Okay, this thing just grew and grew. Originally I was going to post the entire thing, but once this thing passed the 12,000 word point then once again reality snuck back in and hit me on the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper. I've also been nominated for three categories at the White Knight Fanfiction awards and I'd like to say thank you to everyone who nominated me as well as everyone who has sent in a review so far. Here is the latest episode. Hope you enjoy! Oh and thanks to BunnyButler for pointing out the typo in the last chapter. Oops.


Cordelia blinked hard. Okay, that was too freaky for words. One minute she'd been surrounded by the Cordettes, along with that new girl, Anya, who had a very cool taste in clothes but a rather less cool demony face. The next minute she was alone. Turning, she looked around. Yup, still alone. On the whole, Sunnydale was starting to freak her out. It hadn't been so bad before she'd found out about the stupid Hellmouth thing.

Then she frowned and walked over to the tree by the side of the entrance. Something was on it. She blinked and stared. Okay this was even freakier than some of the other things. Someone had stuck a skeleton to the trunk. Or rather nailed it, she could see by the corroded metal protruding from the chest of the extremely dead thing. It wasn't in the best of shapes. For a start, one of its hands along with a chunk of arm was missing. It also seemed to be rather vampiry. The teeth seemed to be a bit large and nasty and its forehead was all ridgy. This was odd. Vampires, in her limited experience, tended to go very dusty when sunlight hit them. Only one vampire had left a skeleton that she knew of, and that had been the Master. But he was dead. Actually dead and then pounded to bits by Buffy.

"Miss Chase!" said a voice to one side that seemed to ooze pompous outrage. She looked to one side and jumped what felt like two feet in the air in shock. Principal Flutie was standing next to her, clutching a clipboard and radiating vague irritation. Wasn't he dead? He was certainly looking at her in an odd manner. "Miss Chase, lessons started ten minutes ago! Unless you want a demerit for lateness you'd better go at once. And step away from that..." A combination of loathing and horror coloured his voice. "That thing. You should know better to go anywhere near it."

Still staring at him as if he was something too freaky for words Cordelia walked inside the school. Something was very, very wrong here. Flutie was alive, he seemed to know about vampires and lessons had mysteriously jumped back fifteen minutes in time. It must have had something to do with that Anya person. She hurried on to her history class.

By the time that lunch break came, she was even more confused. People seemed to be missing. No Willow, Buffy, Xander, Oz or Harmony. Lessons seemed to be rather subdued. Hell, people seemed to be downright morose at times. And the Cordettes weren't there either. When she entered the library to talk to Giles he wasn't there either. Instead there was some brunette who told her that Mr Giles had been called away on business and that he'd be back later that afternoon.

The afternoon didn't get any better. Computer sciences had been cancelled as the unnamed teacher had also been called away. French seemed to consist of a lot of stupid translating of Jules Verne and History was all about the equally stupid Romans and the squabbling of two generals with the dumb names of Marius and Sulla. Mrs Pollock had done a lot of eyebrow raising in an attempt to make some kind of point, but she had no idea what that point was.

By end of the school day Giles still hadn't returned and she wandered out of the school looking bewildered. It was rather too quiet. There was almost no traffic. People looked... well, rather hunted. She wandered into the Bronze, gaped at the lack of activity and wandered out again. Then she paused. It might make sense to back to the library again, in case Giles had returned. If she went home then the chances were that Mom was complaining about the fact that she wasn't allowed to fly to Paris at the drop of a hat and Dad was on the phone to his accountant again and complaining about the IRS's sudden interest in his business. Okay, the library it was.

She turned and had started off down the street when she heard something off to one side. The next thing she knew someone had wrapped his arms around her and was pulling her into an alleyway. A year ago she would have just screamed. Now she screamed, raked her heels painfully down her attacker's legs and was fumbling in her purse for either her can of Mace or a stake, depending on the threat.

Something crunched in her assailant's leg and he lurched violently, allowing her to break out of his grip. Great, she was in an alleyway that led to a dead end. Pulling both the Mace and the stake out, she whirled to confront him. Then she pulled a face. Okay, he was a vampire. He was also the thinnest vampire she had ever seen, practically skeletal and shaking on his feet, his cold yellow eyes burning as he rubbed his lower leg. Something was sticking out of his ankle and she realised with a shock that it was a piece of bone.

He looked up at her. "Drain you dry," he said in a low mumble. "All that hot blood, I can smell it. All of it..."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, you couldn't drain a soda right now! I get jumped by a vampire that's falling to pieces? Get real and get out of my way, lowlife. I happen to know the Slayer. Actually, both of them."

The vampire tilted his shaking head and looked at her. "Slayer... slayer's a long way away. Both? Both... No. One Slayer, always has been. No. Hungry now." He pulled himself into a more upright position, obviously getting ready to jump on her when there was a noise like a high-pitched crack and something red flashed into his back. The vampire convulsed, screaming, and suddenly there was fire running along his back from where the red bolt had slammed into his spine. The flames spread like a hungry forest fire and suddenly he was gone, dissolved into a cloud of fiery dust.

Cordelia blinked. Then she looked back to the entrance to the alleyway, where a figure was standing and starting to pull some kind of gun down from an aiming position. "Oz!" she shouted in relief. "Wow that was good timing! Where the hell have you guys been all day?"

Oz looked confused. "I'm sorry, have we met? I saw you facing the vampire off and thought that I'd lend a hand. We don't see many of their kind around these days."

Confused she looked down at the rapidly eroding pile of dust. "I thought vampires liked the Hellmouth. What do you mean 'we don't see many of their kind around'? And what do you mean 'have we met'? Come on, Oz, have you been partying too hard with the Dingoes again?"

His face grew even more confused. "The Dingoes broke up last year. Um, do I know you?"

"Oz, it's me, Cordy. Did you bang your head again when you were wolfboy? 'Cause if you did, you sure are acting all wiggy. And what's with the odd gun? What is that thing?"

Looking down at the gun – a black device with odd things sticking out at angles that looked strangely familiar – Oz glanced back up at her. "Wolfboy? How do you know... I don't know who you are, um... Cordy." He paused. "Hang on a second, didn't you once date Devon last year?"

She rolled her eyes yet again. "Yeah, for all of about two seconds. Damn it, Oz, stop creeping me out with all this crap!"

He shook his head again. "I'm sorry, but I don't know you."

This was too much and she finally lost her temper. "Oz, goddamnit, stop that! We've known each other for more than a year! You know me through the Slayer, much as I want to wish otherwise, the Slayer part, not the you part. You date Willow, and why am I still putting up with this? I need to get to the library and talk to Giles. Something majorly weird is going on here today!"

Flinching slightly from this tirade Oz stiffened slightly. "Willow Rosenberg? And do you mean Rupert Giles?"

"What other Giles do we know?" she snapped.

Oz looked to one side, obviously considering something. Then he beckoned. "Come on. He should be back at the library by now." Then he made off at a determined trot, tucking the odd gun into a sling that Cordelia could see hanging around his neck and which could be tucked neatly out of sight under his coat.

Running after him she drew level and then glared at him. "Oz, what is going on? Where's Willow, and Xander? And Buffy?"

It took a second before she realised that he had stopped dead in his tracks and was staring at her. "What?" she asked.

"You know..." He paused and then spat out: "Xander Harris?"

"Well yeah. Former geek, thinks he's funny, got all serious once he got possessed by Obi-Wan Kenobi last Halloween and turned into a Jedi and... what?" she asked, seeing him stare at her in total disbelief. Then he seemed to gather his wits and walk on.

