"The Passing of the Shades of Black" by Shadow Master
(BtVS/MiB Universe/Other Sci-fi)
email: riley[underscore]breen
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the copyrighted material contained herein. They are the rightful property of their respective creators and associated companies. I make no money off of this fan fiction story whatsoever and have no intention of changing this within my lifetime. I write fanfic because it's fun and because there are those who enjoy reading my work. Therefore I would appreciate it if the creators and associated companies refrained from filing any lawsuits against me because I can promise them that what they get from me won't even cover a quarter of their legal fees.
Note: Timeline wise this takes place at the end of Season 3 of BtVS the day after the battle against the Ascended Mayor Richard Wilkins the first, second and third. As for MiB this takes place primarily in the 'MiB: the Animated Series' reality but I will be taking elements from the MiB movies as I deem necessary for the story I wish to tell. In the MiB universe it's a little over ten years after the final episode of the animated series.
Note 2: I will be using various elements from other sci-fi franchises/movies/TV shows/video games/anime in this fanfic so if one pops up they either never existed as entertainment in this universe or were only introduced through The Agency aka the Hollywood branch of the MiB. Therefore some of them Xander will know from watching popular entertainment and others he won't have a clue about.
The Passing of the Shades of Black
The Driveway of the Harris Household, The Day After the Graduation Battle
Early Afternoon, Xander's POV
"Enjoy your pissy little road trip while you can, you little shit!" Tony yelled from the doorway, obviously half drunk. "'Cause the second you get back, you're going to the basement and payin' four hundred bucks a month rent!"
"Gotcha!" he yelled back, determined not to let the piece of genetic waste that had contributed half his DNA ruin the beginning of his summer road trip.
He was working through the hellish survival guilt from yesterday's big battle against Mayor Snake-kins and he was determined to turn his mood around. He just had this last bit of stuff into the trunk of his car and he'd be on his way out of Sunnyhell to whatever place sounded good on any given day. True, it was his overall goal to get all the way over to the east coast before returning to Sunnydale by the end of September but if he didn't quite make it he wouldn't be too bummed out. So long as he got the chance to see a lot and experience a lot, that'd be enough for him.
Hearing the front door of the house slam shut, he was glad that Tony had decided to leave him be in favor of finding something booze related to make himself full drunk. The guy might've played a part in bringing him into the world but, from his point of view, the asshole was already getting paid back for that in that he hadn't slit the bastard's throat yet. After the hell that the man had put him and his mother through the last twelve years, he deserved death and more as payback but he was determined to be the better man in all this. As soon as he got back from his road trip, he'd find a job, save up as much money as he could and when he had enough he'd move out of the basement and into a place of his own.
One of the perks of living in Sunnydale was that houses and apartments went for a helluva lot less than they did anywhere else in the world so it wouldn't be unfeasible to say that he'd have a place inside of six months.
It was as he was slamming the trunk closed that he heard a familiar noise approaching and, as he turned around, he confirmed that it was indeed the clunker that G-man insisted on calling a classic. He was sure that if it got all tuned up and had a couple of brand new parts installed it'd be fine but as it was the thing barely made the speed limit. He'd hate to see it on the highway since it was likely the former Watcher would get pulled over for holding up traffic within an hour of getting onto it. As the barely useable vehicle got closer, he could see a bit of blonde and a bit of red through the windshield and figured that the gang must've decided to come see him off and that helped his mood improve nicely. He hadn't expected them to do something like this since he was sure they had their own summer plans but it still warmed his heart to know that they cared this much about him. Then again he was the 'Key Guy' for the graduation battle so maybe now they finally realized that, while he might not be able to kick ass like Buffy or speak ten different languages like Giles, he could still contribute to the fight.
Sure, he might not have anything to prove, at least to himself, anymore thanks to saving the gang from Jack O'Toole and his bunch, but he really didn't want to stay fray adjacent like the girls probably wanted. He was in the fight for the long haul and, if they wouldn't let him back in the group, he'd just go independent.
As the sputtering car came to a stop he noticed something that made him quirk an eyebrow in wonder since it didn't match his guess about why they were there. Buffy had a look on her face that spoke of barely restrained anger and Willow looked like a teacher had verbally torn a book report she wrote to shreds in front of the entire class. Giles was the only one who looked composed for the most part but there was a slight twitch by the right eye that told him the Brit was uncomfortable about something. Once all three were out of the car the body language only reinforced what he'd deduced about their faces and he wondered what the cause could've been. Had Wilkins prepared some sort of parting shot that involved him somehow? Like lying that he'd been feeding Faith info or something? He didn't know but he expected he'd be finding out in the next few minutes.
"Hey guys!" he said with happiness as he leaned up against his car. "Good thing you came when you did. I was just about to head out."
When all he got was silence in return and Giles cleaning his glasses he knew the next few minutes would be FAR from pleasant.
"What's up?" he asked, trying to at least get them to spill the reason for their bad moods.
"'Kick his ass'." Was all Buffy said as she continued to glare at him like a particularly nasty vamp.
For a moment he was confused about what she meant but, when he looked to Willow and saw a flicker of betrayal in her eyes, it clicked in his mind. He knew what they were so upset about because it was something he'd dreaded the repercussions of ever since he left the mansion on Crawford Street. It had been the closing day of the fight against Angelus, Spike and Drusilla when the goal was to keep them from awakening a demon called Acathla. According to G-man's research, the demon had originally come to Earth centuries ago with the desire to open a planet sized portal that would suck the whole world into a hell dimension. A virtuous knight managed to slam a holy sword into Acathla's heart just as the creature was about to draw a breath, stopping the ancient apocalypse in its tracks. The problem, though, was the fact that if someone managed to pull out the sword from the stone corpse of the demon, the unholy being's last act would be carried out.
Angelus had decided to reach for a new level of nuts when he'd decided to awaken Acathla but he wasn't too worried since Buffy had finally gotten her game face on regarding the vampire. Up until Miss C had died, the vampire Slayer had been unable to let go of the fact that her undead boyfriend was gone and now was the time for her to stake the thing wearing Angel's face. Sadly all it took for her to get all starry eyed about getting her boyfriend back was the finding of a floppy disk containing the same gypsy curse that'd originally put Angelus in the back seat of the vamp's body. Willow, hopeless romantic that she was, had been all for using the curse to bring Angel back and actually pointed out that it'd be a nice way to prevent the awakening of Acathla. He of course had been against the idea but naturally had been outvoted by the women and receiving no backup from Giles on the matter since the Brit didn't want to alienate his Slayer by doing so.
So they'd set up to cast the spell and everything had gone more or less alright up until a swarm of vamps had attacked en masse. He'd fought as best he could with what he had but, even with the soldier memories giving him a better chance than he would've pre-Halloween, he'd gotten his arm broken before being knocked silly. He'd gotten off lucky, though, unlike Kendra or Willow. The former had been killed by the mad seer Drusilla and the latter had been put into a light coma due to a nasty blow to the head. Buffy had apparently shown up after and got slammed with a completely bullshit warrant for Kendra's death and things had been pretty shitty.
They'd lucked out in that Willow had woken up a little while later at the hospital and then, when Buff had checked in to let them know that she'd decided that she'd be going with the original plan of staking Angelus, he considered that at least some of the night had been salvaged.
Then Willow had made a decision of her own: she was going to try to cast the curse again.
Cordy had managed to salvage the print outs of the curse and the rest of the components needed were easy enough to acquire so it was theoretically possible to do.
