Oookay, I've got a lot of grovelling to do here. Sorry for taking so long to update this thing, but it's been an... interesting month. My boss quit and I applied for her job due to a sudden rush of some bizarre thing called 'ambition'. Very odd, no idea where it came from. I kept having visions of buying a white fluffy cat and hiring a Dr Evil costume. Most bizarre. That, plus a few other things, took up a lot of time. Then my muse decided to sod off to... wherever muses go when they need a break to generate odd plot bunnies. So all in all, this chapter kind of languished a bit. Actually it languished a lot. But now, normal service has been restored! Or as normal as anything ever is... My thanks, as always, to the ever-patient Wendy, my Beta, who didn't send mercenaries after me to drag me back to my keyboard.
The room was quiet as the two figures looked at the chessboard. A clock ticked somewhere on a wall behind them and the setting sun spread a shining beam of light through the window next to the stairs that led to the book stacks. The first figure leant forwards slightly, looked at his opponent and then frowned at the chess pieces. One of the black knights lifted into the air to hover an inch above the surface of the board and then moved forwards and then to the left. The player nodded abruptly and then the knight sank back down again.
"Your move," said Oz quietly, leaning back in his chair.
Tapping the end of his nose with one forefinger Xander considered the match in progress, before wincing slightly and looking at the doors. "Company. Wesley, to be exact," he muttered and after a long moment the doors opened slowly and the cautious face of the new Watcher appeared.
Raising his eyebrows Wesley crept into the room once Xander had nodded at him and pointed at the closed door to Giles' office. "She's in there, asleep," mouthed the Jedi carefully.
Sighing slightly, Wesley walked over as quietly as he could and looked down at the board. Then he took another look, opened his mouth to say something, closed it again and then sank into a seat next to Oz. "Interesting," he whispered. "I never thought of you two as chess players."
"Hones the mind, Wesley, encourages tactics," Xander whispered back. Then he looked at the board and the white queen swooped forwards and came to rest two squares in front of the black king. "Checkmate."
Oz looked at the board and flicked an eyebrow. "Damn," he muttered. "So much for the best of three." He looked up and grinned. "Ah well."
"Any word from Mr Giles?" asked the Watcher in a low voice.
"Angel and Faith are tracking it, apparently. Giles is getting set to undo the telepathic effects that the other demon had on Buffy. Willow's pacing around like a…" Xander glanced at Oz, who smiled slowly.
"Like a Willow?" suggested the Padawan wryly.
"Well, yes. No offence, Oz, but I've known her since way back."
"Ah," said Wesley. And then, with massive and very badly feigned carelessness: "And, and Miss Chase?"
Xander suppressed a smile of his own. The Watcher looked, in the words of Giles, like "a puppy on one of those bloody awful greeting cards" every time he either talked to or talked about the cheerleader. Talk about a doofus, it had to be almost as bad as listening to Jonathan talking about Anya. Now there was a truly bizarre couple. She told everyone how much he creeped her out, but the odd thing was that when he wasn't around she spent an awful lot of time looking around for him.
Then he frowned slightly. "Actually, I haven't seen Cordy this afternoon. I know that she doesn't have any lessons from 3 p.m. on Thursdays, but I haven't seen her around in school. I guess she goes home." He left unsaid the fact that every time he saw Cordy these days she seemed to give off both anger and guilt in the Force. He needed to take the time to talk to her about it.
The Watcher nodded abruptly and looked back down at the board. "You know, I was my school chess champion. Unbeaten in 42 matches."
Trading amused looks with Oz that Wesley didn't seem to notice, Xander looked at the board and used the force to reset the pieces. "Is that your way of saying that you'd like a game, Wesley?"
"Well, only if young Oz here is willing to let me take his place," whispered Wesley pompously.
Quirking his lips into a small smile, Oz got up and gestured for the Watcher to take his place, but at that exact moment both Jedi snapped their heads around and stared hard at the door.
"She's awake," they both said almost simultaneously and Wesley stood up with a start.
"Right, um, I'd, I'd better go and leave you to your… um… special abilities. A game or two later though, Xander?" he said, before running to the end of the table and climbing over the rails that led to the stacks. He was almost over when he caught his right foot on the underside of the railing and lost his balance before making a great one-footed recovery. Then he vanished into the back of the library where he apparently found something else to trip over, judging by the crash anyway.
Oz watched him go with a shake of his head. "If he kept his mind on what he's doing with his feet, he might be a good asset," he murmured.
