to follow us here."

"Suit yourself. Good night." Duncan said and then went to find an empty cot somewhere. He wandered around until he found what was undoubtedly Kincaid's room. The Spartan nature of the room gave away the identity of its owner.

"He won't be needing his bed, and it looks comfortable." Duncan thought to himself as he crawled into the bed and wrapped the covers over himself.

Duncan had been sleeping relatively peacefully when he was suddenly awakened. It was no noise that had woken him but rather the nearness of another Immortal. He looked out of the mesh that made up the walls of the room and saw 'Wilson' moving silently over to where Harrison's room was. Duncan pretended to be still asleep as he wondered what Wilson could be doing. Duncan's gut feeling that Wilson was up to no good, so he reached under the bed and grabbed his sword and stealthily followed after Wilson to Harrison's room.

At the same time, Debi had gotten out of bed. She was extremely thirsty and was making her way to the kitchen to get some orange juice. She saw that both Duncan and 'Wilson' were headed towards Harrison's room. She decided to see what was going on.

Duncan found 'Wilson' poised over Harrison's sleeping form, his sword ready to deliver a fatal blow. Duncan dove into the room and brought up his katana to block the strike. The blade caught 'Wilson's' a mere inch above Harrison's neck.

"What the hell are you doing?!?" Duncan demanded to know.

Debi stopped at the doorway and screamed. Harrison woke up to see the swords dangerously close to his head. There was no way for him to move without losing his head in the process. 'Wilson' exerted his strength, trying to force the blades down onto Harrison. Duncan strained against his opponent, but 'Wilson' had the advantage of better leverage. Duncan thought quickly and kicked 'Wilson' in the knee. Wilson eased up and Duncan was able to push Wilson's blade away from Harrison.

"Shall we take this elsewhere?" 'Wilson' asked.

"Wherever you want." Duncan replied.

'Wilson' ran off at a rapid pace, pushing down Debi as he made his escape. Duncan chased after him, dodging the objects that 'Wilson' knocked to the floor as he fled. 'Wilson' dashed through the maze of tunnels that made up a major portion of the base. He finally stopped in a rather large tunnel and faced MacLeod who was about twenty yards behind. "Shall we?"

Duncan assumed a defensive pose, his sword held closely to his body. "By all means."

"Hyah!" 'Wilson' took a large step and swung down hard at Duncan. It was blocked easily by the Highlander. 'Wilson' followed it up with another swing which Duncan had anticipated. He caught the blade with the side of his katana, and kicked the knee of 'Wilson'.

Meanwhile, Suzanne and Kincaid had made it to Harrison's quarters. Having convinced them that he was uninjured, he led her and Kincaid through the tunnels as they tried to follow the sounds of the clashing. Suzanne made Debi stay behind, "Don't follow. We don't know what we're dealing with."

'Wilson' stumbled back and readied himself to attack again. They probed each other's defenses for a minute or two, giving up ground and then reclaiming it. Eventually they locked up swords and Duncan pushed 'Wilson' to the ground with his left hand.

'Wilson' got up and ran at Duncan, his sword held in both hands, drawn back like a baseball hitter would a bat, waiting for a pitch. Duncan stood waiting for him.

"Wilson' took a giant swing which Duncan deftly ducked under. As 'Wilson' ran by, Duncan swung back and cut a vicious gash across the back of 'Wilson's' neck. 'Wilson' took a few more steps and stumbled to the ground. Duncan stood over the form of 'Wilson' as it lay wriggling, face down on the cold metal of the tunnel. He grasped his katana with both hands and declared, "There can be only one."

Just then Suzanne, Harrison, and Kincaid arrived in the tunnel.

"MacLeod! Don't." Suzanne screamed.

Duncan turned to look at her and 'Wilson' turned over and kicked him in the stomach. Duncan gasped for breath. That managed to give 'Wilson' the opportunity to roll out from under Duncan and grab his sword again. He took off to the end of the tunnel and took a right. Duncan was right on his heels.

Duncan got his wind back and went running after 'Wilson.' He could still sense his presence, though it still felt strange. The others stayed behind for the moment.

"I couldn't let MacLeod kill Uncle Hank," Suzanne cried.

"He tried to kill me, Suzanne!" Harrison retorted.

"What the hell's going on here?" Kincaid wanted to know.

"I'm not sure," Harrison said, "but I don't think that's General Wilson. He tried to kill me, for crying out loud."

Suzanne could not find any words to say. She could not believe it. Debi slid to a stop and found the three of them gathered in the tunnel. She walked up to her mother and took her hand.

"It's true, Mom. Uncle Hank tried to kill Harrison."

"Let's go find out why," Harrison suggested.

Duncan found 'Wilson' in another tunnel. 'Wilson' had trapped himself in a tunnel that was closed at the far end with a brick wall. 'Wilson' felt recovered from the wound Duncan had inflicted earlier and approached with an evil grin on his face.

"Time to die, MacLeod. You won't get a fourth reprieve from me."

"Fourth reprieve? What the hell are you talking about?"

'Wilson' did not answer; instead he swung viciously at Duncan. Duncan dodged and blocked until he saw his opportunity. He took it at delivered a savage cut to 'Wilson's' mid-section. 'Wilson' sank to his knees and his sword rattled on the floor.

Duncan prepared himself for the killing blow. The trio of alien fighters found him in mid-swing.

"No, MacLeod!" Suzanne screamed again, but it was too late.

'Wilson's' head tumbled to the ground and rolled for a few feet. Duncan took a few steps from the headless bodied and steeled himself for the inevitable Quickening. He waited ... and waited ... and waited. No Quickening occurred, not even the slightest hint of one. MacLeod was dumbfounded. This had never occurred before. He had no explanation for it. Then he thought about what Harrison had said during his interrogation. These aliens could clone human beings, apparently they could clone Immortals as well.

Harrison and Kincaid went to inspect the body of the dead clone. Suzanne buried her head in her hands.

Duncan put his sword and tried to calm Suzanne down. "It wasn't General Wilson; it was a clone, Suzanne."

Harrison wondered, "How can you be sure, MacLeod? Clones always dissolve when they're dead, just like the aliens themselves."

"Trust me. If it were the real General Wilson, there would have been some fireworks here."

Mana looked up from the console. It was clear to all that the clone of General Wilson had been killed. The mission was unsuccessful

"Should we begin preparations to make another clone?" she asked.

Malzor thought about it for a moment and then replied "No, we have learned enough from the original. I doubt that we would be able to fool Blackwood and his allies again. No, we will simply terminate the original, immediately."

"As you wish."

"Were you able to ascertain the clone's position." Malzor asked hopefully.

"No, once they went underground, we could not pinpoint its position. Their base could be anywhere within a five-mile radius. Additionally, the underground structures are like a maze. We would never find them."

Malzor grunted and walked away. Another of his plans had met with failure. He had sacrificed two soldiers and gained nothing. The Morthrain numbers were continuously dwindling. They had only been successful in producing one new offspring since they arrived on this planet.

Back in the science wing of the Morthrain base, Mana adjusted the organic circuitry to send a lethal charge through the captive General Wilson. Mana thought about how much she would like to study this intriguing human. She wanted to know why it took so long to clone him. It would be a fascinating endeavor, but she knew she would not have the opportunity. Malzor had enacted strict regulations against any efforts that did not directly coincide with the takeover of the planet. She knew that he would consider any type of analysis on the human to be a waste of time and resources.

"A pity, "she thought, but she had her orders.

Mana activated the sequence and her subject screamed as the charge passed through him. After a few moments of agony, he fell silent. His body convulsed for a few seconds and then became deathly still. He was dead. Mana motioned for a pair of guards to come over and remove the body from the cloning chamber. They carefully detached the membranes and tentacles that held the now-dead human in the chamber. When he had been freed from the device, the guards took him away to dispose of him.

The guards dragged Wilson unceremoniously through the complex. The disposal device was on the other end of the base. When the guards had traveled about halfway through the complex, Wilson suddenly jerked in the hands.