"We need to see Giles," he said tersely. "I don't know who this Buffy is, but Willow Rosenberg's dead and Harris... well, he wasn't possessed by Kenobi last year. Come on!"


Riley Finn ducked down behind a stanchion and then risked a quick look to his front. Two on the left, one on the right. He fired two blaster bolts straight down the corridor at the lights, plunging part of it into darkness and then fired three more to the right. By the screams he had got both of them as they tried to take advantage of the darkness. Then he fired another three bolts to the right and ran for it. By the thumping sound behind him he'd just killed another human being. One more for the butcher's bill. He turned a corner, checked his six and kept running. Not far to go now. Turning another corner he caught sight of Forrest, Graham and the guy they'd worked so hard to get out. He was still lolling unconscious, but at least Forrest was busy opening the emergency exit in the roof whilst Graham assembling a sling from some spare rope that he had scavenged from somewhere.

"Okay, we've got company," he said. "Not him, just guards. I'll hold them off. Make for the rendezvous and we'll all meet up at the library. Go, get him out of here! There's too much at stake!"

Forrest paused and then nodded sharply. The steel door creaked as it opened, slowly at first and then faster. "Let's do it," he called down to Graham, who was busy arranging the sling around the comatose man's arms. "See you on the flip side, Riley."

He grinned in response and sketched a salute. Then he span and took aim down the corridor. This wasn't quite last stand time, but it was close. He could hear running feet echoing along the corridors. That was good. Walking feet was bad. That meant him. Tucking the butt of the blaster tighter to his shoulder in reflex he waited. Time. That was what they needed. Time and the expertise of Rupert Giles. He started to fire into the swirling smoke.


Giles sighed with pleasure as he picked up his mug of tea and then took a slow sip. After a long and frankly rather frustrating day chasing down a possible (and eventually non-existent) lead about what was going on, tea and a piece of shortbread were definitely called for. Then Jenny walked out of the office holding her own mug of herbal brew and he reconsidered that. Actually a glass of wine each and a romantic Italian meal were called for, but you couldn't have everything. She perched herself on the table next to him and grinned at him.

"You really do need a new car, Giles," she teased.

He snorted. "I'll have you know that my car is a classic."

"Does that mean an antique?"

"Hardly." He looked up at the clock. "I wonder if they've made it into the complex yet..."

She hit him lightly on the shoulder. "Stop that! You can't be everywhere. I know that the whole Watcher ethos runs deep, but you need to step back and be the valiant commander."

Sighing deeply he removed his glasses, polished them absent-mindedly and looked up at her fondly. There really were times when he was astonished to find her still there with him. Most other women would have given up years before.

There was a confused noise outside the doors to the library and they both tensed slightly before relaxing again as the three figures stumbled through the entrance clutching their impedimenta. Warren was complaining about the need to upgrade the laptop again, while Andrew was busy talking at nineteen to the dozen about how important it was to get hold of Lucas's original notes for the saga and if an explanation for the Sith could be gleaned from the novels. It sounded as if they had been talking for some time to the third person and they both rambled to a halt at about the same instant, allowing Jonathan to smile slightly. "Once they started talking on the way here I couldn't shut them up. Sorry Giles. I think it's some kind of defence mechanism."

"Is not!" snapped Andrew and then looked embarrassed.

"Hey, pardon me if someone has to set some priorities around here," muttered Warren and then looked back at the laptop. "This thing is so last year, I mean Rebel Alliance Headquarters deserves better," he whined, but still went about plugging it in. Then he looked up at the clock. "They should be in by now, right? Any word?"

"None," sighed Giles. "You'll know the moment we get any news. Thank you again, all of you. I know that if they're successful then life is going to get, well, more than a little complicated, but thanks."

"No problem," said Jonathan, putting down the books he was carrying. "Is Hoth base ready?"

Giles winced. "Jonathan, I wish you would stop calling it that. Yes, it is."

There was another sound at the doors and everyone looked up, tensing slightly again. Then Oz walked through – followed by an extremely confused looking Cordelia Chase. A frowning Giles stood up. This was not a case of good timing at all. If the others arrived when she was around...

But just as he was about to open his mouth and ask as delicately as possible what the girl was doing there, he saw that she had gone white as a sheet and seemed to be on the verge of fainting. Holding up a violently trembling finger to point at Jenny she blurted: "First... first Flutie and now you? You died... you died last year..."

Giles flashed a quick glance at a stunned Jenny and then looked back at Cordelia. If anything she looked even paler and he hurried over to usher her gently into a chair. This was easy as she seemed to be operating on automatic pilot, although her head seemed to be fixated by Jenny and she almost twisted her head right around in an effort to walk and stare at the same time. Checking her pulse carefully and laying his hand on her forehead he looked up. "Mild shock. We need some hot sweet tea." As Jenny, obviously relieved to get out of the way, went into the office, he looked back at Oz. "What happened to her?"

"You know her, then?" asked the werewolf, looking at her quizzedly.

"Yes, she's a student here. Keeps asking for the 'big books that tell you how to get a passing grade in stuff.'" He looked down at her as well. He'd always suspected that the cheerleader had hidden depths. They were very well hidden, but they were there.

"Vamp almost got her by the Bronze. On its last legs. She was fighting back, you know how brittle they get when they're starving to death. I got it, she saw me and greeted me like she knew me. That's when things got weird. Giles, she keeps referring to people who aren't there any more. Mentioned Willow Rosenberg and-" his face darkened. "Him. Plus someone called Buffy. Claimed we were all friends. She also said that Harris went to Halloween as Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Would that we were that lucky," muttered Giles, staring at the pale girl with great interest. "Why would she say that?"

Jenny returned with a mug of hot milky tea and put it into Cordelia's hands. The girl took a slow sip and then stared at Jenny again, a bit like someone who was totally unsure about their present sanity. "You're dead," she whispered again. "Angelus killed you."

At that name Giles whirled on her, staring. "Angelus?" he snapped, drawing a 'don't freak her out' look from Jenny. "What do you know about Angelus?" The Scourge of Europe might be in the side of the angels at the moment, but that didn't mean that Giles feared that one day something nasty might happen to tip him over back to the Dark Side. He had seen that happen right before his eyes with Harris and it scared him more than he cared to admit.

"He killed her..." said Cordelia in a low voice. "Last year. When he lost his soul after he... was with Buffy. In a bedroom kind of way."

Warren sidled up to Giles. "Okay, has she gone a bit, you know, fruit loops?" he asked, circling the side of his forehead with one forefinger. "Because it sure sounds like it and - Ow!" Cordelia had kicked him hard on the side of the leg and was gazing up at him with wobbly determination.

"I have not gone fruit loops!" she barked. "Everything's gone nuts since this morning and that girl with the demony face, but I'm... I'm... okay. I think." She subsided back into her uncertain state, directed another terrified look at Jenny and started to sip her tea again.

"Actually Warren, after two and a half years on a Hellmouth I have long since learnt to ignore Occam's Razor," said Giles.

"Okay. No idea what that is."

"Occam's Razor, it's a rule of logic," called Jonathan from the table. "Means don't make up complicated explanations when a simple one will do."

"Yes," said Giles, "And on the Hellmouth it means bugger all." Blowing out a breath he grabbed a chair and sat down again. Some kind of alarm bell was going off in the back of his head and it was something that he had learnt not to ignore at all. "You, you mentioned Buffy. Not a name I'm familiar with I'm afraid."

She directed an incredulous gaze at him. "As if!" she said forcibly. "Giles, earth to Giles, Buffy? The Slayer? You know, short, blond, attractive to men, the scumbags, slays things with Mr Pointy?"

"Mr... Pointy?"

"Stakes, Giles. She kills vampires with stakes."