"Maybe," considered Xander, and then sat down again. "Calm your mind," he said quietly. "Order your mind. Keep your thoughts on the here and now and be mindful of the living Force." I must stop quoting Qui-Gon, he thought wryly. With Buffy in the grip of a bad bout of telepathy that she had picked up from a mouthless demon, he and Oz were the only people that she could be around for any period of time. Especially as her condition was growing by leaps and bounds as she accessed the thoughts of more and more people. Well, at least they'd caught the cook before she'd poisoned everyone. That said, the mental noise coming from a school full of teenagers must have sounded like Niagara Falls, if the Falls came with added hormones and repressed sexual tension. Plus zits. It was hardly the Jedi Temple.
"Well, at least I slept for a few hours. Thanks guys, I... I... ohmigod."
Buffy was standing there at the door of the office, her eyes wide and her hair dishevelled. She was staring at him as if she had no idea at all what he was, as if he was something new and strange.
"God, Xander..." she breathed as she stared at him. "How do you... how do you live with all that in your head? Spacecraft... huge ships firing in space, are those Dreadnaughts? And, and leading men in that armour? Like Stormtroopers, but they're good, or neutral or something or... clones?"
Her eyes widened suddenly and she swayed. "Yoda... Mace Windu... Quinlan Vos... Anakin Skywalker, god what a hottie... Palpatine... oh god, I can see him before he went all gnarly..."
And then she swayed like a tree in the wind and folded in on herself in a heap on the floor.
"I think she can get past even Jedi calmness," said Xander, stunned. Then he and Oz leapt to check on the unconscious Slayer.
There was a noise behind them and Xander turned to see Faith, Giles and Angel standing there. All three looked as if they'd been in a major fight and Angel was holding something in a plastic bag that was streaked with an odd liquid.
"What happened?" said the Watcher, pulling a large mace out from under his jacket, putting on the desk and hurrying over.
Xander looked down at the Slayer. "I think her telepathy just took another incremental step forwards. She was able to see into my mind for a second. I think she found the scenery a bit... overwhelming."
"What's that mean?" asked the dark Slayer as she peered worriedly at Buffy and grasped at her knife holster in her belt. She seemed to find touching it therapeutic.
"She saw some of Obi-Wan's memories, I think," said Oz as he and Xander carefully lifted Buffy up and carried her back into the office. "She was busy babbling a bit."
"I think she saw a lot of Obi-Wan's memories," replied Xander tersely. "From what she said anyway. You guys get the mouthless meanie? Because we need to get her off this telepathy bug, and I mean now."
Angel put the bag down carefully. "We got him," he said, fingering a lump on the side of his head. "He had a few friends with him, but they kind of remembered other appointments they had to be at."
"Right," said Giles, rolling up his sleeves, "Faith, Oz, could you get the contents of the bag next to the overdue library book list? The spell ought to be relatively easy..."
Wilkins was on the phone when Allan Finch knocked on the open door. The Mayor waved him in and then carried on his conversation, while Finch read the contents of the folder in front of him and tried not to listen. You never knew what you might hear when the mayor was on the phone. Sometimes he had nightmares about that he heard.
"-no, no, things are just fine over here... yes, I heard that too. Hell, if he was dumb enough to be fooled by that cockney chump he shouldn't complain should he? I mean, a higher-level demon's supposed to be smart, not gullible! Yes, well, try him on the old astral projection telephone thing. He might answer, you never know. So how's things apart from that?"
There was a pause. Then: "Wow, already? I remember when she was first hatched, all eyes and tentacles. Sure brings back memories of the good old days. Do you remember that guy from the Temperance League turning up and lecturing that crowd? On the Festival of the Dark Blood of all days! Gee, that was a sight to see. Whatever happened to Old Varsh and that ceremonial blade of his? Very economical, that knife. No wasted blood at all. Yes, I know, they just don't make them like they used to, I guess. That reminds me, when was the last time you came over for a game of golf? We should set something up real soon. No, it's no trouble, we'll just arrange another fake chemical spill on the road next to the Golf Club and close the area off. Have your secretary call mine and we'll set something up. Not at all, it's been too long. Yes, love to the family. Take care, Newt."
The phone went down and Wilkins smiled at Finch. "It's been too long since he and had a good talk. Does the heart good to call an old friend. What have you got for me today Allan?"