"Did you feel that?" one guard asked the other.

"Must be just a nerve reflex or something. Mana pumped enough energy through this human to kill a dozen of them." The other responded.

However, it was not a 'nerve reflex or something'. Wilson was alive and aware but continued to play dead. He took quick peeks at his surroundings and listened closely to his surroundings. It seemed to him that there were only the two carrying him in his immediate vicinity. He bided his time until he could be sure that he could escape.

The guards reached their destination and closed the opening to the disposal room.

"Nobody likes this place," one guard mentioned.

"Let's just get it over with. I hope he doesn't take too much energy," the other answered.

The guards dropped Wilson to the flow as they made preparations to the equipment. They paid absolutely no attention to their supposedly deceased captive. Wilson quietly looked around. He could hear sounds from outside the room, noises that sounded like they were generated by human sources, not these strange alien sounds that emanated from everywhere. He deduced that he was near the edge of the base, perhaps outside lay just on the other side of the wall. This was his opportunity. He slowly crawled over to one of the guards.

The guard looked up to his partner "I'm finished over heeeeee-" He was interrupted by the fact that Wilson struck a vicious blow to his head. The guard crumpled to the floor while Wilson stared at the green blood was now on his hand.

The other guard turned to face his partner and instead saw Wilson staring into his face from about a foot away. Wilson delivered a mean head-butt to the guard. The alien staggered and Wilson let loose a kick to the solar plexus. The alien doubled over and Wilson finished him by driving his knee into the aliens nose as his elbow drove down on the back of the alien's head.

Wilson tried to figure out his next move. His memory was very hazy. He was not sure of how long he had been in this alien lair. He wished that he had his sword. Somehow he remembered that the aliens had given his sword to something - a clone. He questioned his memory - a clone? He shook his head a few times, trying to clear the cobwebs. Slowly he noticed a soft, subtle feeling in his brain. It was not the presence of an Immortal, he was sure of that. The feeling was completely different, but it called to him. As he walked towards the wall, he could feel the sensation grow stronger, almost imperceptibly, but nonetheless stronger. He studied the organic wall for a while until he sized up where the weak spot was. With a well-placed blow, a hole was torn into the wall and Wilson jumped through it. He took off running, trying to follow the signal that was gnawing at his brain and hoping that he would not run into another Immortal until he found a sword, preferably his own.

Inside the base, Ceto saw the human captive escape. He had asked Mana on a number of occasions why this human was so important that they had tried to clone him for so many years. Mana would not tell him, citing Malzor's orders. Ceto concluded that this human must be quite dangerous, most likely part of the group of humans to which Debi belonged. It had been some time since he had last seen Debi. He would have to arrange a meeting soon so he could tell her about this development. In the meantime, Ceto decided to walk away and not report what he had seen in the Disposal Room to Malzor. The Disposal Room was a restricted area, and Ceto did not want to give Malzor any provocation to sentence him to the punishment device again.

Wilson cautiously stumbled through the streets of the city. He had managed to 'convince' one of the local residents to part with his clothes. In the dirty, tattered rags that he wore now, Wilson felt very inconspicuous albeit uncomfortable. The feeling in his brain was still pulling at him taking him farther into the city. Wilson quickly lost track of how many blocks he had covered, how many times he circled back to somewhere he he had been before, how many times he ran into dead ends. Eventually, he came to an alley where he felt that the sensation was the strongest. He scoured the area, trying to find something that could explain the feeling. There was nothing there. Then Wilson saw a manhole cover. He wondered if the source of the feeling be down there. He decided to investigate. He lifted to manhole cover as silently as possible and slipped down into the sewers.

Wilson wandered around the sewers until he came upon a tunnel. The feeling was growing ever stronger. He slowly made his way down the tunnel, keeping all of his senses peeled. However, he failed to notice the light-beam that shone across the entrance to the tunnel.

Harrison raced to the control panel to determine what the cause of the alarm was. He activated a computer screen and a diagram of the underground complex appeared. Harrison zoomed in on the flashing area until he could pinpoint the cause of the alarm.

"Oh, great," he exclaimed.

Suzanne looked up from the medical attention she was giving Duncan. "What's the problem?"

Duncan also looked up. He had told Suzanne that he was fine, that his wounds would heal soon, but she would not listen to his arguments.

"It's in the tunnel we just came from. Where Duncan decapitated that clone."

Suzanne turned to Duncan. "You cut off its head. That means it's dead, truly dead, right?"

"That's what I figured. Then again, I've never taken an alien clone's head before," Duncan replied.

"Just great," Kincaid said in exasperation. "Now we have a headless clone who's going to lead the aliens right here. Well, not if I can help it."

Kincaid threw on his leather jacket and yanked an assault rifle from a locker. "This thing won't leave the tunnels. that's for sure."

Harrison interjected, "It may not be the Wilson clone. It could be something else. Maybe just a rat or other rodent."

Duncan jumped to his feet. "Too coincidental, Harrison. I'll come along, Kincaid."

Wilson finally came to the source of the sensation it was the slowly dissolving form of his clone. Wilson looked at it with disgust. He would have revenge upon the aliens that produced it. It might take some time, but Wilson had plenty of that. He looked around and found something that greatly encouraged him - his sword. He held the sword gingerly in his hands, reveling in all of the battles that it had seen him through over the centuries, the heads it had taken. He was shaken from his reminiscing by the sensation of another Immortal.

Duncan felt it too as he and Kincaid popped into the tunnel at the other end. They saw Wilson, standing there apparently alive again, and stopped in their tracks. Duncan looked at Kincaid and Kincaid looked back at him. The thought that the clone was alive and reconstituted quickly vanished when they saw that the decapitated body still lay on the ground. Then they knew that this was the real thing, or perhaps another clone.

"Hello, Kincaid, MacLeod." Wilson took a couple of swings in the air with his sword. "I believe this belongs to me."

After some discussion, both Duncan and the members of the Blackwood Project were convinced that this Wilson was the genuine article. Wilson told them what he could remember about being captured and cloned, but his memory was very hazy about the entire ordeal.

"We're just glad you're alive, Uncle Hank," Suzanne said.

Duncan jumped into the conversation. "Your clone referred to you giving me a fourth reprieve. But we only met once, during the invasion of 1898. I've never seen you since, and you've certainly have never been in a position to take my head and didn't."

"Ah, think about it MacLeod. Three reprieves. You all know now that there was an invasion of 1898. So ...?"

Harrison came up with the answer after a moment's thought. "The other invasions! In 1938 and 1953. That has to be it."

Wilson smiled. "Correct. Very astute of you."

Duncan was unconvinced. "I don't think so. I wasn't involved in 1938 or 1953. I'm sure of it."

"Then use that Immortal elephant-like memory and tell me where you were at the end of October, 1938?" Wilson asked.

"I was, um, I was in, no" Duncan stuttered. "I was over by, no that's not it either."

"Let me help you." Wilson offered. "Princeton, New Jersey. Carl Phillips. Professor Richard Pearson. Ring any bells." Wilson snapped his fingers.

"Oh, Lord. I was there. I was in New Jersey ..."

"Zo, vat do you shtudy, Herr MacLeod?" asked the man behind the desk. He was wearing a grey sweater that was partially tucked into his pants. His white hair looked as if it had not been combed recently. His thick mustache gave him a genial, grandfatherly appearance.

"I'm interested in history mostly, Professor Einstein. I was just passing through the area and decided to visit this institute about which I've heard so much. I've met a few of the people who work here and I was hoping to catch up with them." Duncan answered. He was dressed in a very spiffy suit with a bow-tie. He fit in perfectly with all the other intellectuals running around the institute. "However, I guess I arrived a little bit late." He looked at his watch. It was about eight o'clock in the evening. He had hoped to see Professor Arkin, the man Amanda had helped in smuggling out of Germany back in 1936.

"Ach, for vone so young to be interested in history. Now an old man like me, I have seen a lot of history." Einstein laughed.

Duncan laughed along with the scientific genius.