He had a nasty crawling sensation, like a small army of ants was trying to take his scalp off with tiny tin openers. "Oh my God, you mean Buffy Summers? The, the current Slayer?"

Cordelia's cry of 'Duh!' was followed by Jenny's muttered: "Rupert, do you know who she's talking about?"

A corner of the floor caught his gaze for a second and he took off his glasses at the same time. Then he polished them briefly. "You might say that. I was supposed to be her new Watcher, after her old one died. She was coming here and the Watcher's Council had me moved into place beforehand. But then her parents had some form of reconciliation and they moved to Cleveland. It was all most unexpected. My contract with the school board meant that I couldn't leave so soon after joining and..." He looked at Jenny, smiled and squeezed her hand. "Things happened here," he said softly. "They, they assigned a new Watcher and as far as I know she's still in the Hellmouth on Cleveland."

"She came here two and a half years ago!" exploded Cordelia. "Come on, she was off somewhere to one side when I was talking to that new girl, Anya!"

The doors made their customary warning noise for a third time and a dark-haired man in a red shirt walked in clutching a bag. "Do you know, Ripper, how hard it is to make three Stones of Healing in one day? Bloody knackered me." He put the bag on the counter and looked over at the group. "Found another stray to take in under your wing?" he asked in a voice that combined sarcasm and cautious curiosity.

"Actually, Ethan," he replied, leaning back and replacing his glasses, "I'm not sure what we have. She seems to remember different things from us. Different events. Like the current Slayer, Buffy Summers, being in town for the past two years and Harris taking on Obi-Wan Kenobi's costume last Halloween."

Ethan Rayne went pale with anger. "Don't even joke about that, Ripper. Not tonight."

"I'm not. Joking, that is. Something very odd is going on."

"That or she's nuts," said Warren from the safety of the other side of the table.

"Apparently I'm dead," said Jenny with a raised eyebrow.

A snort was emitted from Ethan. "Hardly."

"Let's, let's get back to this morning," admonished Giles as he turned back to Cordelia. To his surprise she was glaring at Ethan. "You're Ethan Rayne?" She asked in a hard voice.

Wincing slightly, Ethan nodded.

She waved a finger in his general direction. "I lost a great cat outfit from Partytown because of you and your chaos magic last Halloween, bucko. Some dog-faced loser turned into a dog because of you and it was only thanks to Obi-Wan Harris that I got out of there intact. And I remember the whole Mark of Eggonface fiasco."

There was a clattering noise as Ethan almost dropped the three healing stones he was carrying, juggled them briefly and finally placed them onto the counter. Then he turned and stared at her. "I don't remember you being there for any of that," he said in a disbelieving tone. "Obi-Wan Harris? Darth Harris, you mean."

"No, Obi-Wan, all blue lightsabre and calm voice and throwing threatening things into bushes," said Cordelia, with real desperation in her voice now.

"Miss Chase," said Giles in a low and he hoped very serious voice, "Xander Harris went trick-or-treating that night in a Darth Vader costume."

She turned a pair of very wide and terrified eyes on him. "No," she said with even more desperation in her voice, "Xander's a geek, I know, but he didn't, wouldn't dress up like that. Not on the Hellmouth. Not him. He went as Obi-Wan! He was a Jedi!"

"He went as Vader," replied Ethan in a hollow tone. "I sold him Vader's costume. At a knock-down price." The silence that filled the room was many-layered. Ethan smouldered, Oz, Giles and Jenny looked grim, even the techno-geeks looked sombre. Cordelia looked utterly horrified.

"He didn't know then. About the Hellmouth, I mean," said Giles quietly.

Cordelia was very pale again now. "He's known about the Hellmouth since the Harvest. When Buffy stopped the Master. Saved us all."

A harsh laugh broke out of Ethan Rayne. "Oh the Master was stopped alright. But by Harris a year later, not but anyone called Buffy, whoever she is. He beat the Master to a pulp, cut off his lower arm and then nailed him to a tree outside facing east just before dawn."

"That was the skeleton outside?" asked Cordelia, making a face. "So that's good, right? He kills vampires?"

"Oh," said Oz in a low tone, "He went through the vampire population like a devouring wind. The one who jumped you was one of the few survivors. Not many of them left and those that survived are mostly starving to death. He kills vampires, sure. Thing is he also kills people. Anyone gets in his way..." He made a slashing motion with one finger across his neck. Then he turned away abruptly.

"Xander?" Cordelia asked in a disbelieving whisper. Seeing the others nod she looked away, her eyes very wide. "I can't believe this. This is... mad."

"Welcome to Sunnydale," said Ethan with a haunted smile. "Nightmares aplenty."

"So, so, he's a murderer?" she asked after a while.

Giles scratched his forehead. "Ah... where to start? Yes and no. Yes, he has killed people, and no, no-one's put him on trial for murder. He's... too powerful. He has allies of the most dangerous sort. And he's a Sith. Plus he's in charge of the town. It all makes for a rather... unpleasant set of circumstances." He paused. "Can I just backtrack a little? You said you were with someone called Anya... who had a 'demony' face. That, um, sounds a rather ominous development. Demons have taken to visiting the Cleveland or Berlin Hellmouths, not Sunnydale as Darth Harris, to, to give him his full title, tends to sense them and drive them out or kill them."

Looking a little less lost now that she had something to concentrate on, Cordelia nodded. "Yeah, I met my friends outside the school today and we were talking, and this girl Anya, she's new, she has really cool taste in clothes, and like I said we were talking and then just after she leant me her necklace... her face went all demony. These lines like this down her face," she pulled her fingers over her own features to illustrate, "And then she said in this big demony voice 'Done' and then everything just nuts."

There was a startled noise and everyone looked around to see Ethan as he did some gaping of his own. Then he swallowed hard and looked over at Giles. "Rupert," he said in a cold yet small voice. "Where do you keep your demonology books in these Sith-infested days?"

"Um, back of the office, next to the books on what to do if you get caught in a gnu stampede."

He vanished for a moment, before returning with a large and rather battered leather-bound book. Placing it on the table he flicked through it, muttering under his breath. Then he found the page he was looking for and thumped the book in front of a startled Cordelia. "Was she like that? Did she look like that?" he demanded insistently.

Giles moved over to glance at the entry. The ants started their demolition work on his scalp again. The entry was headed "Vengeance Demons, First Class (D'Hoffryn Variant)" and had a picture of a female demon with the kind of features that Cordelia had mentioned.

Looking as if she had swallowed a time bomb the girl nodded numbly. "Just like that," she said, pulling a face. "That's her."

"Anyanaka," bit off Ethan with a snarl. "Very powerful vengeance demon. One of D'Hoffryn's mob. Very nasty. Ripper, we have a problem. Anyanaka is powerful enough to have caused a major shift, a real butterfly effect phenomenon." Spinning he fixed Cordelia Chase with what appeared to be a one million volt gaze and barked: "Did you wish for anything? Anything at all?"

She pulled a face but couldn't break that terrible gaze. "No, well, yes, I might have... stupid boyfriend said her name last night instead of mine at the right moment and I might have said that I wished that Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale..." Her voice wound down like a broken record.

Ethan looked as if he was about to explode.


The first figure in the van was bored. Deeply, deeply bored. He hated stakeouts. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt and the matching baseball hat. He looked at the dregs of coffee in the plastic cup and shuddered. There was only one person in the world who could possibly even considering drinking that and he was on the other side of the building. Pursing his lips he thought about whistling, changed his mind and settled over onto his other elbow. Two nights now and nada. Zip. Sod all, as an SAS colleague had once said. His companion was admirably still, her face splashed with green light from the monitor. Nothing was happening on that either. That was a shock. Not. He made a mental note to ask about that odd shape on the tree next to the entrance. It looked, by some trick of the light, like a skeleton. Nah. As if.