He, however, had objected saying she'd just gotten out of a light coma and was still a little loopy but the redhead had put on her 'Resolve Face', pretty much putting an end to any further argument. She'd then ordered him to go find Buffy and let her know what was going on but right when he'd met up with the Slayer he'd changed his mind.
THAT had led to the current situation.
For months afterwards he'd waited for the blonde to find out and come at him all pissed but, when nothing happened, he'd let himself believe that he was safe.
He only had himself to blame for being that gullible.
"What can I say?" he asked rhetorically, trying to keep things calm and honest. "I made a strategic call and it worked out."
"I SENT ANGEL TO HELL!" she yelled, clearly furious that he wasn't the least bit guilty.
"Yeah, and believe it or not I'm sorry about that. I'll never be best buds with Deadboy but even I wouldn't wish that on him," he said, honestly sympathizing with what Angel must've gone through. "I just weighed the odds and went with the choice that had best chance of keeping this blue ball spinning and hell free. Simple as that."
"I could've stalled him!" Buffy growled, clearly holding back her violent impulses if only by a hair.
"Maybe, or maybe he would've killed you. I might not be an expert on sword duels but if there's one person holding back and another person going all out, the one giving it their all is the one to bet on. Right, G-man?"
He really hoped that the Brit would give his honest opinion on the matter because, if he caved and sided with Buffy, he'd lose a major ally in this discussion.
"Well… um, it is true t-that restraining yourself when fighting an aggressive opponent is generally unwise and potentially fatal…" Giles replied before catching the look in Buffy's eyes, "…however a skilled swordsman would be capable of fighting such a foe to a stalemate under the right conditions."
Great! Even after he's been fired he's still doing what he has to to keep on Buffy's good side!
"Maybe so but I wasn't willing to bet the world on the odds that Buffy was good enough to do that. Hell, I figured the odds of Willow being able to pull of the curse in the first place were slim so it'd only make things worse if I told Buffy that we were trying it again."
"But I did do it!" Willow exclaimed with anger and betrayal in her tone.
"Think about it, Wills. You'd just woken up from a coma caused by a nasty ding to the head. The hospital wouldn't let a doc perform surgery in that condition or drive a car for that matter. Besides, this was like an Auror level spell you were trying to pull off when you're at best in your third year of magic studies. It's a miracle you didn't hurt yourself trying to pull it off."
Willow definitely didn't like the slight to her perceived skills, regardless of how accurate it was, but she didn't say anything more.
"Willow, you've known about the supernatural and the things that go bump in the night for two years now. Even if you started studying to be a badass witch from day one, I don't need to be Merlin to know it takes time to be able to fling the mojo with a decent amount of skill. How long does it take a Watcher to be a certified mojo-user, Giles?"
"Well, presuming that the Watcher wishes to be a well-rounded spell caster, it usually takes about ten years of study before they are considered knowledgeable enough to be trusted." Giles said, doing his best not to look at Willow. "If they choose to specialize in a specific area of sorcery then the length of time receiving instruction can vary from five years to twenty."
"You see, Willow? Between going to classes like normal and helping Buffy with the latest big bad, you probably didn't get more than five hours a week worth of mojo studies in." he said, turning back to his best bud, disappointed to see that her expression hadn't changed. "There's no way you got enough studying in to handle a spell like the soul curse and, if Buffy had stalled instead of going for the kill, we'd all be in hell right now."
For a few minutes no one said anything.
They just looked at each other in silence, their eyes being the only thing to convey what was going on inside their heads. For Willow he saw a faint glimmer of understanding, a sign that she understood his rationale behind his choice, but it was obscured by the redhead's own pride and her loyalty to the Slayer. Buffy, as usual, was all emotion, the primary one at the moment being anger, but that was nothing new since, when it came to Angel, the Slayer had never thought clearly. Indeed, while he'd only learned about it second hand, Angel leaving for good must've hurt and that hurt was only agitated further with this newest revelation, so he'd try not to take her words or actions personally since she was likely lashing out at anything and everything that seemed like a good target for the whirlpool of emotions swirling within her. As for Giles, the man was the calmest of the lot and didn't seem to have a specific opinion at the moment but would instead wait to see what the others did before making his own choice.
Xander wasn't stupid. He saw what was coming…
"Don't come back, Xander." Buffy said in a tone of voice more alike to the empty vacuum of space then the spoken word.
…Or thought he had seen it. Shock and hurt shot through him like a well-placed knife at these words, causing him to reflexively try to refute them.
"Buffy, I—"
"NO! You betrayed our trust, lied to us, and we can't let that happen again in the future," Buffy said in an absolute tone of voice that would not be denied. "You're out, Xander! Out of the Scoobies and out of Sunnydale!"
"Willow?" he asked his buddy, almost too afraid to find out if the redhead felt the same way.
He supposed that he should have felt somewhat grateful that the brainy girl didn't say anything one way or another but the fact that she couldn't meet his gaze let him know that she was learning towards Buffy's position at the moment. Given how Giles had behaved during the whole revelation, it didn't take a genius to figure out who he'd be siding with. Seeing the three people he'd been through so much with banish him from the group he'd helped found and even go so far as to kick him out of Sunnydale as well… it hurt him worse than staking Jesse had. Along with the hurt, though, came anger, repressed rage from some of the past decisions he'd been against but gone along with, and with the inner voices that'd normally keep it bottled up gone he let it all out.
"Nice to know how much over a decade of friendship is worth to you," he snarled with anger and contempt. "I make one call, the RIGHT call, and just because it hurts your pride you turn on me!"
Turning to Buffy, he looked her right in the eye and showed her that he wasn't going to beg for his spot back or apologize anymore for what he'd done.
"…here's hoping that the next Slayer has more common sense. With the blinders you've got on, I give you two years tops before your tunnel vision gets you and who knows how many other people killed," he said with a tone of voice that made the Slayer's previous words seem downright warm by comparison. "You might not have chosen to become the Slayer but that doesn't mean you can treat your duty like a jacket you can put on or take off whenever you want. It's tattooed on your forehead, it's burned into your soul, and every time you ignore it someone's going to get hurt or KILLED!"
"Easy for you to backset quarterback!" Buffy snapped back, her fury now clear to hear. "Try having a Calling dumped on your shoulders out of nowhere, something that turns your life into a living hell, and then you give me crap about duty! DUTY? I've done everything I could to live up to it but I'm not going to give up living my life for something I didn't choose!"
"Living hell?" he laughed at her. "That's a JOKE!" Contempt dripped off every word. "You don't realize how good you've got it! You have a mother that loves you, a clean home to go home to and a chance to make a difference in this world! Me? In case this slipped past you, my parents are the TOWN DRUNKS! My Dad's lucky to hold down a job for more than six months and whatever money my mom makes that doesn't go into paying the bills gets dumped right into the local liquor store! You think I wore those god awful Hawaiian shirts because I LIKED THEM!? They were all I could afford!"
He could tell that his words had shocked them but he didn't bother stopping to let them get in their two cents.
He just kept on talking.
"Do you KNOW what my 'prospects' are when I get back from the road trip? Living in my fuckin' basement and paying my parents RENT! Four hundred dollars a month to live with my parents!" he yelled at them, the rage he'd kept bottled up being let loose by their betrayal. "I won't be following you guys to college because I don't have the money to pay for my school supplies, never mind tuition! I'm gonna have to take every job I can get hired on for just to save up enough money to MAYBE get a place of my own inside of a year! So tell me, Buffy, between the two of us, whose life has been more of a living hell!?"