"I hear you have some intriguing theories. If you have some time, I'd be interested in hearing them," Duncan stated politely.

Einstein began to say something when a loud whining noise could be heard from outside. When it stopped, the entire building was shaken violently. Books dropped out of the bookcase before the bookcase itself crashed to the floor. Einstein tried to keep his balance, but stepped on one of the books littering the floor and fell down. MacLeod managed to keep his balance as he wondered what was happening.

The building stopped shaking and Duncan helped Einstein back to his feet. "Was that an earthquake, Professor?"

"Ach, no, I don't zink so. It vas probably dose physicists over at Jadwin Hall. Dey really should let me verk over dere, too. Now, I vas beginning to tell you about relativity, nicht wahr?"

"Jawohl, Herr Professor."

"Ach, you speak German very good. Mit no accent either. It usually takes years und years to shpeak German zo gut. Now first ve begin mit an inertial reference frame ..." Einstein began scribbling on the blackboard as well as talking to it instead of Duncan.

After about twenty minutes, the blackboard was covered with Einstein scrawls. Duncan had been lost after about ten seconds, but he made no motion to interrupt the genius. Not that it would have mattered, Duncan figured. Einstein would have continued even if Duncan had left the room. Duncan smiled at Einstein as the scientist turned around from the chalkboard with a big grin on his face.

"Zo you zee, Herr MacLeod, dat relativity is vewy special. Ha ha ha."

Duncan just nodded along and smiled. Apparently, Einstein had made a joke, but it went right over Duncan's head.

"Now let me show you zomething else." Einstein began drawing on the blackboard. "Suppose I vere to go on a rocket ship und fly avay at der shpeed of light, ja? Venn I return, a few days later for me, everybody dat I knew vould be dead. You see, hundreds of years vould haff gone by on Earth. Even a youngster like you vould be long gone."

"You'd be surprised." Duncan whispered to himself.

One of the other visiting scientists suddenly popped his head into the office "Professor Einstein, turn on the radio. You won't believe what's going on. Listen to the news report."

Einstein walked over from his blackboard to the large wooden radio set against the wall. He tried to turn the radio on to no avail. He began twisting the dials in every direction. He smacked it a few times but no sound came from the device.

Duncan smiled, "Professor, if I may?" Duncan went over to the outlet and plugged the radio's cord into it.

The radio came to life with a high-pitched noise that gradually faded, allowing the actual radio broadcast to be heard. Einstein tried to adjust the volume but instead changed the channel.

"Ach, dat vas shtupid of me." Einstein tuned the radio into a station, turning the correct button this time.

The radio began to crackle and then the voice of the announcer could be heard.

[---This is Carl Phillips, reporting from the Princeton Observatory in Princeton, New Jersey. With me is the noted astronomer, Professor Richard Pearson. We're here to talk to Professor Pearson about the strange things that seem to be happening on the planet Mars. Professor Pearson ...?"---]

Pearson then gave his views about the strange phenomenon that observatories around the world had reported as occurring on Mars. He described his views about the 'canals' of Mars and hypotheses about the regularly-occurring 'volcanic' activity reported upon the Martian surface.

Duncan wondered if the strange activity had something to do with the tremor. "Professor? Let's go to the observatory."

Einstein responded, "Nein, I'm zorry, but I'm zupposed to go to New York early tomorrow morning und I need my shleep. You can go vitout me. It vas very nice to meet you, Herr MacLeod. Shtop by any time."

Duncan shook Einstein's hand and rushed off to his car park outside. He quickly tuned the radio to the station and listened as Pearson was still describing his opinions about Mars. Phillips then reported that Pearson interrupted by a messenger delivering him a cable. Pearson paused for a few moments and then Phillips came on the air.

[---Excuse me, but I've just been handed a cable that was delivered to Professor Pearson. It's from the Chief of the Astronomical Division, Lloyd Gray, at the Natural History Museum in New York. 9:15 PM Eastern Standard Time. Seismograph registered a shock of almost earthquake proportions within a twenty mile radius of Princeton. Please investigate. Signed Lloyd Grey, Chief of the Astronomical Division, Natural Museum History Museum of New York.---]

Duncan pulled to a stop outside of the Observatory. He locked the car and walked quickly inside. He could see a man that he assumed was Carl Phillips holding a microphone and another man in a white labcoat standing nearby.

[Phillips inquired, "Professor Pearson, could this occurrence possibly have something to do with the explosions observed on the planet Mars?"]

Duncan smiled. He had still not lost his touch for the story, though it had been a while since he had last run a newspaper. He was gratified that he still had a nose for news.

[Pearson responded, "Hardly, Mr. Phillips. This is probably a meteorite of unusual size and its arrival at this particular time is merely a coincidence. However, we shall conduct a search as soon as daylight permits."]

Duncan had been around long enough that there were not many things that were 'merely a coincidence.' Even though he was not a world famous astronomer, his instincts warned him that the events were related.

Carl Phillips thanked Professor Pearson for his time and signed off. Duncan took this as a cue to approach the men. He began discussing with them the current events. Pearson was thoroughly unconvinced that there was any cause for alarm. The discussion was interrupted by another messenger bringing a cable. Pearson read it and informed Duncan and Phillips about its contents, "It says that the state police have located the source of the shock. Something came down over at the Wilmot Farm in Grovers Mill."

Duncan thought about it for a second, "Grovers Mill. That's about eleven miles from here. I'll take you there. My car is parked outside."

Phillips said, "All right, let me just get my equipment loaded and we can go. You're coming. Professor?"

"Most assuredly, Mr. Phillips."

Duncan drove with almost wild abandon to Grovers Mill. He pulled the car to a screeching stop at the Wilmot Farm.

Phillips hurried to get out of the car and begin broadcasting again, "Thanks, Mr. MacLeod."

Duncan stopped the car a few blocks away from the farm. There were a few dozen cars parked along the road and signs of activity on the farm. Pearson and Phillips thanked Duncan for the lift and rushed down the street to the farm. Duncan locked the car and followed them.

Upon arriving at the farm, Duncan could see all sorts of people milling about. There were police officers, politicians, and members of the local citizenry. The center of everyone's attention was the metallic cylinder half-buried in the ground. It certainly was not a meteorite; it was definitely manufactured. A slight humming sound could be heard, seemingly emanating from inside the object. Duncan began talking to some of the locals to find out what had been happening.

Duncan turned back to the driveway to see a number of high ranking military officials arrive in a fleet of automobiles. He was about to return to talking to some of the locals about what they knew when he felt the strong feeling of an Immortal's presence. He looked again at the assembly of officials and saw one of them look back at him. Duncan did not recognize the face. From the way that the group was discussing things, it appeared that the Immortal in question was in charge. Duncan began to walk over to that crowd when he saw a pair of people moving towards the buried cylinder. Carl Phillips began talking frantically into his microphone describing the events as they happened.

[A police captain and an officer approached the cylinder cautiously. The captain carried a white flag tied to a pole. They were obviously to show peaceful intentions. Duncan wondered what the occupants inside of the cylinder would make of it. The pair continued to make their way to the pit that contained the alien craft.]

[Phillips was describing the action into the microphone, "Waitaminute. Something's happening. Some shape is rising out of the pit. Some kind of mechanical device. What's that? There's a jet of flames springing out of it, leaps out right at the advancing men. It strikes them head on. Good Lord, they're turning into flame. The flames are spreading everywhere. The gas tanks. The gas tanks in the automobiles. Explosions and fire everywhere. Coming this way now, it's about twenty yards to my right ..."]

The fire burned through the wire leading to Phillips microphone, rendering it useless. The weapon began pivoting back and forth as if it were scanning the area. Then it resumed firing indiscriminately. People scrambled for cover. Carl Phillips was yelling frantically into his useless microphone when he was struck by an energy beam and promptly erupted in flame. Duncan turned to see the reporter be reduced to a pile of ash in a matter of seconds when a ray blast tore through his own chest. Duncan looked at the hole in his chest and collapsed to the ground. As his eyes slowly closed, he could see the aliens continued to blast the farm and the people gathered there. He could feel the Immortal escaping with some of the other military officials, and then he could feel nothing at all....