Finch stood hurriedly and laid the folder down in front of the Mayor. "It looks like Buffy Summers is going to have her telepathy taken away sooner than we thought, sir."
Raising his eyebrows Wilkins glanced through the photographs and reports in the folder, before sighing and leaning back in his chair. "Ah well, that's life. That was a pleasant diversion, but on the whole I'm glad. I had to reroute my trip to open the new Science Section of the university, just so I could avoid going anywhere near her on the off-chance that she might pick anything up off me. Oh, that reminds me, it looks like Maggie Walsh, the head of the Initiative, is going to be teaching there openly. Can you get me her file again? I like her – ambition is almost like a drug sometimes, and she was pumping it out like a faucet. I wonder what she's up to in that lab of hers?" he mused. Then he leant forward and rubbed his hands together. "Well, might be best to crush the whole thing once I ascend. Better safe than sorry and they have all those damn toys down there. Typical Pentagon brass, they have no idea what they're messing with. Think that the world has rules and can be explained."
The Mayor laughed and Finch found the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as the laughter echoed around the room. There was a look in Wilkins' eyes that he was coming to recognise. He wasn't sure if it was a human look. It was a good thing that he had his escape plan.
He always kept wondering why he did his best brooding on the roof. It was odd. It wasn't like he was turning into Angel or anything – now there was a guy who could brood! – but he always seemed to end up here. On the roof. Looking up at the stars tonight. They were familiar and yet unfamiliar. He remembered his father once pointing out the Big Dipper and Orion when he was young. And he also remembered looking up at the stars over the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, on a special platform on the roof that filtered out the glare of light from the planet that never really slept at night. Odd constellations there. No astrologers either. Heh. Good trade-off.
He paused, tilted his head and sighed. "Hi Buffy. How's the headache?"
The Slayer came into view slowly and then sat down next to him. "Almost gone, thanks to Giles and his magic mojo stuff." She paused. "Whatcha looking at?"
"The stars. Thinking about memories."
"Ok." There was a long pause. Then: "Xander, I had no idea."
"No idea of what?"
"What you have in your head. When you told me that you had Obi-Wan's memories I thought..." she struggled for words for a moment. "Well, I thought it was of Alec Guinness Kenobi. You know, all wise words and stuff. Being able to sense things. Talk about there being no such thing as luck." She smiled and then tried to project her voice deeper. "That's no moon, that's a space station!"
The smile faded. "I only saw a glimpse but... to me the Clone Wars were just a line from one of the films. To you they're a thousand bad memories. All that pain. All that fighting."
He nodded slowly. "Yep. With the bonus of knowing that Palpatine was behind it all." He shook his head. "It's not real. They're memories that belong to someone else. Someone... who never existed. Even though it all feels real. Giles still can't explain it."
"But you still feel them," said Buffy insistently, "Xander, those memories are still there in your head. They're part of you. Why didn't you tell us?"
This brought a soft laugh. Oh boy. "Buffy, I couldn't explain half the stuff I have in my head, and you've seen part of it. How do you explain seeing a Sith kill your master? Or remembering the boy that grew up to be Vader? Or... making planet fall on Alderaan and coming in to land on the main spaceport, set by the sea? Not real, but real in my head, real in my feelings. I can't watch the part in A New Hope where Tarkin blows up Alderaan. It's too painful sometimes." He winced. "How you explain fighting in the Clone Wars, the battles at Genosis and Kamino and the fight on Queyta? How do you explain fighting War Droids and things like General Grievous? I've got all this stuff in my head, as well as a roll of honour of all the Jedi who died in the war – and at the same time I know that it was all thought up by a bearded guy who lives on Skywalker Ranch? Weird and wacky, welcome to the Hellmouth."
He looked up at the stars again. "Well, I use it as best I can, to help you and Faith. Do some good with it all. Kill the bad guts, protect the good guys and try to avoid any politicians who even look like Palpatine." He laughed mirthlessly. "You know, even before I had all this stuff jammed in my head, I never liked Wilkins. He always looked slimy on those reelection posters. Now I really dislike him. He's another Palpatine. Only with a sharp suit and added demony powers. But this time we know what he is."
A silence fell and then he smiled. "Sorry, didn't mean to go all Obi-Wan on you."
Smiling back for a moment Buffy looked up at the stars with him. "Don't worry, I won't start calling you Obi-Wan. I know that Oz does now and then, but then you're training him. How's he doing by the way?"
"Good. Very good. And he'll take the test soon."
"Test?"