If he had been on his own he could have utilised his favourite tricks to amuse himself, like naming his pencil, counting his nose and balancing on one leg and pointing north. But she might have thought such tactics, well, a little odd. He let out a silent sigh. Bored. Backwards that was derob. That sounded different. He felt very derob. Derob, derob, derob.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye and he turned sharply in his seat to see it better. Someone was sneaking down the side of the building, keeping well into the shadows. Every now and then he paused to check his six. He was good, he was very good indeed. Just the right mix of caution and speed. He was also armed with something and seemed to be wearing body armour.

"I see him, sir," said the second figure and he nodded at the screen.

"Cautious man, expecting trouble. And in a hurry. Interesting combination." He reached out and picked up a small tactical radio. "We have company," he said into it.

There was a pause and then a voice replied: "One or Two?"

"Two."

"You want us back there?"

"Negative. No guarantee he'll leave the way he came." He paused and looked at the screen. "Okay, he's in the school now. Looks like our anonymous informant was right about that much. Hang tight, report in if you see anything." There was a double click of static in response and he nodded at his companion. "Now we wait."


He looked at the piece of machinery with cold eyes and then made a careful adjustment. There was a beep and a flicker inside and he closed the access hatch carefully. Good. A few hours of charging and he'd have a new remote to practice against.

There was a soft knock to one side and a pale man walked in. Fear was radiating away from him, he could feel it with the force. Probably more bad news. "Report."

"Your pardon, my Lord, but the prisoner in Cell Three has escaped. Morgan and Schwartzkopf arrived with faked movement orders and then knocked the guards out when they said that they were going to contact you. They removed the prisoner and then fled through the access corridors where it seems that they met up with Finn, who covered their escape through an access hatch. Several guards were killed in the escape."

He sighed. Another screw-up. He needed people who would stay 100% loyal and who were also competent. Well, another few weeks and he'd have more than enough reliable guards. Everything was ready.

Looking back at the messenger, he almost smiled as he saw a flinch on the man's face. Fear had its uses. He never killed for no reason, but when he did, it was to prove a point. Mainly that he would not tolerate incompetence. He also should have had Schwartzkopf and Morgan taken into custody months before for questioning, given their closeness to that softhearted fool Finn.

"Tell Walsh to send the Hunters to find the prisoner. You may go," he said and watched the messenger scurry out, damp with relief. No, this world had a great deal of potential, once he had some reliable soldiers with him. Once he'd hunted down the softhearted elements, imposed his own order on the world and moulded it to... a better standard.

And then after that... to the stars. And more challenges. Earth was in a war, he knew. And he would win it his way. The way of the Sith. The way of the Empire.


"I don't believe it," said Ethan again, his voice rising with anger. "We're stuck here in this hell of a world maybe because this... stupid... brat... made a wish? To a vengeance demon? One of D'Hoffryn's mob as well?" He was angry, as angry as Giles had seen him for almost thirty years. Angry enough to do something stupid. He looked at Jenny out of the corner of his eye and saw her nod imperceptibly and ready herself in case she had to knock him out.

"Ethan..." he started, but the Chaos mage was on a roll now.

"We have an unholy variant on Darth Vader running about the place, in cahoots with a military organisation that has God knows what kind of plans for conquering the planet and doesn't care much about killing people who get in their way and it's all because of some..." Words failed him at that point, his face growing redder and redder and various veins starting to pulse in his forehead. He could smell the magic coming off his reluctant ally – Jenny was pale by now, the three techno-geeks were close to hiding under the table and the girl looked as if she was about to faint. Only Oz looked unperturbed.

Drawing a deep breath he barked out: "ETHAN!" They traded glares, the air sizzling between them. "Get a grip, man. Control yourself. We need to find out how such a wish could lead to so drastic a change."

The glaring competition went on for a moment longer and then Ethan broke off to stomp into a corner. Slumping into a seat as far away from the girl as he could get he pulled out a packed of fags and stuck one in his mouth. Then he reached out with his finger, glared at it until a spiral of red flame shot out from its tip, lit the fag and sat there, breathing heavily and emitting puffs of smoke like an angry volcano. After a moment he remembered to put his finger out.

Sighing and getting a sympathetic wince from Jenny, Giles turned back to Cordelia Chase. "Right, then. We need to find out, as I said, how such a chain of circumstances could come from one event. The Slayer in your... reality for want of a better word, made it to Sunnydale. What did she do then?"

Cordelia was less pale now but was still shaking. "She stopped the Harvest. She killed some vessel guy who was acting for another vamp called The Master. Everyone thought it was some gang on PCP or something, so did I at first until someone explained it all to me." There was a startled moment of reaction in the room.

"Ah," he said, putting his glasses down. Then: "Go on."

"Well, she stopped some witch on the cheerleading squad – but that was you I think as well – some puppet was hunting a demon during the school play, she got him as well, the demon not the puppet, he was a good guy, she saved me from some invisible bitch who wanted to carve my face off like Hannibal Lector, she killed The Master, who killed her for like sixty seconds but she came back to life so there are two Slayers now, she saved me from some geeks who wanted to cut my head off and stick it on a zombie for the wedding from hell, she saved a bunch of people from a loony vamp called Spike, she found out that half the swim team was being turned into fish monsters, she boffed her boyfriend Angel and turned him into Angelus, who... who..."

"Killed me, you said," breathed Jenny, prompting Giles to squeeze her hand again.

"Yeah, that... then she stuck some big knife in him just as he got his soul back thanks to Willow to close some big sucky thing demon called A Cat of La, or something, and then she skipped town for a while, while Xander was training to be a Jedi Knight. Um, she came back, Angel fell through a dimensional thingy from hell woofing like a dog, he killed a guy who was all veiny and horrible and... and they made up. "

"Quite a list," said Ethan from his corner. "I still don't understand how this led to Harris being Vader though. You said that he went as Alec Guinness in your world. Okay, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Cordelia shrugged helplessly and Giles sighed. "Well, it seems that the absence of Buffy Summers must have had some effect. The last report I had from the Watcher's Council about her said that she and her parents had moved into Cleveland quite well."

"Hold it – her parents?" Asked Cordelia, her voice rising in surprise. "Buffy's parents are divorced. They broke up in LA. Her Mom runs the Gallery here."

"And, and her father?"

"Worked someplace in LA. I don't know, what am I the Summers Family's social secretary? I don't know what her father Hank does. Did. Whatever."

There was a choking noise from the corner of the room and everyone turned to see a coughing Ethan Rayne. "What was her father's name again?" he wheezed.

"Hank Summers."

"Iesu Grist," he coughed. "So that's what he meant..."

Keeping hold of his temper as best he could, Giles looked at the Chaos Mage. "Who meant what, Ethan?"

Stubbing out his fag as best he could the Englishman stood up and hurried down the table. "I had a choice of two sets of costumes last Halloween, Ripper. One was big the other was smaller. A lot smaller. No contest, really, I went for the bigger one. Orb of seduction and Kate Moss's telephone number and instant result."

"Euw!" said Jenny and Cordelia together, echoed by a chorus of "Cool!" from the three techno-geeks, who then had the grace to look guilty.

"Yes, but the chap who arranged the shipment told me that if his old boss had been around, there was no chance on God's green earth that I could have pulled it off. The big shipment was due to go to a large shop near Malibu, he said, the best thing he could have got me was the smaller lot of costumes."

Giles sat there very still. Then he asked the question. "Did, did he say who his old boss had been?"