A few hours later at a nearby farm, a temporary command post had been established. The officials that had escaped gathered around the commanding officer who quickly sat down at the desk and was handed a telephone. The officer said "Yes" a number of times and signed off "I'll do my best, Mr. Governor." He hung up the phone and handed it back to and aide.

"Get me a live feed on all of the local radio networks. I have an announcement to make."

The aide made a few hurried calls and then returned the phone to the officer, "It's all set up, Brigadier-General, sir."

[The officer nodded and began speaking, "This is Brigadier-General Montgomery Smith, commanding officer of the State Militia at Trenton. I have been requested by the Governor of New Jersey to place the counties of Mercer and Middlesex, as far west as Princeton and east to Jamesburg, under martial law. No one will be permitted to enter the area except by special pass issued by state or military authorities. Four companies of State Militia are proceeding from Trenton to Grovers Mill to aid in the evacuation of homes within range of military operations."]

As Smith hung up the phone, reports began piling up on his desk.. He read them quickly, and then handed them off to his subordinates. The fires that were ignited by the Martian attack were ravaging the countryside. The combined fire departments of Mercer County were trying to put out the blaze. Smith put down the reports and picked up his pipe that was partially buried under the paper that was quickly accumulating on the desk.

"Why didn't someone tell the fire departments that they're in the middle of war zone?" he asked as he lit the pipe and took a few puffs.

None of the subordinates had an answer. A private rushed into the command post and saluted Smith.

"What is it, soldier?" Smith puffed.

"Fire departments report that the fire in almost completely extinguished. The things apparently let them put out the fire. They count about forty dead, six of them state troopers. They also found a survivor."

"A survivor?" Smith thought. "It must be the Immortal I sensed."

Smith turned to his aide "Order the fire departments out of the area. Tell them to leave the survivor. Cordon off the area. I'm going there to investigate.

The lieutenant "I'll organize some men to accompany you there and requisition an auto..."

Smith cut him off "No, I'll go alone. That's an order, lieutenant."

The lieutenant pleaded "But sir, at least..."

Smith grabbed the officer by the collar "Which part of my order did you not understand, lieutenant. Or would you prefer that to be corporal?"

Smith drove back to Wilmot Farm and stopped the car as soon as he felt the sensation of another Immortal nearby. Smith searched through the charred remains until he saw a human figure sprawled out on the ground, face down, and apparently dead, but Smith knew better.

Smith knelt down before the unmoving man and turned him over. He was surprised to see the face on the man, who he could tell was living once again.

"MacLeod?" Smith said.

Duncan opened up his eyes are gazed confusedly at Smith, "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Err, no, we haven't. I've heard of you, though. The Highlander, right?"

"One of them, yes." Duncan was still in a lot of pain. He was thankful for that. This other Immortal would be able to take his head with very little difficulty right now.

The feeling that the pain generated along with the appearance of the Immortal jarred something in Duncan's mind. He almost felt as if a flashback was about to form in his brain, but all he felt was a strange feeling of deja vu all over again.

"You were with a radio reporter, right?" Smith asked.

Radio - the word reverberated through Smith's head. What was his name?"

"Carl Phillips, he was with ... CBS Radio."

"Hmmm, CBS Radio. They have some very good radio productions on that network. What's the name of that one? Ah, Mercury Radio Theater. Directed by Orson Welles, I believe. I think I know how to handle this one."

Wilson got out his pocketwatch and brought it close to Duncan's dazed face. "You're feeling very sleepy, MacLeod, very sleepy ..."

Wilson had filled in some of the details that Duncan was not privy to, and so the entire story was described to the group assembled in the underground base.

"So you were there, in New Jersey, too." Harrison stated. "You were Smith, too."

"Yes, I was only in charge of the New Jersey State Militia at that time. Coming over from England, I needed to establish some credentials over here in the States. However, it was fortunate that I had the position. Once again, as the first on the scene, I was in charge of collecting and disseminating all of the information regarding the invasion. The radio broadcast was the key to the plan, but the press releases were important as well to the cover-up. The utter hysteria that the radio broadcast generated was probably my most effective work."

"But you only did it twice." Kincaid said

"Come now, John. Haven't you been following along? I'm sure Harrison has discussed with you at least on some occasion during your association that very few people remember the invasion of 1953. Whom do you think was responsible for it?"

"You were behind that, too." Harrison was shocked. "How did you do it? Who were you?"

"I think MacLeod can answer that one." Wilson turned to Duncan. "Do you remember our third meeting?"

Duncan's face strained as he tried to collect his thoughts. He focused on aliens, the year 1953, Immortals. He thought of the 1953 movie and then it hit him. "You were there, too, you lousy ..."

Duncan drove his black convertible through the mountains outside of Los Angeles. It certainly was scenic country, though it could not compare to the majestic splendor of the Scottish Highlands. Then again, what could hope to match the Highlands' beauty? Duncan took the sharp turns of the road at a very careful speed. One of these days he was going to get the radio fixed. He liked hearing the evolving sound of music that seemed to be becoming popular. Most people did not even realize that something new was upon the American music scene, but Duncan, who had seen numerous musical styles come and go, knew that something big was on the horizon.

Duncan's languid pace came to a complete stop around one particular turn. There was an Army soldier standing in front of a wooden barricade. Duncan leaned out the side of the car and asked, "What's going on, soldier?"

"Geez, haven't you been listening to the radio, fella? Martians have landed in the valley just past this rise. We already tried to stop them with conventional weapons, but we got nowhere fast. So..."

"You don't mean that you're going to use ..." Duncan was horrified.

"Yep, we're gonna drop the A-bomb on them Martians. That oughta teach 'em not to mess with the U.S. of A. Anyway, you gotta turn around, pal. Nobody gets by here without clearance."

Duncan dutifully turned the car around and drove away. He only drove as far as was necessary to be out of the sight of the soldier. He parked the convertible behind a clump of bushes. Duncan then proceeded to sneak up the mountain to where he figured the valley was to which the soldier referred. After about twenty minutes of trudging up the side of the mountain, Duncan sighted an Army encampment.

Duncan scanned the encampment. It looked as if everyone was bracing for the A-bomb drop. He looked up, but he could only hear the sound of an approaching plane. He quickly took cover behind a large boulder as the bomb hurtled through the air. It seemed like the entire world shook when the bomb detonated. The signature mushroom cloud slowly expanded and obscured most of the sky. Winds of tornado-like intensity whipped through the area. Duncan tried to see through the smoke and debris flying around, wanting to know if the bomb was successful in obliterating its target. After a few fateful moments of waiting, he saw a trio of strange machines rising out of the pit, apparently undamaged. It all seemed vaguely familiar to Duncan. He looked now at all of the activity beginning at the army encampment as he descended down into the valley.

Inside of a makeshift bunker in the heart of the encampment, the civilians and military were dumbfounded by the Martians' survival.

"I suggest you get word to Washington right away," Clayton Forrester demanded.

The officer in charge of the operation, General Mann, looked at Forrester sternly, but he knew Forrester was right. His response was interrupted as his danced around when he sensed the presence of a nearby Immortal.

"Damn," Mann thought "It just better not be that MacLeod again." He turned to Forrester, "Right. Now get your people out of here."

General Mann hurried out of the bunker and hopped into the passenger side of his jeep. His aide already had the engine running.

Up on the mountainside, MacLeod detected another Immortal. However, his concerns about that were brushed away as he could see the Martian war machine begin to move out in his general direction. Some sort of field of shimmering energy seemed to be encompassing each of the war machines. They looked to Duncan like something out of those cheesy science-fiction movies that were becoming so popular now, bit there was nothing imaginary about these craft. Duncan decided to leave the other Immortal for the Martians, or at least for another day. He made his way back to the convertible. In a matter of minutes, he was back at the convertible. The engine purred as he turned the keys in the ignition. He eased the car out onto the road, put it in gear, and sped off. He figured that he could put a great deal of distance between him and the Martians.