Looking at their faces, he found that he couldn't stand looking at them anymore so he spun around, stomped his way to the driver's side of his car and got in. He ignored their voices as he started up the car and only as a passing whim backed the car out across the front lawn of the house he'd lived in for so long in order to get to the street. As soon as there was nothing more than clear street ahead of him he peeled out as quickly as his car would go, never once looking in the rear view mirror. His rage was great and, as far as he was considered, if those traitors wanted to apologize to him, if they wanted him to come back, they'd need to FIND him first and that was something he wouldn't make easy for them.
No, they were going to have to WORK for it.
Maybe if they managed to pull it off… maybe then he'd be able to find it in his heart to forgive them.
Maybe.
Unknown Location #1
"Status?" a young woman asked from her seat to the rear of the cockpit.
"The Dukhat'Tha has been destroyed," reported the helmswoman as the flyer made best speed away from obliterated vessel. "I'm reading four… no, five other flyers clear of debris and making to escape but the Ingata and the Trigati are moving to pursue them."
"Then the plan is working," the young woman said, sounding like she almost wished it hadn't been.
"They knew what was being asked of them, Shaal," the man sitting at the weapon's console said. "We cannot allow them to capture you, not if our leader's dream is to come to pass."
"I know."
"We'll need to take the long way to the nearest jump gate," the helmswoman said as she operated the controls at her station. "They'll have ships stationed there waiting for us. However, if we don't arrive within three hours, they should be recalled to join with the Ingata."
"Then we can rendezvous with the others," the young woman said with hope in her voice.
"Valeria willing we will be able to use this dishonorable attack to sway more to our cause," the weapons officer said, sounding most displeased by what they'd just been through.
None in the cockpit could dispute the lack of honor present in their enemy's attack but all of them believed that the days of such things would soon be coming to an end. Now among their kind there was a leader capable of reaching the hearts of others no matter their calling and, through his efforts, true unity was no longer merely a fantasy. Sadly not all wished for unity unless it was on their terms, with them as supreme ruler over their people. Those very people had been behind the attack on the Dukat'Tha with the goal of capturing the young woman aboard the flyer as she had a close relationship with the great Unifier. No doubt the cowards sought to drain every last bit of useful information from her before using her as leverage in a 'deal' of some sort. Only arrogance and cunning had allowed them to fare as well as they had so far and anything could happen on their way to the rendezvous point. They and their allies had been at a disadvantage in matters of warfare from the beginning and, while they were quick to learn, they could never quite match their foes.
All of them prayed to their god that nothing further would trouble them on their journey to rejoin the others.
All of them prayed for the souls of those who had been sacrificed so that the young woman could escape unharmed.
Four Hours Later, Just outside Carson City, Nevada
Gas Station, Xander's POV
Four hours later and I'm still pissed! he thought, the foul expression on his face causing people to give him a wide berth. I guess getting stabbed in the back by your friends will do that to you.
As he continued to gas up his car, he began to wonder if there was any real point to going back to Sunnydale after his trip. Even if Buffy wasn't the Mayor and didn't have the power to keep him out, the Scoobies were pretty much the only people he'd cared about in that town and they had disowned him. Sure, he could still get a job and live there but what'd be the point without friends to hang out with. He wasn't close with anyone else back in Sunnydale and most of the people he stood a chance of becoming friends with also frequented places where he might run into Buffy or Willow. In the end there was only one thing he could do that made any kind of sense: he had to leave Sunnydale for good. He wouldn't be doing it because Buffy had ordered him to but rather because anything else would be too much trouble not to mention too painful for him to want to go through voluntarily.
Guess it's a good thing I'm going on a road trip. Maybe I'll find someplace that feels like home sooner or later.
For the moment all he wanted was to find someplace to brighten his mood and make him forget all the crap he'd been through in the last twenty-four hours. Given that he was already in the state of Nevada, he knew just the place for tons of entertainment as well as many things capable of distracting just about anyone. So long as he remembered not to drink any booze, he was confident he wouldn't fall into the cliché trap of getting drunk and married in Las Vegas, so it was a good choice of destination. Maybe he'd see a few magic shows, some celebrity impersonators and then end the trip with some poker or blackjack to see if his luck decided to take a turn for the better.
Naturally he wouldn't bet more than he could afford.
Once his tank was full he went over to the booth where a gas station employee was waiting for him and got his wallet out to get two twenty dollar bills. However when he looked back up, he saw something that seriously made him wonder why no one was looking at the guy behind the glass like he was the Human Torch. There was an aura of light dancing around the guy the color of neon blue paint and it didn't move with the wind, but rather seemed to radiate from the guy's body for an inch or two. Then, just as he was about to say something, the light vanished, making him wonder if he'd really seen anything at all or was just going through Sunnyhell withdrawal. He decided that whatever the guy was he couldn't do much damage from within the booth and, since this wasn't Sunnyhell, it couldn't do anything too flashy without drawing attention to itself. Plus there was always the off chance that it was one of the neutral or friendly demons out there that Giles had mentioned once, so there was no sense starting something where there didn't need to be anything.
Once the transaction was complete he pulled back out onto the highway and for a moment contemplated how this was such a metaphor for his life at the moment; travelling down a rapidly darkening path with no clear destination in sight.
Hopefully the metaphor 'light at the end of the tunnel' would be paying him a visit sooner rather than later because spending too much time in the darkness was bad for your health in his experience.
Unknown Location #2, Three and a Half Hours Later
"Just think about it! This time tomorrow we'll both be looking at the world in a whole new way," said the forty-one year old African American as they exited a building surrounded by similarly dressed individuals. "Sure, I'll be working on my tan while you'll be workin' on Fester pale complexion but it's still be a step up for us."
"Just make sure you treat the position with respect, Slick," the sixty-two year old Caucasian man said as he made his way to the driver's side door of a nearby parked car. "You'll be responsible for a lot and it'll all be on you if the excrement hits the propeller."
For a moment the younger man paused before looking at his friend with serious eyes.
"I know. I know I may not look it but I'm a changed man from who I was eleven years ago," Mr. Black said, losing his earlier jovial tone. "Seeing the things I've seen and doing the things I've done can't help but change a person."
A moment of true friendship and brotherhood passed between them born from their years of working together against many a threat.
"'Course I still look better in this than you!" Mr. Black said with an all too familiar cocky grin as he indicated his suit. "Plus I'm gonna be the youngest and most stunning branch director in history! I'm making history all over!"
"Just make sure you don't make a mess all over, too, Slick," Mr. White said before a beep from inside his jacket caught his attention.
Pulling out a rectangular piece of metal, he pressed a button in its center causing it to unfold revealing a screen on the top and a set of keys on the bottom. With a flicker of light an image of an eighty year old Caucasian man who looked like he could use a LONG vacation but still had the fire of leadership in his eyes.
"Hate to ask you for overtime but we've got a situation," Old Timer said via the face on the screen. "Long range satellites are picking up two ships closing on Earth as we speak. Looks like someone left a party without saying goodbye to the host."
"We got an ID on the ships?" Mr. White asked, all business as always.
"Yep. Two Minbari flyers and the one picking up the rear is looking decidedly heavier on ship-to-ship weapons," Old Timer replied, his tone as sharp as the look in his eyes. "We've tried contacting them but one his having technical difficulties and the other 'politely' told us to mind our own business."