"He said his name was Hank Summers. Said that the man was too honest for his own good, but that he had had a last-minute reconciliation with his wife and had left for Cleveland with his family." Ethan stared at Cordelia in horror. "The big shipment had the Vader costume, Rupert. The smaller one had a lightsabre from Star Wars. The one that Guinness used to play Kenobi." His hands came up to cover his face. "Oh my God," he whispered. "Twice damned."

Walking over Giles reached out with one hand and gripped his old friend's shoulder. "You couldn't have known, Ethan. There was no way that you could possibly have known."

Ethan shuddered and stood up roughly, red-eyed. "Not much consolation, Ripper. Not much at all." He looked around. "I'd better check on those healing stones," he muttered and stalked off into the office.

Giles winced and was turning back to look at Cordelia when he glimpsed a shadow on the main doors. And then Riley Finn slumped through them, looking as if he was on the point of exhaustion. "Good God, Riley," he exclaimed, rising to his feet and helping the young man to a seat. "You look all in, man. Where are the others? Did you succeed?"

The soldier grinned tiredly and nodded. "We got him." Then he frowned. "Aren't they back yet? They got out while I held the guards off. They should be back by now."

A blanket was draped around his shoulders and a glass of water pushed into his hand. Looking up they both saw Jenny. "Don't worry, Angel and the others can take care of themselves," she said quietly. "Did you find out anything else?"

He nodded again and then paused to drink half the water greedily. "Something Forrest told me in case he didn't make it. We know what they're building in room 190. Something called some Spaarti cylinders. Don't know what that means though. Neither did Forrest."

This time the choking noises came from the other end of the table. Warren was making puffing noises, Andrew seemed to have fainted and Jonathan was white and trembling. Then the latter said: "Uh, guys? We might have a problem here. Well, actually more than one problem. A cloning problem."


The first figure was about to start naming all fifty states in reverse alphabetical order, something he only did when really trying to fight off sleep, when he saw the van creep around the corner and then glide to a halt in front of the doors. A figure with rather gelled up hair jumped out of the drivers seat, checked the neighbourhood quickly but efficiently and then banged the side of the vehicle. A second later two other figures jumped out of the doors in the back, turned and carefully dragged a limp fourth figure from the depths of the van. Staggering slightly they supported the limp figure between them and then moved quickly inside, while the driver looked around and checked their six, holding another odd-looking gun, before he too joined them inside.

The face of their unconscious guest stood out on the green screen quite well. "Well, lookie, lookie," said the first figure. "Harry, you look terrible." Then he reached for the radio. "Party's complete," he said into it, "One just turned up, looking the worse for wear I might add. Let's do it people, in and out with them both. We've got questions we need as to ask them."

"Okay,"" came the response, "We're moving – argh!" A confused noise came from the radio. The first figure sighed and looked at his companion, who raised both blonde eyebrows as she placed her helmet on her head and fastened the strap. After a few seconds a new voice came on the air. "Daniel Jackson appears to have fallen over an ornamental rose bush, O'Neill. I am assisting him. We are moving into the rear of the building."

"Figures," Jack O'Neill sighed. He tightened his own chinstrap. "Let's do this."


"Spaarti Cylinders are cloning machines... at least that's what it says in the guides," said Jonathan in hollow voice. "They're what was used by the Republic in the Clone Wars. Not that we know why. Lucas was going to make it clear in the first three films. Which he, uh, never made."

"On account of being dead," added Andrew.

"Did Forrest add anything else?" questioned Giles grimly. The former Initiative operative shook his head tiredly and then stared at Cordelia.

"Who the hell is she?"

"That's, ah, rather hard to explain. We may have another front to fight on, or at least another option to explore." He put a hand on Riley's shoulder. "Well done. Ah." Looking up he watched the doors wobble yet again. "This might be them."

A moment later the doors swung open to reveal Forrest and Graham half-dragging, half-supporting a black-clad figure between them, followed by Angel clutching a blaster. The vampire with a soul nodded tiredly to Giles and Riley. "We got him," he said. "Had a flat tyre on Fairfax, slowed us down. Sorry we're late."

Wincing Giles looked at the unconscious man. He looked as if someone – he could guess who – had used the man for a punching bag for a week. "Ethan!" he called and the morose chaos mage walked out of the office and stared.

"Get him in here," Ethan ordered quietly, "I've got some things I can use to heal him quickly."

"Magic?" asked Forrest dubiously as they went into the office.

"Good magic," Giles heard Ethan's wry reply and smiled. After a moment the two Initiative operatives – make that former Initiative operatives now – came out looking rather astonished. Then they walked over to Riley and slapped his shoulders simultaneously, grinning.

"Guys," said Riley, returning the slaps, "Meet Rebel Leader." He gestured at Giles and the two men stiffened to attention.

"At ease," he said softly. "We meet at last. Thank you for your assistance. And thank you for your trust. We need to hear your reports now, as I don't think we have very much time at the moment. Depending on Colonel Maybourne's knowledge we may have to evacuate this base of operations to a secondary facility to plan an assault. Although we had a suspicion that Harris was about to try something, we had no idea what it would be. And frankly the time to watch is over and the time to act is now."

"Sir, if they suspect that we've come here..." warned Forrest, but Giles nodded.

"That's also why we have planned an evacuation. But the most important thing we need you to do is mark out on Riley's map of the base any areas that Harris might have added, and where he plans to install these, these Spaarti Cylinders."

"I only know about the ones in Room 190, which are already installed. Graham here heard that there were more being built soon, but we don't know where or when. The secure part of the Initiative is only open to people of command facility rank or technicians first class. We're – or we were – neither. And I don't know what they do. All I know is that they sure were built in a hurry. Anyone made a mistake – crrkkk," he said, making nasty noise and tilting his head.

"Right," said Giles. "Jonathan? We need an explanation here now."

The short teenager walked over. "Um, well, in a nutshell a Spaarti Cylinder is mentioned in a number of books and notes as being... Giles why is there a red dot on your forehead?"

Riley snapped his head around and then froze. So did the others. Two figures, one male, one female, both dressed in black and with black Kevlar helmets, were at the entrance, training light machine guns with laser sights at them. Two other figures were at the stairs at the back, one apparently unarmed but massively built, with a US Army-style cap jammed low on his forehead. His companion was holding a pistol. His eyes were watering a great deal but he never took his eyes off the group.

The leader at the door – he certainly seemed to be in charge – made a short sharp motion with the tip of his machine gun. "Put the weapons down on the floor and step away from them NOW."

Moving very slowly and keeping their hands in view at all times the initiative trio, Angel and Oz put their blasters down and stepped away from them. "Ordinary MPGs," hissed Forrest to Riley who blinked in response.

"Hey!" said the man in the black helmet, "Did I say you could talk? Step away." He gestured to the huge man who darted forwards to gather up their weapons. He paused to stare at them and then rumbled "O'Neill. These are no ordinary firearms. They appear to be of alien manufacture."

"Nuts," muttered the man called O'Neill. "Freaking typical. You, Finn." Riley's heed jerked up at that. "Where's Maybourne? And where's the other guy we saw enter the building?"

Very carefully Riley pointed at the office. He had a look on his face that Giles had come to associate with their poker matches. It hinted that he had Aces over Kings.

Fortunately O'Neill, whoever he was, had never played poker with them. Gesturing for them all to move away towards the table he then waggled an eyebrow at the huge guy who removed a pistol with looked like massive distaste from a holster and moved towards the office.