Out of habit, Duncan checked in the rear-view mirror. He knew that there could be no one behind him because of the barricade. What he saw in the mirror took his breath away. The war machines were bearing down on him. He popped into fifth gear and put the pedal to the medal, but they were still gaining on him. As the convertible came into the Martians' range, they commenced firing. Duncan turned the wheel hard from side to side in evasive maneuvers. The car swerved from side to side, avoiding the energy blasts for the moment. One of the misses happened to strike the mountainside in front of Duncan's fleeing vehicle. A landslide of rocks came barreling down the mountainside and buried the car in rubble. The war machines paid Duncan no more heed and proceeded past the pile of boulders and continued on their way to Los Angeles.

After a few hours, General Mann received reports that the Martians had moved out from the landing site and were closing in on Los Angeles. Mann decided to head back to landing site to see what, if anything, could be learned from the cylindrical transport vehicle that brought the war machines. He assembled a small squad of technicians and they drove back to the site. A mile and a half from the site, they found their way blocked by an enormous pile of boulders that covered the entire road. Mann ordered the small caravan of jeeps to stop. He was about to issue some orders when he sensed the presence of a nearby Immortal. Collecting himself, he shouted, "All right, men. Make it to the site on foot. I'll remain here."

The soldiers did not think to question the orders so they grabbed their equipment and started climbing up the mountainside. Once they were out of sight, Mann walked around the area until he was certain that the Immortal in question was underneath the boulders.

He took out a winch and some related equipment from the jeep. He fastened on end of a cable around a boulder and the other end to the jeep. He did this to more boulders in turn and began to unearth the convertible. After about ten minutes of effort, Duncan was free.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Duncan gasped. "You have my thanks but you'll not have my head."

"I'm General Mann, United States Army. What are you doing here?" Mann responded. "I'm not here to fight, man."

Duncan continued to struggle for breath. "The Martians ... they shot out the side of the (huff) mountain and (huff) buried me."

Duncan composed himself. "Are they really Martians? They look like something out of one of those new science-fiction movies."

"Yes, they're Martians." Mann replied sternly. "What did you see?"

"I saw the A-bomb get dropped on them and they flew away unscathed."

Mann turned away and thought to himself, "Damn. This isn't good. I can't have MacLeod remembering this invasion. But how do I cover up this one?" Then the inspiration struck him, and once again MacLeod had provided it - a science-fiction movie.

"Look, MacLeod. I have something to show you." Mann pulled a pocketwatch from out of his uniform. "You're feeling sleepy, very sleepy..."

Duncan was still somewhat dazed from all of the boulders hitting him on the head and soon fell under Mann's hypnotic command.

"You will forget, MacLeod. You will forget everything you saw here."

Mann cleared the rest of the boulders away from the convertible. He seated Duncan in the car and told him to drive away. As Duncan drove away, Mann dialed up his field telephone.

"Lieutenant, get me that screenwriter friend of yours?"

The voice on the other end replied, "Sir?"

Mann hollered into the phone "The screenwriter. Screen - write - er?!?"

"Oh, you mean Barre Lyndon? But why, sir, if I may ask? We're in the middle of a military operation, aren't me?"

"Don't question my orders? I've got a doozy of a script idea for him. A definite blockbuster, one guaranteed to have a tremendous impact upon the viewing audience.

"Right away, sir." was the reply.

"You don't look anything like General Mann!" Kincaid and Duncan objected in stereo.

"Being involved in top-secret military affairs for centuries, one gets to know a little bit about disguise." Wilson grinned

"But if you were General Mann, then ..." Harrison continued.

"Yes, Harrison. We met long before you came to my office at the Pentagon..."

A number of press reporters were gathered in front of city hall. They were jostling to get closer to the military figure standing up inside an Army jeep. The subordinate officer at the wheel of the vehicle seemed to be annoyed with the impromptu press conference.

\\"General Mann, there are reports that there are alien survivors in the contaminated area," a reporter stated.

"Those reports are unconfirmed at this time. The only aliens we know of are dead. However, that does not rule out the possibility of survivors." General Mann continued, "Our immediate goal is to clean up the last of the contaminated areas. We also want to get our hands on one of the alien warships. We're very anxious to learn their technology."

General Mann added mentally, "But we'll never use it, if I have my way."

Another reporter asked, "How long will the devastated area be sealed off?"

"The area will remain under army control until we're absolutely sure it's safe. In fact, we haven't completed all our inspections yet."

A female reporter asked the next question, "There seems to be more than a possibility that the army has a group of them surrounded. Can you comment on that?"

General Mann frowned, "I can't answer that question at this time ..."

The reporter interrupted the General before he could finish his answer, "Well, we have heard a great deal about radiation, General. Is it ...?"

Now it was Mann's turn to interrupt her, "There is no cause for fear. The perimeter of the contaminated area is under guard and radiation levels are constantly being monitored."

A different reporter now spoke up, "Why are the press being kept away from the area, General? What is it the you don't want us to find out?"

Mann thought about saying "Very many things, you simpleton," but instead said, "You'll be advised when it's safe to proceed into the are." He made a quick motion to the driver and the jeep pulled away from the crowd and drove off to the army command post.//

A few hours later, a soldier came up to the doorway of a khaki-colored tent "General, we have prisoners. They were caught driving in the restricted area."

"Great, just what I need, trespassers," the old military men inside of the tent replied. He was on the telephone so he put it down momentarily and told the soldier. "All right, soldier, bring them in."

General Mann picked up the phone again. "Now listen. I want all of the records and reports that the Pacific Institute of Science and Technology have on the Martians ... Don't give me any objections. This area is still under martial law and I want those reports. Have them on my desk by 1500 hours or I'll put you in the stockade and have someone who can follow orders do the job. And find Dr. Forrester for me, pronto. An another thing, make sure that Barre Lyndon is brought to my office first thing tomorrow morning." He slammed the phone down as the soldier brought in Harrison Blackwood, John Kincaid, and the reporter Miranda Watson.

What the two alien fighters saw was a proud military man with slicked-back white hair smoking a pipe. Blackwood figured that this general was way out of his league when it came to dealing with aliens. The General felt he knew all about these aliens, or so he thought.

General Mann put down his pipe and turned to face the prisoners that the guard had just brought in. He recognized the woman as one of the reporters at the press conference, he had no idea who the bearded man was, but the other one was Duncan MacLeod.

"Damn it," Mann thought. "The hypnotism must not have worked this time! He's probably come for me." Mann glanced around the tent until his eyes came to rest on where he had his sword hidden. It was inside an equipment pack in the corner of the tent. Mann figured he could make it there, even if MacLeod made a move, despite the mortals around.

Slowly, Mann gathered his thoughts "No, it can't be MacLeod. I don't feel the Sensation, but it's the most authentic-looking double he had ever seen." He was relieved that it was not MacLeod. If his hypnotism did not take, it could mean disaster for all of General Mann's plans.

\\Harrison broke the silence, "General, you've got to listen to me. An enemy agent has just gone through your checkpoint."

Kincaid added, "He's an alien."

Mann burst out, "What the hell do you take me for? I've seen dead Martians, thousands of 'em. Not one of them resembled a human being."

"Well, not where we're from," Kincaid offered.

Mann put his hands on his hips, "Oh really? And where's that?"

Harrison was not sure if it was the right idea to tell him, but he did anyway, "From the future."

Mann laughed hard. It was one of the most ridiculous things he had heard in his immortal life.

Harrison tried to convince the General and pointed at his gun that rested on a table, "Look at that weapon. Technology for that has not been invented it." He grabbed his shirt, "Look at these clothes." He took Kincaid's arm and rolled back his sleeve, displaying Kincaid's watch, "Look at this wristwatch - digital, computerized."

Mann looked at Miranda, "What about you? Are you from the future, too?"

Miranda responded defiantly, "Miranda Watson, City Sun-Mirror, and you're violating the First Amendment by holding us like this."