"Remember The Empire Strikes Back? The scene on Dagobah where Luke senses the dark side and goes into that tree, where he fights a Vader double that turns out to be himself?"
"Ummm, vaguely. I'm not a Star Wars fan, like Jonathan."
Xander smiled again, this time with more warmth. "Ah yes, Jonathan. The day he lays eyes on my lightsabre will be the day that bats fall out of eaves, or whatever they hang from, clutching their furry little ears in agony as the uber-geek squeaks."
He sobered slightly. "Buffy, a Jedi needs to face his dark side at some point in his training. He needs to work out if he can withstand temptation, to fight off the demons in his mind. Go toe to toe with the Dark Side, as it were. Giles is a big Jungian..." he caught her baffled expression and sighed. "Dead German guy. Knew Sigmund Freud. Into this shrink mumbo jumbo stuff in a big way. Apparently he thought that we all have shadows in our minds – fear, hatred, that kind of stuff - and who we are depends on how we cope with those shadows." He looked at her. "How we deal with our fears. A wraith feeds on fear, it accesses it and makes it real, in a sense. I'm going to make Oz deal with the wraith. I could do it – I did it in the desert last year – but he needs to. He won't be a Jedi otherwise. He needs to take that final step. Tomorrow night."
"So Trick was killed by..."
"By his fear. He might have seen you, or Faith, only this time he couldn't fight you. It killed him instead."
She looked at him for a long moment and then looked back at the stars. "Willow's going to freak."
He raised his eyebrows. "I thought you were going to object more."
"No," she said heavily, looking back up at the stars. "I know what it's like to make a decision that seems... hard. To... well, the fight against Angelus was the hardest thing I ever did. You know that it has to be done. And from I saw in your head, I guess you know what that's like."
He nodded slowly. "Yes. Sometimes you have to know what to do. Like I said, I could take out this wraith myself, but Oz needs to. And then... he'll be a Jedi. He's come a long way. His training took longer than mine, but then I took a trip to the desert and did the concentrated version of it."
The Slayer laughed at that. "Still have trouble imagining you doing the whole Dagobah thing without a Yoda."
"I had a Yoda, sort of."
"You what?"
"I had this backpack full of rocks, so I painted green ears on it and named it Yoda."
She laughed harder at that, and then she stopped. There was the suggestion of tears in her eyes. "Talking of knowing what to do, Angel's leaving. Once the Mayor's been dealt with that is. He says that..." She choked up briefly. "That it can't be the way we want it. That he can never give me everything that I deserve. That..." A tear ran down her face and she angrily scrubbed it away. "That he can't see me die. It was awkward enough when he came back from that... place..." She shuddered. "But he got better, I thought he was coping after the First targeted him with the memories of what he'd done as Angelus. I thought he was going to be back the way he was. Now he's going to go. Why does life has be this damn hard? Why can't things just... be? The way they are?" Her head went down again. "The way they were."
He sighed. "Buffy, you can't wave a wand and make things right again. Life doesn't come with a reset button, no matter how much we wish it did. Life... stuff happens, Buffy. I could give you some big uplifting Obi-Wan speech, but at the end of it all, we can't change what's past. Angel and I both saw you dead. We both saw Angel when he was Angelus. I'd love to get rid of those memories, but I can't. And if there was a reset button, then Oz and I wouldn't have these powers, then the Sith version of me would have done god knows what to this place, then..." he struggled for words. "We have to cope with the cards we're dealt, Buffy. No more, no less. And fight the good fight. Protect our friends and loved ones."
He paused. "I'm going to go a bit sci-fi geek here, but nothing as bad as Jonathan. There was an episode of Babylon 5 which struck a massive chord with me. One of the characters – the Centauri Emperor – said something that I've always remembered. He said 'The past tempts us, the present confuses us and the future frightens us. And our lives slip away, lost in that vast terrible in-between. But there is still time to seize that last fragile moment. To make a difference. And I intend to do just that.' It's just a line from a TV show but... it means something to me."
She stared at him for a long minute, the tear trails making her face. "I think a reset button would be a bad idea. Jedi Xander says a lot of good stuff."
They both looked back up at the stars.
"I've got to go back down in a bit. Play Wesley at chess."
"Gonna beat him?"
"Like a drum."
"That's cool."