He never made it. Three things happened almost at once. Suddenly Ethan was at the doorway. He made a strange gesture and shouted "Infernas!" loudly. All four intruders promptly yelled at different volumes and dropped their suddenly red-hot guns, although the one called O'Neill made a valiant effort at keeping hold of his. They all gaped at Ethan who smiled sardonically at them before waving a hand almost negligently to send them flying across the room to slam into the wall with enough force to knock them all out.

"Bloody yank pongo amateurs," the chaos mage muttered as the others scrambled to pick up their blasters and collect the intruder's guns.

"Graham, Forrest, check them out for more weapons," ordered Giles, his eyes fixed on the black-clad figures. The way that the big one and O'Neill were moving slightly and moaning softly they wouldn't be unconscious for long. "Riley, Angel, Oz, cover them." He turned to Ethan. "Thank you."

He received a shrug in response. "Never send Special Forces to do a mage's work." Then he frowned. "They were carrying ordinary guns, not blasters though. So they can't be from the Initiative."

"Not quite," called Forrest, walking over with two odd-looking devices. They resembled the coiled head of a cobra and were not familiar at all. There was some form of firing stud at the front of what appeared to be a handle on each of them. "Never seen these before. Not standard issue of any kind I've seen. Riley?" He held one out to the young Lieutenant who took it with a furrowed brow.

"Not standard issue." He stared at the quartet. "Odd tattoo on that guy's head as well. The big African-American."

Giles looked over. "Good grief. That's the mark of the Egyptian serpent god Apophis. Now, why would someone have that tattooed in gold on their forehead?"

"Giles," said Jenny in a rather strained voice, "Something is odd with that guy. He feels, well, disconnected from the earth. Not part of it. I'm not being very clear about this, am I?"

He looked at her. Jenny had developed her sixth sense over the years to the point where occasionally it scared them both. If she said that something was wrong... He muttered a short incantation and a globe of green light formed in the palm of his outstretched hand. Then he gestured and it divided into four parts, before shooting across the room to bind the hands of their new captives. "Better to be safe than sorry. Right, worry about them later. Jonathan? What exactly are Spaarti Cylinders?"


Ow, thought Jack, damn that hurts. His back and his heads both felt as if, well, he'd been thrown against a wall. Which he had. What a surprise, didn't that happen most missions?

As his head cleared he noticed three things. The first was that he was slumped in a more-or-less sitting position. The second was that his arms were bound. That came a massive non-surprise. The third was that he could hear a rumble of conversation off to one side. Opening his eyes he blinked and barely suppressed a groan of pain. Argh, light headache = worse headache. He waited until the little purple lights stopped flashing and then opened the eyes a crack. A blur was pointing a gun at him. Again, this came as no surprise.

Opening his eyes all the way he blinked again. A high school student was pointing one of those weird guns at him, or rather just above at his general position, which scarcely much of an improvement. "They're awake, Giles, or at least one of them is," the kid said, not taking his eyes off him for a moment. Okay, he looked like a kid – senior or maybe college – and he dressed like a kid – t-shirt, shirt, jeans, and sneakers. But his eyes... they were too old to belong a teenager. They looked like they had seen far too much. They were also far too still and intent. Something about them really creeped him out.

Looking to one side he groaned as he saw the rest of his team. Carter and Daniel were in bye-bye land, although Teal'c was definitely conscious but possibly waiting for junior to repair something. He had hit the wall hardest of them all. Then he looked down and this time he couldn't prevent a startled yelp leaving his mouth. His hands were bound together with some green glowy ring stuff. It felt faintly warm and looked like some form of energy. It also felt impossible to break.

Hearing footsteps he looked up. The guy with the glasses – Giles – was standing in front of him, looking very grave. Finn was next to him, with the other two NID grunts flanking the pair. The dark-haired woman was off to one side but was watching him, as well as the gelled-up man. The guy who could do the Goa'uld stuff, albeit without a hand device, and the three geeks were clustered around a computer talking about something called a Sporty cylinder, whatever that was.

Okay, he thought, time to test if chuckles here is a Snake. "You are a completely useless jelly-spined excuse for a Goa'uld," he smirked in fluent Snake, "Who couldn't overthrow the lowest system lord without a complete arrogance transplant and three million Jaffas. In fact, just give up and join the Tok'ra. A Nox could beat you up." There. It was a bit weak, but the best that he could come up with given the fact that Teal'c, he suspected, kept the best anti-Goa'uld insults to himself. If this Giles character there – or any of the others – was a Snake, then it should enrage them enough to want to stamp him into a small greasy patch. Which would both provide proof and possibly an opportunity to jump the man if he moved between the gun and his victim.

Instead the man frowned. "Fascinating," he said, "Sounds like an appalling corruption of Ancient Egyptian and some other unknown language. I take it you were telling me to do something anatomically impossible to myself?"

Jack paused. "No," he said. Okay, not Snakes. Or at least not reacting like Snakes.

The guy took his glasses off and started to polish them. "Can I ask what you are doing here? Given your, your primitive weapons you're from the US military but not based in Sunnydale, am I right?"

He stared woodenly ahead, not saying a word. The Giles guy smiled quietly. "Cat got your tongue?" There was an element of unspoken menace in his voice. The dark-haired man in the red shirt smirked at the tone, muttered something that sounded like 'Ripper' and then walked off back in to the room where Maybourne had to be.

Jack continued his world-famous impression of a block of wood and the man sighed. "Very laudable, I'm sure, but I must insist on an answer. Do you work for the Initiative? Leftenant Finn here says no, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

More silence. Giles dropped onto his haunches - just out of lunge range, damn it! - and stared straight into Jack's eyes. He gave the impression of being a very hard man. "What are you here for?" he asked softly.

Nothing. He sighed and straightened up. "Jenny, can I have some of your truth potion?" The woman nodded sombrely and walked over to the table where she produced a small phial. Great, thought Jack, just great. More freaking truth serum. Although who the hell called it truth potion?

"Don't bother," said a weak but amused voice to one side, "Jack O'Neill is one of the most stubborn sons of bitches it's been my misfortune to know in life. If he feels like not talking, he won't." Harry Maybourne was standing at the doorway, swaying slightly, with the red-shirted guy standing behind him. He still looked as if he had been run over, but frankly now he looked a hell of a lot better than before. He was also holding a glowing silver stone to his chest. Every now and then he winced.

"Rupert Giles?" he asked after a moment and then limped forwards to shake the man's hand. "Thanks for getting me out of there. It wasn't pleasant."

"I can imagine," said the Limey. "We understood from Riley here that it was tonight or never. And frankly we need some answers quite desperately."

Maybourne nodded and then winced again. "Can I have a chair?" he asked. "This... magic thing... is impressive, but when my ribs knit up it's a bit painful." The red and bloodied line across his face seemed to be a lot lighter and then, to Jack's astonishment, it shrank to a thin line and then a white mark and then vanished completely.

"Of course," said Giles, bustling around and in a moment the NID Colonel was sinking gratefully into a chair.

"How long do I have to keep this thing next to me?" he asked once had had caught his breath.

"Another half an hour at least," replied red shirt.

Nodding Maybourne jerked a finger at SG1. "Don't worry about them, they don't work for Harris, or the NID. I know them, they're from the US Air Force. The NID regards them as the biggest spanners in the works ever. I know that I do. We can trust them, Mr Giles. In fact we might need them." He looked back at Giles. "We don't have much time. His plan is, well, not good news for the rest of us. Forrest tell you about the cylinders?"

Giles nodded and one the geeks at the table stood up. He was a rather awkward, weedy little guy, but he looked almost fiercely determined. "Spaarti Cylinders, Colonel. Cloning cylinders. Can we ask how many of them he's built?" asked the geek.