Everyone present knew that 'politely' really meant that they were told to buzz off in the most offensive or condescending manner possible.
"Likely touchdown point?" Mr. White asked with the gears in his head almost audibly spinning as they worked out the possible scenarios.
"Assuming that the one in the lead doesn't change course or get blown up before making planet fall, the Twins put it somewhere in Nevada." Old Timer replied looking off screen for a moment. "We'll be able to pin it down more precisely in the next thirty minutes or so but for now that's the best we can do."
"We'll get movin' as soon as you put down the phone, boss," Mr. Black said from his position on the other side of the car. "It'll be a nice way to finish off our field careers."
"Then get going," Old Timer ordered before severing the communications link.
"Any thoughts?" Mr. Black asked as they pulled into traffic and began making their way towards the highway.
"Only one: this is going to get messy," Mr. White replied without looking away from the road ahead of their car. "The Minbari have been locked in a civil war for a little under a thousand years now, ever since the war with the race they call the Shadows came to an end, and up until recently there's been no end in sight to it all."
"What changed?" asked Mr. Black, sounding like he had an idea but wanted confirmation.
"About fifteen or so years ago a leader popped up from their religious cast, Dukhat, who started talking about putting an end to the civil war. He believed that the time was long since passed that they set aside their history of conflict and work towards peace." Mr. White replied as he brought the car to a stop at the next intersection. "He's working towards constructing a council made up of representatives from each of the castes that make up their people. The idea is gaining support amongst the people regardless of which caste they belong to and some say it might become a reality inside of twelve years."
"I'm guessing not everyone is thrilled about the idea." Mr. Black said as the traffic light turned green.
"Not even a bit. Their warrior caste has a lot of pride and the idea of sharing power with the other castes or ending the war without claiming total victory for themselves is unacceptable," Mr. White said as he continued to navigate through traffic. "As a result they've done their best to discourage support for Dukhat and his council idea. From 'educating' their own members against listening to foreign ideas to attacking any gatherings where it's being discussed."
"Go deaf or get dead," Mr. Black said with bitterness in his voice.
"Yep. If I'm right, the ship being pursued belongs to Dukhat's group and the one following the Warrior caste," Mr. White said without changing the tone. "If they manage to touch down on Earth, we'll have to handle the situation very carefully."
"Yeah, I know. Earth doesn't take sides in the internal conflicts of other races," Mr. Black said, sounding like he'd accepted it but didn't like it.
"Exactly," Mr. White said as the on ramp for the highway came into sight. "The best we'd be able to do for the Minbari on the lead ship is take them into custody, contact their group and have someone come to pick them up. While they're in custody the Warrior caste won't be able to touch them and, once one of the Religious caste's warships arrive to pick them up, they'll be protected enough to be escorted back to Minbari space."
"So basically we'd be using paperwork and procedure to our advantage?" Mr. Black asked with a small grin on his face. "Nice!"
"It's the only advantage we have to use," Mr. White said with certainty in his voice. "Earth still doesn't have the resources or the ships necessary to win a direct conflict with the Warrior caste or any other space faring race with their own military. Until that changes, Earth has to remain neutral."
"How long again is it until Earth has a space fleet of its own?" Mr. Black asked as though he already knew the answer.
"At the current schedule? About a hundred and fifty years or so," Mr. White replied as though he'd given the answer more than once before.
Neither of them wanted to think about what might happen if a threat entered the solar system before that time came.
Both were glad that they'd likely be dead before that threat manifested.
They hoped.
Thirty Minutes Later, Just Passing Mars, Lead Minbari Flyer
"Fusion cannons are offline!" the weapons officer declared after a series of sparks from his console.
Then, as if to punctuate the statement, the ship violently rocked in response to the impact of weapons fire on the hull of the ship.
"Engines are failing!" the helmswoman said with increased tension. "We have maybe another forty minutes before we're dead in space. Literally!"
"Then we have no choice but to set down on the nearest hospitable planet," the young woman in the rear most seat said with a similar level of tension. "Are there any such planet's within range?"
"There is one. It's called Earth by the local sentient beings," replied the helmswoman after tapping a few controls. "It's a primitive world, mostly pre-spaceflight, however the atmosphere is breathable and the dominant population is similar enough to us in appearance that we should be able to blend in if we need to hide."
"How similar?" the young woman asked with some interest.
"Well the dominant difference would be that, instead of a bone crest on their head like us, they have a mass of hair of varying colors," teplied the helmswoman after consulting the database. "We'd likely need to wear hoods to cover our bone crests and wear local garments but, other than that, concealment is feasible. There's just one potential problem."
"And that would be?" the young woman asked with worry in her voice.
"Roughly thirty-five years ago the Baltians made contact with a local organization that had been tasked with making contact with extraterrestrial life. As a result of the meeting, Earth was established as an apolitical zone for aliens without a planet to call home or who simply wished to live there. The local organization, referred to as the Men In Black, has been given authority by many alien civilizations to monitor and police non-terrestrial life forms while they're on the planet Earth. However, due to the limited technology available to them and their world, this organization has taken a position of neutrality, which forbids them from taking sides in the conflicts of other races."
"And your point is?" the young woman asked, discreetly trying to nudge the conversation along.
"They may choose to deny us safe harbor in order to protect themselves from potential reprisals from the Warrior caste," the helmswoman replied before sending the ship into a sharp dive. "They may even turn us over to the Warrior caste ship pursuing us the second they have us in their custody."
"We will have to take that chance!" the weapon officer exclaimed as another blast shook the ship. "The flyer isn't going to last much longer and we would stand a better chance of survival and escape on the surface than in space."
For a few moments nothing was said as all involved contemplated what might happen based on the decision that would be made in the next few moments by the woman to the rear of the cockpit.
"Set course for Earth and begin preparations for landing," the young woman to the rear of the cockpit ordered with absolute authority. "If space guarantees our destruction then we will take what hope lies on the planet's surface."
"Acknowledged. Setting course for Earth. Best speed!" the helmswoman said as she operated the console in front of her as swiftly and as precisely as she could.
They hope for survival, for continued freedom, might be small but all of them knew that even the smallest spark held the potential to blossom into a great flame should the universe permit it.
They hoped that the universe was feeling generous.
Approaching Las Vegas, Nevada
Thirty-five Minutes Later, Xander's POV
'Sin City' here I come! he thought as he saw the lights of the city growing larger and brighter ahead of him.
It'd been a long trip but in less than an hour he'd be surrounded by so many distractions and forms of entertainment that he wouldn't be able to contemplate anything that didn't involve what was right in front of him. True, the beautiful magician's assistants and chorus line girls might have something to do with that but he was sure there were other things that could also keep his attention. After all, there were numerous good celebrity impersonator acts, stand-up comedians and other entertainers around, so finding one that suited his tastes would be too hard.
Sure, I'll have to stay at the cheapest motel I can find that doesn't have live-in roach residents but that shouldn't be too hard, he thought as the car's radio began to fritz up a bit up. Dammit! Uncle Rory said this thing was all fixed up!
He tried turning the dial to another station.
He tried turning it completely off, waiting a few minutes and then turning it back on.
NOTHING WORKED!
Normally he would've done something like put in a cassette or CD but his uncle had made sure that the vehicle was restored precisely to what it'd been like when it'd first come off the assembly line. With that being the case there was no cassette or CD player for him to use and that had forced him to rely on whatever tunes his car's antenna could pick up as he went. Some songs were good but, unlike what some might think, a person can only hear the same top ten songs so many times before a head on collision starts sounding pretty good, so it wasn't the fact that he was deprived of music that had him mad but rather the fact that his uncle hadn't done a thorough enough restoration on the car to keep the radio going.