Mann was becoming incensed, "Miss Watson, you're under martial law here, and right now the First Amendment is the last thing on my list. You've been arrested in a highly sensitive area with these two lunatics claiming to be from the future and carrying weapons I never saw before."

Harrison interjected, "If you would call Dr. Clayton Forrester, he can clean this whole thing up. You haven't got much time."

Kincaid stated, "We had twelve hours to get this guy and now ten of them are gone."

Mann was somewhat surprised by Harrison's comment. "He knows of Forrester?" he thought. "But we haven't released any information about his involvement. Ahh, I know what these two 'madmen' are."

"I think you're Soviet agents with a highly creative story, some fake ID, and a couple of exotic guns." Mann concluded.

Kincaid erupted, "Look, I know this sounds ridiculous." He got in Mann's face, "But damn it, why don't you give us a chance to prove it to you?"

Mann was unmoved. He motioned to the guard, "Put the cuffs on them and get them out of here. Hold them for interrogation."//

The guard escorted the trio out of the tent. Mann wiped some sweat from his brow. It had been a string of trying days for him. Now was the hard part; now he had to begin the cover-up. First he needed a good puff of his pipe. However, he was interrupted once again by a soldier's voice outside his tent.

"Sir, someone from the FBI is here to see you."

Mann put the files that he had just taken out back into the briefcase. "Send him in."

A man in a dark suit, black tie, black-rimmed glasses and a hat walked into the tent. He looked like the stereotypical G-Man to Mann. What Mann did not know was that it was Malzor, the Morthrain leader, in disguise and in the past. Malzor was under orders from the Eternal to try to save some of the remnants of the Third Wave. He wondered why the Eternal would not allow him to try to save Teela.

"I'm a busy man. What do you want?"

"I'm Agent MacGruder, FBI. General, we have reason to believe that there are Soviet agents in the area."

\\"Oh really? Well, I just found them and had them locked up. If the FBI knew that there were Soviet agents in this area, they should have told me from the start."

"That information was on a need-to-know basis." Malzor replied nonchalantly.

"Oh, is that right?" Mann had no stomach for this.

MacGruder seemed to be unconcerned about Mann's exasperation. "Now, let's get on with what I came here for." He pointed to a map that sat on a metal table, "An alien war machine landed in this area. I want to be taken there right now." Malzor indicated an area circled in red on the map.

Mann was astonished by the arrogance of the agent, "Oh you do? Well, let me tell you how it is, Mr. MacGruder. Only those with top-security clearance can go beyond the inner checkpoint. That means the President of the United States and me."

Malzor applied to nerve pinch to the General's neck and Mann fell to the floor. Malzor took out a mind-control device and inserted it into Mann's ear. The device crawled in and Mann screamed in agony. Mann was aware of what was going on around him, but he was not in control of his own body. He wondered what was going on. Who was this MacGruder? He had heard nothing about mind-control devices being used by the FBI, and he was privy to just about all top-secret technology.

Mann got up with a glazed look on his face. Malzor smiled and led Mann out of the tent. They walked to the jeep and Malzor seated himself on the passenger side. Mann took the wheel and started the jeep. He swung the jeep around and headed for the area that Malzor had indicated.

When they reached the area, Mann stopped the jeep and turned off the ignition.

Malzor got out of the jeep and ordered Mann, "You will remain here as a sentry, General. You will not no one pass."

Malzor walked towards a wrecked barn. There was a disabled war machine that had crashed into the farm house. He stopped momentarily and raised his hand. Mann could hear Malzor make some high-pitched noise. Malzor proceeded into the barn//

Mann remained on guard as per his orders, but his thoughts were able to deduce what was going on here. The 'lunatics' were right, there was an alien agent in human form here - it was MacGruder! But how? Was there an other invasion in the future?

Mann was shaken from his thoughts by an involuntary reflex. His ears had picked up the sounds of an approaching vehicle, and his body had gotten out of his jeep and began firing on it.

\\ The other jeep skidded to a stop and two figures tumbled out of it. One returned Mann's fire and the other one went ... Where did he go? Mann could not see the second man. Mann continued to fire on the figure crouched behind the jeep when he heard the click of a gun above him to the right.

Mann looked up to see Kincaid perched on a hill with a rifle pointed at him.

"Drop it, General."

Mann brought his gun to bear on Kincaid but too late. Kincaid fired a round mercifully into Mann's knees. Mann dropped the gun and dropped to the ground.

Kincaid ran down the hill and stood over Mann. Harrison hurried over from the other jeep to join Kincaid.

"Leave him," Harrison decided as he took Mann's weapon. The two of them cautiously entered the barn.//

Mann could feel his knees healing, albeit slowly. He could also feel his Immortal body rejecting the presence of the alien mind-control device. He would be fit soon and he would find out what was going on here.

When his body was his own again, Mann carefully got to his feet. His knee had been wounded quite severely, but it had healed completely now. Mann dug out a revolver from underneath the driver's seat in the jeep and made his way into the barn. While he was recovering, he had heard a great deal of gunfire and then a very strange noise. Cautiously, he crept through the barn, looking and listening for any sign of humans or Martians. A putrid stench then assaulted his nose. He was sure that it could not be anything human that produced this horrible odor. He took out a handkerchief and covered his nose and mouth. He opened the door to one of the stalls and saw a number of Martians - all dead, all shot to pieces. He investigated the rest of the stalls and found the same gory scene. There was no sign of Blackwood or Kincaid or even the 'FBI man' MacGruder. He raced back outside and found that the jeep was still there. He started it up and drove around the barn a few times. There was no sign of any of the three. Where could they have gone?

"Now I know where, or should I say when, you and Kincaid went, Harrison." Wilson said.

"So you've known about us since 1953?" Suzanne asked.

"Yes, but I didn't believe the tale that Harrison spun back then. It wasn't until I met with you and him in my office that I knew that he had been telling the truth. If only I had believed sooner..."

General Henry J. Wilson sat behind his desk, two crossed samurai swords mounted behind him. It was 7:45 in the morning. Suzanne had called and set up a very urgent meeting at 8:00. She said she was bringing along another researcher from the Pacific Institute, but the secretary had failed to give him the name. Wilson was infuriated by this; he did not like leaving things unknown. Centuries of experience had told him that knowledge was power. The secretary was sick today and there was no way that Wilson was going to be able to go through her files and determine who this other researcher was. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. The first one to enter was unmistakable; it was Suzanne McCullough. The other was a man. Wilson recognized the man instantly - it was one of the 'time traveling lunatics' from 1953, albeit minus the beard. Those two had been telling the truth, then. Wilson tried to compose himself. He did not want to give anything away, particularly the fact that he had met Harrison before. Wilson assumed that his disguise would be sufficient. However, Harrison had appeared to be quite intelligent during their first meeting. He did not want to let anything slip that might jeopardize all that he had been working towards for so many years. After Suzanne made a brief introduction, Wilson told them to sit down and began the meeting.

(( "So ... Dr. Blackwood. I'm very interested in what you have to say." His expression was one of pleasant attentiveness. Wilson pulled a package of Borkum Riff from the top desk drawer and stuffed tobacco in the bowl of his pipe, then tamped it down with practiced skill. "I'm willing to listen because Suzanne speaks highly of you. Err, do you mind?"

"Not at all," Suzanne said, and Harrison shook his head in agreement.

"Nasty habit, actually," Wilson said cheerfully. "I've tried several times to quit, but without much success."

"I had hoped you would listen, General. for the simple reason that what I have to say is vitally important to all of us ... and our national security."

Wilson raised an interested brow. He struck a match, held it to the bowl, and sucked in. "Go ahead," he said between puffs. "You've certainly got my attention."

"All right, General. Have you ever heard of the Forrester Project?"

Wilson drew on his pipe, one elbow resting on his desk, and furrowed his brow. "Forrester ... that was a long time ago, wasn't it? Back in the fifties?" Wilson knew exactly about what Harrison talking; he felt that feigning ignorance would be the best approach to take at this point.