Pulling a face Maybourne replied: "About 250 in Room 190. But from what I saw of the conversions they were making in the secure part of the base, they have room for another 500 in Room 210 and 300 more in Room 214. He was talking about a flash-teaching setup for personality imprinting and technical training. And a start to finish timeline of 20 days per clone."

Jack frowned. Okay, he had no idea what the hell that was all about, but it hit the others in the room like a sock full of wet sand behind the right ear. Much gaping. Hearing an odd noise to his left he looked over to see a cross-eyed Carter shaking her head. Daniel was also awake.

"Whoa. Ow. Did someone say clone?" Carter mumbled muzzily. Jack opened his mouth, considered her present condition, closed his mouth again and then looked back at the others. One of the geeks appeared to be in shock and all the others looked very shaken. Over some gibberish from Maybourne?

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" he asked testily. "Harry?"

"Not now, Jack. Harris has big plans, Mr Giles. I heard mention of converting another two rooms to cloning facilities, total coming to about maybe 2,500. How the hell he'd hide everyone while building up his forces, I have no idea."

"Good God," muttered the Limey quietly. "If, if he staggered the cylinders so that some clones were being created whilst others were being completed... it would be a constant supply of clones. At least one and a half thousand every 20 days.... All loyal to him, all armed by him..." He looked up with death in his eyes. "Goodbye America. Goodbye World. Hail the New Order, so to speak." Turning with lightning speed he looked over at the others. "We evacuate to our back-up facility now. Riley, Forrest, Graham, secure the exits. Angel, Jenny, Ethan, get the magical supplies. Warren, Andrew, Jonathan, get your things together, along with all the research facilities you need. We may not be coming back here for a while. Cordelia... please just sit there. Move, everyone."

Jack was impressed. The only person he'd ever heard snap out orders with as much authority was Hammond. He'd almost clicked his heels and run after Finn, except that he was still bound and lying on the floor. Speaking of which.

"Ah, Harry? For the second time, what the hell is going on? We came here to investigate your disappearance, and the fact that a very promising young special operations officer, who was almost transferred to us, went AWOL. Given that we were trying to rescue your sorry ass, you mind filling in the blanks a bit? And what's the deal with the stone bulb on your chest?"

Maybourne looked at the organised evacuation around them and then sighed. Pushing his chair forward he sat down again and looked at them all. "Okay," he said, "Here's the deal. The world is a lot more complicated than you think, Jack."

"Really," he replied, "No kidding."

"Jack, the reason the NID chose Sunnydale for a major base is that there are... certain things that like this place."

"Things?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Jack this place has - had, rather - a homicide rate that would horrify the Mafia. It made LA, New York and Detroit look as if they aren't even trying. When we pulled a statistical analysis we got results that made Gettysburg look like a minor squabble in the park."

Carter frowned. "What would cause that? The place doesn't look like a war zone between gangs."

Another sigh came out of Maybourne, who then winced as something cracked into place in his back. "Damn this glowy stone thing is good." He looked up again. "Okay, this is where you look at me as if I'm mad and ask me if I've hit my head or not. Jack, this town is unusual because it was built on a mouth to hell."

He looked at Maybourne. "That's not much of recommendation for a tourist board to trumpet. Harry, you feeling okay?"

"The original name for this place was Boca del Inferno, Jack. Guy called Wilkins changed it to Sunnydale when he expanded the town a century ago."

"Ah. Not much of an improvement."

There was a clucking noise to one side and Daniel leant forwards, pushing his glasses more firmly onto his nose. "Ah, The Mouth to Hell? This place is Boca del Inferno?"

"Daniel," he drawled, raising both eyebrows, "Do you know this... name?"

"Well, not the place, per se, but I've seen references to a, a place on the West Coast of America that basically had 'stay away on pain of death' attached to them. Frobisher's Compendium mentioned it as a place where, where, priests had to be specially trained in exorcisms and where supplies of Holy Water were in great demand."

There was a scuff of feet and they all looked up to see Giles looking down at them. He seemed puzzled. "Frobisher's Compendium? You, you've read that?" He stared at Daniel, taking in the odd combination of elements, like the non-regulation haircut, the glasses and the fatigues.

"Beats reading the back of a cornflakes packet," quipped Jack.

"Mr Giles, meet Dr Daniel Jackson," said Maybourne, gesturing at them one by one, "Major Samantha Carter, Colonel Jack O'Neil and... Murray."

Jack glared at him. Maybourne was being about a covert as a funfair. "Harry, you ever heard of the word 'secret'?"

A snort. "Jack, you - and I - are in over our heads this time. These people are fighting something extremely scary. Even, potentially speaking, more scary than our... other... friends." He put his glowing stone to his eye for emphasis, winced, and hurriedly replaced it onto his chest. "By the way, this thing's a healing stone."

"Worse than..." Jack pointed to his eye.

"Worse," replied Maybourne.

"Is this one of those conversations where the word 'classified' comes up every ten seconds?" asked red shirt as he passed clutching a very large book bound in leather that made Daniel's eyes light up. "Because if it is, I'm going to lose my temper soon." He glared and moved off.

"Jack," said Maybourne, "The NID chose this place because of its link to the supernatural. We built a base here to study the things that are attracted to this town. We called them Hostile Sub-Terrestrials, or HSTs for short."

"Catchy," said Jack. "You mind telling me what an HST is, when it's at home?"

"A vampire, Jack. Or a demon. There are dozens-"

"Hundreds," corrected Giles.

"-of species. They're drawn here by the power of the Hellmouth, like fish to a lure."

He stared at him. The man didn't look crazy, but maybe one of the blows he had taken had been to his head. He sounded sane, but obviously he was one step away from jamming his hat on sideways and telling anyone who asked that he was Napoleon Bonaparte and that he had to catch the next train to La Belle Alliance and cross swords with Nosey.

"Vampires," he said eventually. "Right. Okay, they run with the Easter Bunny right? Or have I got them confused with, oh I don't know, something that doesn't exist?"

"Yes they do, Jack."

"Harry, are you sure you're feeling alright? No headaches, dizzy spells, thinking that you're a tomato, wanting to flap your arms and fly to Shangri-La? Because if you don't, you need to see a doctor to get an MRI scan or something."

"Colonel O'Neill, he is correct. Vampires, demons, spirits, they all exist and Sunnydale attracts them. Most people tend, tend to turn their heads away from the truth that often lies before their eyes and think up some elaborate excuse to hide from the truth," said the Brit. "For years the local police department wrote off vampire attacks under 'gangs on PCP' and other evasions of the truth." He looked around. "Colonel Maybourne, we'll be on our way soon."

Nodding, Maybourne looked back at Jack. "I'm telling the truth here."

"Vampires. Demons. Right... You can start making sense any time now, Harry."

"Colonel Maybourne, I think that your colleague here needs a little proof," said the Brit grimly. "Angel, can we have a quick word?" he called. The gel-haired guy, who had just returned from outside, put a box down and walked over.

"Angel?" asked Jack incredulously, "Your name is Angel? Where were you when names were being handed out?"

"Dead in Ireland," he replied. He looked like a guy that didn't do much smiling. He also looked as if he hadn't seen the sun in a while.

"Angel, these fellows need some proof of the supernatural. I hate to ask this, but could you oblige?"

"Sure," he said and then something truly horrible happened to his face. His forehead wrinkled and bulged, his incisors lengthened and his eyes turned a feral yellow. "This convince you?"

"Whoa!" cried Jack, jerking back as far as the wall allowed. The others also reacted, although the fascination that Carter mixed in with it did disturb him a bit.