He was just about to switch it off for good when something up in the sky caught his attention enough to make him look away from the bright lights of Las Vegas. It caught his interest because, instead of a steady light like you'd expect from a star or a planet, this one was acting more like a light bulb that was on the blink. That was odd enough but, when he spotted flashes of green light that went off at regular intervals… well, he knew that something odd was going on. However being reminded of the odd and unusual just served to caused his memories of the Scoobies to surface again, putting him in a bad mood. So bad was his mood that he decided he'd ignore the rapidly approaching flickering light bulb object no matter what and proceed to the land of gambling, booze and girls in sexy outfits. He didn't care if it was something world ending! Someone else could take care of it.
After all, unlike the Scooby gang, he knew that no one girl could possibly handle all the supernatural, demonic and paranormal phenomena that happened on the planet Earth. There had to be others capable of throwing down with the inhuman and powerful that worked to keep the world in one piece.
They could handle this.
He was able to do a decent enough job of ignorance right up until the point where his eyes stopped calling the flickering light bulb object that and was forced to call it a damaged spaceship. Blue-ish purple in color, he could tell immediately that it had been through one helluva firefight and wouldn't be lasting much longer. This was punctuated when just as it passed him a trio of green lasers cut through the air, one of them nailing something that looked pretty important. The origin of those lasers put in an appearance a moment later and, for a moment, the fact that it was the same type of spaceship threw him until his sci-fi knowledge reminded him that ships and occupants weren't always the same thing. Depending on how rigid the intergalactic rules were, there could be fish people in one ship and lizard people in the other and, for all he knew, it was two mortal enemies were duking it out.
Not that he cared since it was none of his business anymore.
Nope. Not one bit.
Even when he heard the sounds of an obvious crash landing behind him, he was determined not to involve himself since for all he knew the aliens would just leave once the occupants of one ship were dead. Besides, he was sure that there was an organization that dealt with E.T.'s, so they could clean things up. Of course that line of thought made him think that handling it himself might be the better move since there were more than a few films that painted government agents that dealt with aliens as evil scumbags.
The X-Files was one such example.
However it was then that fate decided to make its opinion none when out of nowhere the engine of his car began to sputter in a worrisome manner. He immediately went through all the tricks Uncle Rory had ever taught him to resolve engine trouble while in motion but, just like he'd half expected, things just got worse. In the end the best he could do was pull the car over to the side of the highway two seconds before the engine breathed its last, a single puff of smoke that seeped out of the cracks.
If I didn't know better, I'd say that the universe was trying to tell me something.
Looking back in the direction of the crashed ship, he could see that the one still capable of flying was coming in for a landing near where he figured the other one had crashed. Seeing this, it wasn't too much of a stretch to figure out that the universe wanted him to go and investigate, if not thwart, whatever was about to happen. What the universe didn't seem to realize was that he wasn't all that experienced in fighting or even dealing with aliens, so it was far more likely that he'd make things worse. When what sounded like a woman's voice cried out in grief, though, he growled and immediately went to the trunk, where he unzipped a bag he'd put in on the trip just before the gang had stabbed him in the back. It was basically a harness that he'd fitted with holsters but not the sort that you'd use for guns or any other type of firearm. They were intended for melee weaponry, more specifically axes, as well as a few other odds and ends. He'd been working on it for weeks and, while he hadn't been able to get to it before the big battle at the graduation, he had it now.
Just hope these aliens aren't the invulnerable type, he thought as he slid two tomahawk's into the loops in his belt. Otherwise these blades aren't going to do me much good.
After two more tomahawks and a battle axe that'd do any warrior dwarf proud, he began to run as fast as he could towards the site of the alien confrontation. Fortunately for him, his patrolling with his former friends and his extensive experience running away from things that could kill him made it easy to cross the distance relatively quickly. However, just before he would come over the hill where he expected the aliens to be, he crouched down and crept forward so that he could at least get an idea of what he'd be walking into.
Charging into things with only a female scream of grief as intel was a quick way to wind up dead.
As his line of sight revealed the participants of the confrontation, he was quickly able immediately ascertain two things.
First was that the confrontation was decidedly unfair, with one party only having a single woman in decent condition with her allies either dead or too injured to put up any kind of fight.
The second thing he was able to figure out was that the other party didn't particularly care that they were three people strong and unlikely to meet any serious resistance.
They still intended to kill the remaining survivors of the first party.
Unfair fight, clear presence of baddies and a damsel in distress. He pulled two tomahawks from their places on his harness. Guess that clears up where I'll be sending this deadly duo. I really, REALLY hope that I'm not biting off more than I can chew.
With that in mind he sprinted forward from his survey spot and, as soon as he felt it was reasonable, threw one tomahawk at the outstretched arm of the lead baddie since it appeared to have some kind of ray gun in it. While he was confident enough with tomahawks to carry them into battle, his record with throwing them landed somewhat on the negative side of fifty-fifty. Therefore it was definitely a spot of good luck when the weapon hit its mark, nearly lopping off the alien's hand at the wrist, causing the bonehead to cry out in pain. Before his two minions could bring their weapons to bear on him he was already on them with a new tomahawk in place to make sure he confronted them with a duo rather than a solo. Immediately he set upon an attack plan comprised of two parts: one dealing with positioning while the other dealt with tactics. The first was that he did his best to keep one of the aliens between him and the other two at all times so that the two furthest from him wouldn't be able to fire their guns without hitting their ally. The other was that he alternated between using one tomahawk to parry while the other was used to strike a blow in whatever spot seemed promising at the time. Naturally he did his best to hit the head or the throat since, in his experience, be it human or demon, a blow to either spot was guaranteed to either kill or be a serious distraction for your opponent.
He could hear the aliens he was fighting saying something but he couldn't make heads or tails of their language, so it was pretty much pointless to talk with them. Besides, he had enough on his plate fighting because it soon became clear to him that these guys were soldiers, pretty decent ones from his point of view. Both the one he hadn't injured and the one he had were trying to get around the one he was facing off against in an effort to get a clean shot. He was managing to slow them down but he knew he had to start trimming the numbers or else he'd wind up getting shot in the back. With this in mind he brought one of his tomahawks up, as he'd done five times so far, to make it look like he was blocking some sort of curved dagger but at the last second he removed all strength from that arm. As a result the alien overdid it in the strength department and so, with a slight side step, his opponent was vulnerable. With an overhead chop he used the tomahawk in his other hand to deliver a decent chop right below the bone crest thing that covered the back of his foe's head.
His opponent dropped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
It'd been his hope to at the very least deliver a sizeable shock to his foe's spinal column in an effort to temporarily paralyze him. However, based on how deep the blade sunk into the flesh, he was fairly certain that the tip had managed to find its way in between the vertebrae. That pretty much guaranteed that the alien was permanently paralyzed unless his people had some kind of advanced medical devices or treatments that could handle such an injury.
Whatever the case, he didn't have time to think on it any further.