"Nineteen fifty-three to be exact."

Wilson gave a knowing look, "We're talking about the invasion, then."

"The alien invasion, yes."

"Yes, I remember the Forrester Project. As a matter of fact, I'm old enough to remember it well. Forrester was the one who went around scaring people, saying the aliens really weren't dead. The army interred the aliens at great cost to the government to prevent a full-scale panic. I was on clean-up detail."

Harrison described what they found at one of the alien storage sites and his explanation of what had happened.

The general took his pipe from his mouth, set it in an ashtray, then leaned forward and folded his hands on top of his desk. "That," he said slowly, "is the most fantastic story I've ever heard."

"It's not a story. It's scientific theory, supported by a body of fact, presented in a logical and reasonable fashion. I'm a respected astrophysicist, not some kook spouting stories."

"I didn't mean to suggest otherwise, Doctor. The fact that you were brought here by my niece gives you more credibility than you realize."

"Niece?" Harrison did a double take.

Suzanne smiled sweetly at Wilson, "Uncle Hank is my favorite uncle."

Wilson beamed back. "And you're my favorite niece. You have your aunt's eyes."

After the revelation, Harrison continued to press Wilson, pleading with him to believe that the aliens were back.

Wilson responded, "Bring me something concrete. I'll see that it gets to the proper people. You have my word."

"There isn't time." Harrison told him bitterly. He wheeled around and strode out of the office. ))

Suzanne said a brief good-bye to Wilson, kissed him on the cheek, and hurried after Harrison. Wilson picked up the pipe again and took a few puffs. This was it; the event he had feared since 1953, but had hoped was just a tale of two lunatics. He should have kept tight tabs on this Harrison Blackwood; he had known the name since 1953. However, he had been very busy with other parts of his scheme. His estimation at the time was that the 'future-men' must have been from at least seventy-five years from the future, if they were from the future at all. The clothing style, the weaponry, the wristwatch seemed to be decades away. Wilson prided himself on being a good judge of human progress; he had certainly seen enough. Still, his recollection of Harrison Blackwood in 1953 seemed to be only a few years older than the Harrison Blackwood who had just been in his office. Somehow, the time was now, and Wilson had been caught by surprise. However, that did not mean that Wilson was unequipped to deal with it. He rolled his chair over to the computer and brought up a file containing some information about some of his operatives. He had an entire network of people working for him, working towards his overall objective though they did not know it. Most of the operatives did not even know who he was. Some did, but only by name. He needed to call in some of the most efficient operatives he could. He smiled, the choice was clear. He remembered who the other man with Harrison in 1953 was. Wilson punched a few buttons and requested information on some mercenaries that had just left the Army. The reports indicated that they were the best but not too keen on doing things by the book. The video display terminal was black for a few seconds and then the information appeared regarding the Kincaid brothers, Max and John.

((General Wilson stood contemplating the sunny fall morning beyond the window of the borrowed office, one loosely clenched hand resting against the small of his back, the other holding the bowl of the pipe. He was thinking about the information and 'evidence' that Harrison and Suzanne along with Colonel Ironhorse had collected at the nuclear waste facility - the radiation level, the barrels, the defeat of Delta squad, the partially dissolved bodies.

"What you're telling me, then, is that you failed to get me the sort of hard evidence I asked for."

Harrison went over what they found, point by point, and Wilson came up with alternative explanations for each of them, ones that did not require resurrected aliens.

"You still don't believe us?" Suzanne asked.

"I'm not suggesting any such thing. I'm telling you the kinds of things my superiors will say to me." He continued, "I did talk to Colonel Ironhorse at length very early this morning. He hasn't made an official report and he isn't going to." At Harrison' angry expression, he hastened to add, "At least, not an unclassified one. But he did admit that something incredible took place last night."

"What did he tell you?" Harrison demanded bitterly. "That the Russians have some super-secret device that made us all hallucinate."

"Hardly," Wilson paused to relight his pipe and drew on it, his sharp blue eyes scrutinizing them from behind a fresh haze of smoke. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm trying to explain why - considering the ... uncertain nature of what we're dealing with - it's vital that this whole affair be kept top-secret." He rested his elbow on the desk and leaned forward. "When Delta squad is defeated, captured, the army sits up and takes notice. So do I ... and my superiors. Very important superiors."

Wilson sat back "These same people are very eager to keep this matter hush-hush." It was an outright lie. Nobody beyond this office would hear about it, Wilson would ensure that.

Harrison sat forward, "Hold it right there, General. Keeping this quiet won't make it go away. I remember what happened to Clayton Forrester thirty-five years ago when the army decided to hush things up.

Wilson laughed on the inside, "And it was all my doing, not that you'll ever know." He responded to Harrison, "I understand. What happened to your adoptive father was an unfortunate mistake, Dr. Blackwood. For all of us. I think we've come far enough along not to make the same mistake again."

"The Pr-," he seemed to let slip, "My superiors would rather this didn't become a political issue. They want it kept quiet, but that doesn't mean they want it ignored. I've been asked to offer you a job."

"Pinch me," he whispered looking over at Suzanne. "I'm dreaming."

Harrison's exhilaration faded as a sudden suspicion took hold of him. "Wait a minute," he said to Wilson. "I want a guarantee I can do things my way. No red tape."

"Guaranteed." Wilson nodded. "Your own people, your own methods, what ever you want." Wilson would be sure that no bureaucrats would get in the way because they would not even know.

"Now I know I am dreaming."

"Naturally," Wilson continued, "we'll have to establish certain security procedures -"

Harrison's grin faded as he became defensive again. "What kind of procedures?"

Wilson's gaze was innocent. "To protect you and your colleagues. And to protect the secrecy of the project. Nothing you wouldn't do yourself, I assure you," Wilson went on, "Aside from that, you have a blank check."

Harrison and Suzanne looked at each other with wide eyes. "How big a check?" Suzanne asked coyly.

Wilson shrugged cavalierly trying not to smile as he spoke. "I think the Federal Reserve can cover any check you choose to write." He hesitated. "Of course, you'll need a co-signer ... " He reached across the desk for the intercom and pressed down a button, and said, "We're ready now."

"Oh, Lord," Harrison muttered, understanding everything.

The door opened and Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse entered, wearing a freshly laundered uniform.

Harrison put his head in his hands and groaned; Suzanne emitted a gentle sigh.

"Well," Wilson said brightly, rising, "I believe you all know one another." ))

Wilson felt it very fortunate that it was Ironhorse that had been the commanding officer on the scene. He was a very capable soldier and very committed to keeping secrets just that - secrets. With Ironhorse on the team now, 'The Blackwood Project' as he called it, Wilson felt that he had the situation under control now. He would keep the problem contained. With the Blackwood Project, the Kincaid brothers, as well as his legions of minor operatives out there, the aliens would not be allowed to interfere with his overall plan. Wilson smiled, pleased with himself, and returned to his computer. There still were details to manage.

General Wilson smiled "Now you know the full story. You know why I was able to be 'convinced' about your story about the aliens."

"But there were reports and files regarding the invasions." Suzanne objected.

"With my high level clearance, I was able to get the material related to the invasions so classified that even the President wouldn't be able to get to it, if he even knew about it. That is to say, the files that I didn't erase completely."

Wilson continued, "The Earth wasn't ready to deal with aliens. So I made people forget about the invasions."

"But the world could have banded together against them."

"By creating even more destructive weapons? Haven't we done enough of that already in order to kill ourselves? And what do you think would have happened to the alien weaponry afterwards? We would have turned them on ourselves eventually."

"What about all the people who died in the subsequent invasions?"

"No war is without sacrifice. Think about it for a minute. If we had developed the technology to repel the Morthrain, how long do you suppose it would have taken before we had turned it against ourselves. Think about how many lives I have saved by preventing that!"

The group had to grudgingly admit that Wilson might have a point. Who was to say which would have been the worse alternative?

"What happened to all of the alien hardware?" Harrison inquired.

"I had the alien craft stored away," Wilson replied curtly.