"Oh my god," breathed Daniel, "'And the face of his brother did change, and the beast within did look out and spoke to him with words of the old ones. And then the world did change.' I never knew that quotation in Frobisher's referred to... to... this!"

"Um, pardon me, but shouldn't someone be, oh I don't know, making with the garlic thing now, or whatever you people do with these things? I don't believe I just said that," whined Jack.

Angel's face flowed back to, well, something more human and he smiled a very small smile. It looked painful. "Don't worry, I don't bite."

"Yeah, says you," said Jack.

"Actually," replied Giles, "Angel is a vampire with a soul. On the side of light, as it were."

Frowning, Jack pondered this. "Your point being?"

"He doesn't bite. Not that we have much of a problem with vampires these days. Most of the remaining ones are starving to death, too terrified to come out at night at all."

Jack stared at him. "Too terrified of what? You mean that there's something out there that's scarier than... than..." he pointed with his bound hands, "Him?"

"Yes." Maybourne looked very solemn. "Jack, the NID set up our base here - we called it the Initiative - to study HSTs and try to get a handle on this magic thing. We were making rapid progress. Finn there was on the case. He was one of our best commanders."

"Finn. Right. His old instructor at Fort Bragg swore blind that purple monkeys would fly out of his butt before he went AWOL, but he still did. Harry, we came here to find you based on an anonymous letter that mentioned him as well."

"I know you did," smirked Maybourne. "I sent it."

"You sent a letter saying that you had gone missing? To us? Okay, I'll ask. Why?"

"Because when I visited the Initiative I knew that there was a very good chance that I'd never leave it again. I was asking too many questions about just what they were doing, and irritating the wrong people. Or rather, person. I knew that Finn had gone AWOL two months before so I wrote that letter and told my lawyer to post it to you if he didn't hear from me in seven days. I guess he did what he was told."

Jack paused, mentally counted to ten and then asked the question. "Harry, please don't tell me that an entire NID base has gone rogue."

Maybourne had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Oh for cryin' out loud! Don't you people ever stay on the straight and narrow? And why did they throw you in the slammer and beat you up in the first place?"

"Colonel, both the Initiative and this town are now being run by one Alexander Harris," said Giles grimly. "Or as he now secretly calls himself, Darth Mortalis."

"Should I know that name? Wait a minute... Darth? As in Darth Vader?"

"You're closer to the truth there than you think, Jack."

"Are you guys all completely nuts?"

"Colonel O'Neill, Harris was once a student here in the High School. I knew him slightly, his academic record was spotty at best and his attitude to learning veered wildly from topic to topic. Two and a half years ago one of his oldest friends was killed when an extremely powerful vampire who was trapped in a dimensional rift here in Sunnydale made a bit for freedom. I was able to weaken the vampire, who was called the Master, sufficiently to make his return a somewhat painful one which took him a long time to recover from. Harris took the death of his friend somewhat personally. He was a rather... angry young man. Although I was recruiting a number of people to help in the fight against the Master I considered Harris as being too angry and impulsive for inclusion. If I had..." he looked off to one side, his jaw working slightly. The woman came over and laid a consoling hand on his sleeve. "Well, perhaps I might have been able to help him. We'll never know however.

"At Halloween last year he dressed up as Darth Vader. Perhaps he thought it was a fitting costume. Unfortunately he wasn't to know that Ethan was in town that night."

Red shirt walked up at this. There was a grim smile on his face but his eyes were haunted. "My timing always was terrible," he said. "I thought I was just having some fun and feeding Janus. Never thought I'd have such of an... impact." He looked at the SGC team. "I cast a spell that night on the costumes I was hiring out at a costume shop that made the wearers become possessed by the characters they were dressed as."

Something cold ran up and down Jack's spine. Come on, this was nuts. He'd be believing this stuff next. "Let me guess, he became Darth Vader?"

"For an entire night," said Ethan hollowly. "Using the force to hunt down and destroy anything and everything that stood against him. He killed dozens of vampires, at least ten demons, three police officers and a student dressed as a pirate. Then he really went to work and was halfway to assembling the parts he needed to make some form of spacecraft when dawn came and spell ended."

"Okay, lets imagine, just for a second, that I believe you, which I don't. Once this..." he struggled for a word that didn't have mystical overtones and failed. "Spell thingy ended, shouldn't he have gone back to normal?"

"Unfortunately not quite. He spent the entire night as Vader, using the force almost all the time. It had an effect on him, one that we still don't understand. Once the spell was ended... something was left behind. A part of Vader for want of a better term. A great deal of anger, knowledge of the Sith, technical expertise. And oh, a lot more anger."

"He was naturally approached by Mayor Wilkins almost at once," said Giles, looking over to the three geeks as they left the room with the last computer. "He was recruited into the Mayor's staff, rose up the ranks extremely quickly and was promoted to deputy Mayor six months ago. Sometime during that period he approached the Initiative with an offer of technical assistance. Oh and all the time he was indulging in an orgy of slaughter at night. You might have noticed the corpse nailed to the tree outside. That was The Master. Harris hacked off his hand, broke both his legs, dragged him to that spot and nailed him there to await the dawn. The vampire community was almost obliterated. So was the demon community."

"And that was a... bad thing?" asked Jack, dreading what the answer might be.

"Given the fact that not all demons are evil, Colonel O'Neill, yes. The Mayor then died in extremely suspicious circumstances and Harris took charge of Sunnydale at the ripe old age of 17."

"Oh, come on! A teenage Mayor? That's crap and you know it!"

"He had the law behind him and he also... persuaded people not to ask too many questions. He is a Sith and he has powers that we cannot fully comprehend. He approached the Initiative and they took him in with open arms."

"What did he have to offer them?" asked Carter with a frown.

Giles looked over to one side and then picked up one of the odd-looking guns from the table. Then he turned and pointed it at an empty wastepaper basket. When he pulled the trigger the gun emitted a red bolt of energy with high crack of sound that blew the basket to pieces. "That, for a start," he said grimly.

Looking over at Carter Jack could see that she was busy boggling. Fair enough. "Nice," he said after a while. "I can see why the NID would want to get their hands on something like that." Then something occurred to him and he glared at Maybourne. "Harry, is that the 'new technology' Kinsey said that you people were developing?" A nod was sent his way. "Son of a bitch!"

"Jack, I met Harris. I was a bit concerned about him, but once he promised to start up a production facility and produce those things, the NID was all over him. I kept quiet, but told Finn to keep an eye out. He sent me messages that said that he was increasingly worried about Harris and Walsh, the commander of the Initiative, and then he went missing. He got a message to me saying that he had met the leader of some kind of group that was monitoring the situation locally and that there was an unpleasant explanation for all the knowledge that Harris had. I was getting worried about the requisitions that the Initiative was making – lots of machinery and equipment that had nothing to do with making blasters, as these things are called. I sent that letter and then went in for a scheduled tour of inspection of the place. Asked too many questions, heard a conversation that I shouldn't have, and the next thing I knew I was in a cell and Harris and his goons were working me over to find out what I knew.

"Graham Schwartzkopf and Forrest Morgan were recruited by me and they knew Finn. Hell, they trusted him. They got word to him, he got word to Mr Giles here, and they all busted me out tonight. And now we have to stop Harris. He's building cloning technology, Jack. He's Vader, there's no Emperor and he wants power."

There was a clatter of feet and they all looked around to see Finn burst through the door. "We've got company," he snapped. "Eight men just came in the front door armed with blasters and wearing some kind of body armour."

Giles said an impressively bad word. "Andrew, Warren, Jonathan, Jenny, move. You too Cordelia. Get to the cars. We'll join you in a moment." He picked up the blaster again. "We need to buy some time."