With his shield gone he was out in the open and therefore vulnerable to long range attack so he needed to re-establish his previous defense and FAST. Darting to the left, he did his best to get the sole remaining unharmed enemy alien between him and the one that was bleeding profusely from its right wrist. However this was proving difficult since both aliens were doing their utmost to oppose this by moving in different directions thus increasing the difficulty he was experiencing. Knowing that defeat would arrive on swift wings if he didn't do something immediately, he decided that perhaps doing the unexpected would make things go the way he wanted, so he threw both tomahawks, one at each foe, and then pulled the battle axe off his shoulder and followed the one heading to the uninjured alien. For a moment he thought it'd all been for nothing but then the alien he was heading for did what he was hoping for and looked at the oncoming tomahawk in order to properly dodge it. Putting on an extra burst of speed, he brought the battle axe up like a baseball bat and swung hard enough to send a ball to the bleachers.
DAMN! he thought as the alien almost successfully evaded the swing. Good thing I was aiming for the body instead of the neck...
Instead he managed to take one arm clean off while burying the blade of the battle axe a good two inches into the alien's right side. The only real downside to this scored blow was the fact that it knocked the alien to the ground, leaving him decidedly exposed and this of course put the other alien in prime position to ventilate him with its ray gun. His eyes darted this way and that, looking for any sort of cover or anything he could use as an improvised shield, but it turned out lady the luck had decided she'd fulfilled her quota for the night. He really hoped that this hadn't been the universe's intention from the beginning because if it was then he really, REALLY should've just walked the rest of the way to Vegas and come back with a rental to get the rest of his stuff. Looking at the injured but still armed alien, he could tell the guy definitely ticked off at him and, given the tone being used as the man spoke, he got the impression that if he hadn't been pressed for time he'd make the dying last longer.
Then, just as he was expecting to get shot in the chest, an odd engine sound filled the air and, before he could think of what it could be, a pair of headlights appeared, temporarily blinding all. His eyes managed to adjust a few seconds later, allowing him to see two men get out of a black car wearing black suits. If it wasn't for the fact that he was likely still seconds away from getting a smoking hole in the chest, he'd have laugh at how they screamed 'government agents'.
"Freeze! MiB!" declared the African American agent while covering the entire group with a shiny looking ray gun.
Now THIS got the only remaining evil alien's attention… assuming, of course, that their facial expressions and emotions were anything at all like those humans had.
"Drop the hardware, bonehead, or we'll drop you," the darker-skinned agent warned as he and his partner proceeded forward, covering all involved with their futuristic weapons.
The alien that'd been about to ventilate him rattled off something in his native tongue that he couldn't understand but which clearly meant 'stay out of this'.
"Wrong. Section 3, paragraph four, line seven of the Alpha Centauri treaty clearly states that all conflicts occurring on Earth fall under the jurisdiction of the MiB, save under special circumstances," the older Caucasian said in a no nonsense tone of voice. "Circumstances that don't apply in this situation. Now drop the Sha'ann PPG."
For a moment it was a courage test to see if the alien baddie with the bleeding wrist was ready to take on two more foes with long range weapons. In the end, though, it looked like bonehead had a brain in his skull after all because he dropped his weapon and raised his arms in surrender. Considering this an end to the conflict, he began to relax but, as he looked to the right, he saw something that had him moving on instinct alone. With all the speed he could muster he crossed ten feet before he dove through the air, spreading his limbs as wide as possible in order to become a more effective shield.
All at once three points of pain blossomed on his body as his mind caught up to what his instincts had already figured out and acted on. The alien he'd lopped an arm off of and left a sizeable slice in the side of hadn't lost consciousness like he'd thought but rather had brought his own gun out and had been taking aim at the woman who'd been fretting over an injured ally. He'd seen this out of the corner of his eye and had reacted to shield the two vulnerable aliens from the attack, proving once again that Angelus had been right and he had a White Knight complex that got the better of him sometime.
As he landed on the ground he could hear the sounds of ray guns going off but only briefly making him think that only the alien that had fired had been taken down. Not that such things took priority with him at the moment since the pain from the wounds was definitely making itself known, causing him to hiss in response. He didn't know if the fact that he was still conscious meant that no vital areas had been hit or he was just going to die a slow, painful death, but either way he'd likely find out sooner rather than later. Feeling footsteps approaching his position, a face entered his field of vision, concern being the dominant feeling being expressed at the moment backed up by words spoken with similar intent. It took him a second to connect the person looking down at him with the female alien he'd protected but, once he did, he gave her his trademark pending lopsided grin. He wasn't all that sure why he did it but he supposed it was to try and reassure her that everything was going to be okay.
Now if only someone could say something to convince him of that...
MiB Hospital, One Hour Later, Agent L's POV
"What's the diagnosis, L?" asked old Caucasian as they arrived next to her as she looked through the observation window.
"Mr. Harris was very lucky. The placement of the shots from the Sha'ann PPG managed to miss the vital organs entirely and as a result of the weapon's design blood loss wasn't a problem," she replied before jotting something down on the chart in her right hand. "He made it through surgery well enough and, thanks to permission from Zed, he won't have to worry about physical rehabilitation either."
"Bacta patches?" Old Caucasian asked with mild curiosity.
"No. Dermal regenerator mixed with nano-meds." She put the chart back in its slot. "Apparently Mr. Harris is something of an up and comer in Sup-dem country. Already helped save the world three times. Zed figured breaking out some of our own med-tech was the least we could do. How are our other guests?"
"Better mark down another big save for the kid," Old Caucasian said, looking through the window at the sleeping patient. "Turns out the Minbari woman he saved was Delenn of the Religious caste. She's very close to their leader Dukhat, father/daughter relationship, and from what we've been able to piece together members of the Warrior caste were planning on using her to blackmail some alterations to the man's plans for their world."
"Guess they're gonna have to go back to the drawing board, huh?" she asked rhetorically, feeling a little impressed at her temporary patient's action.
"Maybe not. The Minbari civil war has been going on for a long time and their weapons technology has advanced by leaps and bounds since then," Old Caucasian said, never losing his monotone voice. "If the Warrior caste comes for her in a warship, it'll be trouble. As it stands the threat of one might be enough to force Zed to hand Delenn over."
"K, I'm no extra-terrestrial political expert but even I know that being a prisoner of the Minbari Warrior caste is far from a picnic," she pointed out, not liking the memories of her perusing Minbari medical files.
"I know. I have the Twins looking through the relevant treaties and laws for any loopholes and fine print we can use to keep her out of their hands," Agent K said, somewhat sounding minimally determined to find an answer. "Until then we'll sit on the two we have in custody. With a little luck that'll buy us a few hours to find an acceptable solution."
"And Mr. Harris?" she asked, looking to the man in the hospital bed.
"Once he's fit to leave under his own power we'll neuralyze him and then drop him off in Vegas." Agent K replied without pause. "As much as we appreciate his help, the rules are the rules."
"Maybe pay for a week's stay at the Bellagio plus a small box of complimentary poker chips as a reward?" she suggested as a possibility.
For a moment Agent K looked like he'd refuse the idea but then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the communicator.
"J? Call up the Bellagio and reserve a room for a week," K said into the device with an all business tone of voice. "Add five hundred bucks worth of chips to be left in the room. All on our tab."
Without waiting for confirmation the link was cut and the device put back into the pocket.
"Recovery ETA?" Agent K asked her in an on the clock tone of voice.
"Six hours. By then the nano-meds will have done most of the work and he'll be ready to be discharged."
"Then I'll see you in six hours," Agent K said before turning away and walking towards the elevators.
"He never changes," she muttered with a shake of her head as she decided to go check on the Minbari Religious caste member that'd been seriously injured.