"Right, there were war machines from the 1953 invasion in Hangar 15. But what about the tripods from the previous two?"

"They are safe now from human hands."

"What do you mean?" Suzanne asked.

"I had them stored in the Great Wastelands, before they became the Great Wastelands."

'The Great Wastelands!' The term brought a shiver to everyone's spine. Most of Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho had become a wasteland after a series of nuclear accidents happened there in 1990. Some figured that the accidents were partly to blame for the harsh environmental conditions that seemed to prevail now across the globe. The U.S. government denied the allegation and had set up a border around the Great Wastelands and let no one in or out. Anybody that crossed the border never came out. The government had sent some observation planes to investigate, but they never returned. The background radiation levels interfered with any attempts of electronic communication to the area.

"But the aliens thrive on radiation," Suzanne objected.

"The old ones did, my dear Suzanne, in order to stave off the bacteria. From what you've told me, the new breed is just as susceptible to it as we are. You've also told me that all of the old ones are dead at the newcomers' hands. We don't have to worry about the tripods." Mann stated.

Duncan took Wilson aside. "We need to talk."

Duncan led Wilson out of the central room towards one of the many tunnels surrounding the base.

"You're not gonna fight, are you?" Debi asked.

Duncan ignored the question and soon the two Immortals were out of sight.

Duncan stopped and pulled out his katana. "Who are you, Wilson?" He began circling Wilson. Wilson took out his own sword and did likewise.

"I'm probably the oldest Immortals alive. That is, unless the myths about Methos are true. I'm one of the ancient Immortals. I was old when Darius stopped at the gates of Paris and gave up the way of the warrior. He was one of the few Immortals I feared, until he took up the cloth.

"I was saddened when I heard that the Hunters had gotten him. Yes, I know all about the Hunters and the Watchers. Millennia of military experience lets you know when you're being watched or stalked."

Duncan was beginning to wonder if there was anything that Wilson was not aware of.

Wilson studied Duncan's sword closely. "That's a fine katana you have there, MacLeod. A Masamune, perhaps?"

"No, but just as deadly." Duncan said, teeth grinding against each other.

"How could you play with the lives of mortals? Who made you God, Wilson?" Duncan was becoming agitated.

"No one yet. But if I win the Prize, ..."

"I want answers and I want them now!" Duncan demanded.

"Or else what? You'll take my head and have no answers." Wilson laughed and then resumed a serious look. "What do you want to know?"

"Why did you do it? Why did you make everyone forget about the invasions? I can't believe it was out of concern for humankind destroying itself."

Wilson smiled. "Ah, you see through me. Yes, I had an ulterior motive."

"I want to make sure that when I win the Prize, I will be able to rule this world eternally. I cannot afford for the mortals to develop even more destructive weaponry. I cannot be certain of the magnitude of power that I will receive when I win the Prize. I must assure that I will remain ruler of this world in perpetuity!"

Duncan's rage boiled over. He swung at Wilson ferociously. Wilson parried Duncan's thrust with skill, but his strength and timing were lacking. Duncan feinted another thrust and before Wilson could recover, Duncan kicked a leg out from under the ancient Immortal. Duncan quickly pounced on top of Wilson and held his blade at Wilson's neck. Wilson showed no fear but smiled instead.

"I am obviously at a disadvantage. I've been a prisoner of the aliens for five years, and my timing had gotten a little rusty and I'm out of shape. I've spared you three times, MacLeod. I could have taken your head three times, but I didn't. I think you owe me. You started this fight, remember? I promise to meet in fair combat, if you so desire, once I have completely recovered. I am a man of honor in battle"

Duncan thought about Wilson's words. He knew that he had a right to take Wilson's head. Wilson had used mortals as his puppets for at least a century, perhaps more. His actions might have cost millions of lives. Nonetheless, Duncan put his blade back in his trenchcoat. He could not take Wilson's head. Wilson's motives may not have been pure, but the state of the world might have been even worse had the memory of the alien invasion been allowed to exist in the general public. It was also true that Wilson had spared Duncan, that Duncan had started the fight, that Wilson was unfit for battle.

Wilson smiled, almost knowingly as he picked up his sword. He walked down the tunnel, back to the sewers which would eventually lead him to the outside world. Without turning around, he said, "We'll meet again, Duncan MacLeod. There can be only one."

To Be Continued in Future of the World

NOTES

{} = Adapted from the novel "The War of the Worlds" by H.G. Wells

[ ] = Adapted from the radio broadcast "The War of the Worlds", directed by Orson Welles

< > = Adapted from the film "The War of the Worlds", screenplay by Barre' Lyndon

(( )) = Adapted from TV series premiere of "War of the Worlds" entitled "The Resurrection", created by Greg Strangis, novelized by J.M. Dillard

# # = Adapted from the TV series episode "The Second Wave"

\\ // = Adapted from the TV series episode "Time to Reap"

* * = Adapted from the TV series episode "The Obelisk"

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Harrison Blackwood: Leader of the Blackwood Project, adopted son of Clayton Forrester. He is a former astro-physicist at the Pacific Institute of Technology and Science.

Ceto: Son of Mana, friend of Debi McCullough. He does not share the Morthrain view that the humans of Earth should be exterminated.

Norton Drake: Computer specialist of the Blackwood Project. He was killed by the Ironhorse clone at the onset of the Fourth Wave invasion. Cousin of Charlie DeSalvo. (deceased)

Albert Einstein: Scientific genius at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, New Jersey, circa 1938.

The Eternal: The god of the Morthrain race.

Clayton Forrester: Adopted father of Harrison Blackwood. He had tried to convince the government that the aliens were not dead. (deceased)

Colonel Paul Ironhorse: Commander of Omega Squadron, member of the Blackwood Project. He killed himself to protect the other members of the Project from his clone. His great-great grandfather might have been the Immortal Native American medicine man of the 1800s also named Ironhorse. (deceased)

John Kincaid: Former mercenary, now member of the Blackwood Project. He and his late brother Max served under Ironhorse in the Army.

Duncan MacLeod: Immortal all-around good guy.

Debi McCullough: Daughter of Suzanne McCullough, friend of Ceto.

Suzanne McCullough: Micro-biologist, niece of General Wilson, member of the Blackwood Project.

Malzor: Leader of the Morthrain race, husband of Teela. He murdered Tallok and took over as Morthrain Leader after the failed 1953 invasion. He posed as FBI Agent MacGruder when he went back to 1953 to try to save some members of the Third Wave.

Mana: Chief scientist of the Morthrain, daughter of Tallok.

Mars: Planet upon which Morthrain forces established launching bases for each invasion.

John Martan: Immortal thief. His body was taken over by Mordex.

Mordex: Soldier of the Third Wave. He took over the body of Immortal John Martan.

Morthrai: Homeworld of the alien invaders. It is now lifeless.

Richard Pearson: Professor of Astronomy at Princeton University. It was his story that was detailed in the 1938 broadcast.

Carl Phillips: Reporter for CBS Radio. He broadcast the events from Grovers Mill in the 1938 invasion.

Tallok: Former leader of Morthrai, father of Mana. He joined the Council after the 1898 invasion and became leader after the 1938 invasion. He was murdered by Malzor after the 1953 invasion failed. (deceased)

Teela: Leader of the 1953 invasion. Fellow scientist and wife of Malzor. She was killed in the 1953 invasion.

Wave: (First - 1898, Second - 1938, Third - 1953, Fourth - 1989) Name for the different invasion attempts of Earth by the Morthrain.

H.G. Wells: Author of "The War of the Worlds." He was contracted by Brigadier-General Marvin to write the novel.

Orson Welles: Producer of the radio broadcast of "The War of the Worlds" in 1938. He was contacted by Brigadier-General Montgomery Smith to produce the show.

General Henry J. Wilson: Immortal opportunist, also known as General Mann in 1953, also known as Brigadier-General Montgomery Smith in 1938, also known as Brigadier-General Marvin in 1898. It was his machinations that made almost everyone forget about the actual invasions.