Even if they did wind up having to turn over Delenn to the Warrior caste, she could at least make sure that her comrade survived to see his home world again.
One Floor Up, Two Doors Down, Later, Delenn's POV
"Will she be alright?" she asked as she looked at the helmswoman in the bed.
"Well, the damage is significant," Agent L replied as she ran a scanner over her patient. "Between the her console blowing up in her face and the PPG wound there are multiple lacerations, two broken ribs and obviously the wound Sha'ann inflicted. We've managed to deal with the lacerations and the PPG wound but the ribs will take longer to heal since we don't have nano-meds configured for Minbari physiology. Still, with time she should make a full recovery and be back on duty before the year is out."
"Good. After all she has done for me I would be greatly saddened if she died," she said with relief at the news that the one who put her life at risks for her would live.
Indeed she knew not if she would be able to bear another life lost on her soul for she already had many who had made the ultimate sacrifice in order to ensure that she lived and escaped.
Thinking back, she tried to recall where it had all started to go wrong.
It had begun when the leader of the Religious caste and her mentor Dukhat had asked for her to travel to one of worlds on the border of Minbari space to speak with an influential leader of the Worker caste. It was something she was not inexperienced with as she had been sent on similar missions before since many of her people tended to see her as speaking with his voice. Thus her voice carried with it some weight and, since she had done it before, she did not even consider refusing her mentor's request. She had departed on the Dukhat'Tha immediately and, on the trip to the planet on which she was to meet with the member of the Worker caste, everything had happened without any trouble at all. Indeed the talks themselves had been most productive, as well as the man had been most impressed by her presentation of Dukhat's intentions, his dream for a new Minbar, and had readily given his support. It had been on the trip home that things had taken a turn for the worse when two Sharlin-class warcruisers jumped out of hyperspace, blocking their path. It hadn't taken long for the captain and his crew to recognize both vessels as belonging to the Warrior caste but they had not struck first. No. Instead they had opened a communications channel and politely inquired as to their purpose.
The captain of the Trigoti had ordered the captain of the Dukhat'Tha to turn her over to them or they would take her by force.
It had been something of a surprise since usually the members of the Warrior caste would at least feign politeness or show themselves to be capable of reason when speaking to others. The captain of the Dukhat'Tha had asked his Warrior caste counterpart to explain himself, but all that had resulted in was the conversation being terminated and the battle to begin. Her ship had been outnumbered but the captain was skilled in the area of tactics and strategy, so he had been able to inflict a surprising amount of damage on both enemy ships. The good fortune didn't last, though, as the chief engineer contacted the bridge and informed them that the jump engine had been hit and was working its way to overloading.
When he'd looked at her with increasingly grim eyes, she'd known that he was about to give an order in which many would die.
She was not disappointed.
He'd order all but a skeleton crew to abandon ship and for the remainder to flee in all directions. When a member of the bridge crew had protested, saying that they'd easily be destroyed, he revealed the core of his plan: to make the enemy believe that she was on one of the escaping ships. He'd send out an omni-directional transmission once enough flyers and fighters left the ship to fool the Warrior caste ships into believing that she was on one of those ships. Without a way to determine which of the escaping ships she was on, the enemy would be confused and indecisive for a time. It had been the captain's hope that when they'd finally decided on which ship to follow the flyer she was on would have enough of a head start to escape or would not be the one they chose to follow. In the end the captain's plan had only bought her flyer time as an enemy flyer ambushed them just as they were entering a jump gate. The weapon's fire damaged the gate, flinging both her ship and the one attacking to the Sol system, where the battle forced them to land on the planet Earth.
Truthfully there was no clear cut point that she could see that could be labeled as the point where things went wrong, making it all seem like random chance.
Bad luck.
"What of the young man who came to my aid?" she asked, turning her thoughts to something a little more current. "What is his condition?"
"He'll be fine. The PPG blasts didn't hit any vital organs and MiB has medical technology from several advanced civilizations," Agent L replied as she finished scanning the unconscious helmswoman. "When I last checked he was scheduled to make a full recovery in five and a half hours and will be discharged soon after."
"Would it be possible for me to see him before he goes?" she asked, a bit of hope in her voice. "I would like to thank him personally for his help against the members of the Warrior caste."
"I suppose that could be arranged but he won't remember it an hour later," Agent L replied before noticing her puzzled look. "It's standard procedure. Any non-alien or non-MiB personnel that witness an event of alien or para-sup nature is neuralized at the earliest moment, eliminating their memory of the event. They are then given a more 'normal' memory as a substitute before being sent on their way to resume their lives."
While it was disappointing that her words would not remain with the conscious mind of her rescuer, she was confident that it would remain with his spirit and that was what really mattered.
"Nevertheless I would still like to express my thanks for his help," she said, remaining strong in her desire to express her gratitude.
"Very well. I'll come by to escort you there in a little over five hours," Agent L said with a nod as she finished updating the chart at the foot of the helmswoman's bed. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to update Zed on the situation here."
"Of course," she said with a nod of thanks before she watched Agent L leave the room.
Turning her gaze back to her sleeping comrade, she wondered what would occur when she finally returned to Minbar. She hoped she returned there amongst friends but she could not dismiss the possibility that the humans might choose to submit to the Warrior caste's demands should one of their ships arrive before the Religious caste could send one of their own. She would not blame them if they chose to do so because never had she heard of the planet Earth in all her travels, nor had anyone she'd met mentioned the planet either. That told her that this planet and its people had not yet advanced enough sociologically or technologically to ascend into space and become a galactic political entity. If this was indeed the case, then they did not possess the ability to defend themselves from the Warrior caste or their ships. Likely any attempt at doing so would result in thousands, if not millions, of innocent deaths and if the only way to prevent that was to surrender to the Warrior caste, she would do so. It went against everything her mentor Dukhat had ever taught her to sacrifice innocents in order to preserve her own life.
May Valeria help to ensure that she was returned safely to her people and that the Earth remained unharmed by those whose efforts continued to prevent the manifestation of peace on Minbar.
Six Hours Later, Xander's Room, MiB Hospital, Xander's POV
Antiseptic smell? Check. Uncomfortable pajamas? Check. Itchy bedsheets? Check! You know, it's pretty sad when I can tell I'm in a hospital without even opening my eyes.
Deciding he might as well face the music, he opened his eyes and found two signs that his memories of fighting aliens were in fact not an unusual dream brought about by a Twinkie past its expiration date. On the one side of his bed was a blonde woman in her mid-forties dressed in a black ladies business suit that definitely had been made by the same tailor as the two men who'd come in like the cavalry. However since he'd specifically made the connection between suits and MiB it was quite probably that the conspiracy theorists might've been on the mark about a clandestine government organization. Even more so when he considered the obviously alien woman on the other side of his bed who, in human terms, looked to be only a few years older than him. Bald with a bone crest riding the back of her head, it was a novel look and definitely preferable to something like the aliens in 'Prey' or 'Predeterminator'. He also identified her as one of the aliens that he'd been working to save from the bad ones, so he figured she was either here to say thanks or declare a blood oath promising his death.
He was definitely hoping for the former.
"Welcome back to the waking world, Mr. Harris," the blonde said with a quiet smile on her face. "I'm Agent L and this is Delenn of the planet Minbar."
"Always happy to meet two pretty ladies," he said with his usual lopsided grin. "Also just call me Xander. 'Mr. Harris' is my father."
"Okay then, Xander," Agent L said with a smile to show she appreciated his compliment. "What do you remember about what happened before you lost consciousness?"
"Um… I remember a spaceship crashing. Some bullies trying to put Delenn here in her grave way too early. I decided to step in and let them know how much I hate bullies. Bit off a bit more than I could chew, though. If your two buddies hadn't come along when they had I'm pretty sure I'd be dead right now. Speaking of which… I'm assuming that you didn't just wake me up to tell me I'm going to die."
"You're not going to die," Agent L said with a slight shake of her head. "In fact, thanks to a little top secret medical technology, you're ready to be discharged from this hospital."
"Oh. Good. 'Cause dying'd put a real crimp in my plans… such as they are, anyway," he said, a little relieved that he was soon to be leaving the place.
"Yes, we found your car not too far away from the crash site. Based on the direction it was pointed in, I assume you were planning on going to Las Vegas?" Agent L asked while waving some odd sci-fi gizmo over him.
"Yep. Needed someplace to unwind and figured the gambling capital of the world would do the trick. Soooo…. what do I need to sign before can walk out of here?"
"No paperwork, Xander," came a man's voice from the doorway of the room.
Turning in that direction he saw a sixty-something Caucasian guy he remembered as one of the men that'd gotten out of the black car outside of Las Vegas.
"Just two things. First Acolyte Delenn would like to say something and then we need just one more medical checkup then you can go." Old Caucasian said, taking a place at the foot of the bed. "Delenn?"
"I just wanted to express my gratitude to you, Xander, for saving my life," Delenn said with a genuine smile of thanks on her face. "If you had not come along when you did, my companion would be dead and I would likely be a prisoner of the Warrior caste at this moment."
"Warrior caste?" he asked, his curiosity overriding his caution for a moment.
"Among my people, the Minbari, there are three castes, or callings, which all of my people belong to. The Warrior caste, the Worker caste and the Religious caste," Delenn replied, apparently seeing nothing wrong with explaining.
"If they're your own people, why were they trying to kidnap you?" he asked, trying to understand the situation he'd stumbled into. "Too cheap to send an invitation in the mail?"
"The different castes have been at war with one another for over a thousand years, kid," Old Caucasian replied, putting his own two cents into the discussion. "Differences in ideology, points of view and bad blood have kept the Minbari people from uniting for a long time. Delenn's mentor, Dukhat, is working towards unification and it looks like he just might pull it off with a little bit more time. Some people, particularly in the Warrior caste, don't like that little fact."
"In other words it all comes down to politics." He was a little bit disappointed, honestly. "A super advanced alien race and still they get bogged down by politics."
Seeing the somewhat downcast look on Delenn's face he realizes that he just badmouthed her people.
"No offense, Delenn. I'm sure most of your people are good but… a lot of humans when they think of space travelling aliens they think of people who've managed to get their race to be one big happy family and then took to the stars. Finding out that the Minbari are still acting like a lot of countries here on Earth is a little disappointing."
"None taken. I have found myself disappointed in my people myself from time to time," Delenn said with a half grin to show she wasn't bothered by his words. "A thousand years ago the war against the Shadows should have been an opportunity to truly come together as a people and forge a new future. Sadly it never came to pass and so we have been fighting to determine who will control the future of our people."
"And your… mentor… is getting close to bringing you all together?" he asked, just to make sure he had an accurate picture of the situation.
"Perhaps. There are many on all sides who are tired of the fighting, tired of losing those close to them, and he appeals to the hearts that yearn for change," Delenn replied, getting a look in her eye that just screamed starry eyed dreamer. "Dukhat is trying to change our society, to bring an end to the war, and rekindle the hope that existed when we all worked together to defeat the Shadows. The Warrior caste, however, believes that he is rallying our people to him so that he alone can rule over all Minbari. That is something they will never allow to come to pass."
"Sounds like a pretty big deal," he said, marveling at the images her words were conjuring inside his head.
"Not something you'll have to worry about, kid," Old Caucasian said as he put his hands in his jacket pockets. "In a few minutes this'll just be another routine night for you."
"No offense, Mister Freeze, but this isn't exactly the sort of thing you forget," he said before considering something. "Then again if you really need this to be kept top secret and everything I know all about keeping my mouth shut about important things."
"Best get dressed, kid, unless you want to go to Vegas in hospital blues," Old Caucasian suggested before heading for the door. "We'll step outside so you can have some privacy."
One by one everyone vacated the room and after a moment's look about he spotted a stack of clothes that he recognized from one of his suitcases all folded up on a chair. For a moment he wondered who'd picked them out but then shrugged, figuring it didn't really matter all that much. Getting out of the bed, he still felt a tingle of pain in the spots where he'd been hit with the ray gun but nothing he couldn't manage on his own. A couple of minutes later he was fully clothed with his wallet in his pocket, along with the keys to his car, and he was ready to hit the road once more.
Of course when he opened the door to his hospital room to find himself on a sidewalk in front of a building and his car a couple of feet away… that was a definite noggin' scratcher.
Mostly because he didn't think hospitals were designed that way.
"We took the liberty of giving your car a tune up and putting a fresh tank of gas in," Old Caucasian said from his spot next to Agent L. "Should be able to get you to where you're going just fine."
"Thanks. I was a little worried I'd have to dip into my road trip funds to get her fixed. Guess I'll see you guys around, eh?"
"No…" Old Caucasian said as he put a pair of glasses on with one hand while taking a silver cylinder out of his pocket with the other. "…you won't."
The old guy pressed one button to cause the cylinder to extend to reveal a band of red glass at the top and then another button that caused a flash of bright light to temporarily blind him.
"There were no alien ships. There were no aliens. You just had a spot of car trouble outside of Las Vegas and called the local Triple A to tow your car to the nearest garage to get fixed." Old Caucasian said as though rattling off a boring story, "You wound up being their hundredth customer for the month and won one week at the Bellagio with complimentary poker chips."
Blinking in order to get the flecks of light out of his eyes, he then rubbed them for good measure before looking back at the suit wearing duo of Agent L and Old Caucasian. "No offense but no one'd believe a half-assed story like that. As for the light show… are you trying to make me blind or what?!"
Seeing the expressions on both of their faces he got the impression that they were severely shocked, though the old Caucasian guy hid it damn well. Whether they were surprised at his statement or thought that the cylinder was supposed to do something to make him accept their cover story without question he didn't know but he had a feeling he wouldn't have to wait long to find out which it was.
"L? Are you certain his scans came up as human?" old Caucasian asked as he collapsed the cylinder and put it back into his pocket.
"Of course, K. I did a basic scan as per standard procedure when a civilian does something out of the ordinary and it came back as human." Agent L said, quickly recovering from her surprise.
"Check over the equipment again to make sure it's working perfectly," Agent K ordered as he put his glasses back into his pocket. "We'll run a second scan but this time add a neurological and optical scan to the mix."
"You think you know why the neuralyzer didn't work on him?" Agent L asked, curiosity clear in her tone.
"Yep. Need confirmation though before I inform Zed," Agent K replied before turning back to him. "Looks like you'll need to stay with us awhile longer Mr. Harris."
Debating the odds of escaping the two agents, he eventually came to the conclusion that for the time being compliance was the way to go. So far they hadn't hurt him, to the contrary they'd fixed him up when they could've let him die, so he'd give them the benefit of a doubt. If they did anything shifty later on he'd bolt and find someplace to hide out until the heat blew over.
He wasn't sure what he'd do after that but he'd think of something.