The pub was a bit dead tonight. Odd place, a kind of Americanised version of a British pub, but nice, a bit of home away from home. He stared at the half-full pint of Guinness in front of him. Then he sighed again and drank about half of it. When he put the glass down Mr Giles was sitting opposite him, clutching a pint of bitter. "I see that you discovered this place," said the older Watcher quietly.
Wesley nodded. "The beer's quite good and it isn't too expensive at all."
Giles smiled. "Yes, indeed. I once found a bar in Los Angeles that charged me 8 for a pint of Guinness. I never went there again." He sipped from his own glass slowly and looked around the room before returning to Wesley. "You seem to be a bit despondent, Wesley."
He moved in his seat uncomfortably. Then he shrugged. "I, um, played young Xander at chess earlier this evening."
"Oh dear," said Mr Giles wearily and put his pint down on the table. "Let me guess: he beat you."
Wesley swallowed and nodded. Then he added reluctantly: "Five times."
Both of Mr Giles' eyebrows went up. "Ah," he said, quietly. "Well, he beat me hollow in the first few months. Forced me to raise my game a great deal though."
"Can you beat him now?"
"Oh yes. Well… about a quarter of the time. On a good day." The older man sighed and raised his glass to his lips for a long swallow. "Is that all that's troubling you? I mean, we're off to see Professor Worth tomorrow to discuss what he found at that dig last year, but is there anything else?"
This was a horribly pertinent question and Wesley writhed internally. "Not quite," he said and downed the rest of his pint before leaning back in his chair. Checking that there was no-one close, he leant forwards again and lowered his voice. "To be frank Mr Giles, I didn't think that being a Watcher on a Hellmouth would be quite this…"
"Bloody mad?"
"Chaotic is the word I was going to use. No, perhaps unexpected would be better. Half the time I don't know what young Faith or Miss Summers are saying and the other half I'd rather not know. Miss Rosenberg and Miss Madison are displaying all the signs of becoming powerful witches, there's a former vengeance demon moping about the school and two of the students – one of whom is a werewolf – are Jedi Knights. Oh and there's a vampire with a soul walking the streets and laying waste to his un-souled brethren.
"In addition the Mayor intends to turn himself into a pure-blood demon and the principal is under the assumption that I'm the substitute English literature teacher and keeps asking me to explain Beowulf to a group of subnormal adolescents with galloping acne. Frankly I'm not sure which of those last two prospects is worse."
Mr Giles gestured to the barmaid and drained his own pint. "If it's any consolation I know exactly what you feel. I underwent something similar when I first arrived in Sunnydale, although I admit without the Jedi part of the equation. Although at one point Buffy came very close to joining an organisation that filled me with horror to the very depths of my soul."
Wesley frowned. "I wasn't aware of that. Which one, the Order of the Seven Stars? Oh wait, they disbanded after the IRS presented them with that bill for unpaid taxes from 1783. The Assassins Guild? Not…" he paled, "The Rotarians?"
"No, but close. Cheerleaders."
"Dear God."
"Quite."
The barmaid came over with two more pints on a tray, which Mr Giles paid for. After they had both sipped from their glasses, he looked at Wesley keenly. "Can I ask what you have decided about the Council and young Xander and Oz? It has been several weeks now since you found out the truth about their abilities. I've been told that Jedi don't worry, but I can assure you that the people around them certainly do."
He nodded. He thought that was why Mr Giles was here. He and Buffy had created a very tight-knit group that demonstrated extreme loyalty to one another, a group that included his own Slayer. Faith was difficult at times and could be hot-headed and impulsive, but compared to the initial reports that Mrs Horrocks had sent the Council when Faith was first being evaluated for training, she was now much calmer and more focused, more at home with her abilities and more inclined to stand back occasionally and think things through before acting.
"As you know," said Mr Giles quietly, his eyes hardening slightly but his voice still affable, "My position is that the Council does not need to know because it's none of its business. I still can't classify this Force that the two of them use, but based on my research so far, it's never been used on this planet so far. It isn't magic and it isn't technology – the lightsabre aside – and it isn't, well, anything that I recognise.
"They both use it to help the Slayers and in fact I think that Faith owes her life to Oz thanks to his assistance. When Xander first discovered that he had some abilities in it, he came to me because he recognised the dangers. When Oz was discovered to have some abilities, his first thought was to use to suppress his werewolf side and protect the people around him. Both have displayed admirable qualities and I cannot stress how much I trust them, not to mention how proud I am of them. Physically they may be teenagers, but mentally they are not."
Nodding slowly, Wesley looked up at older Watcher. "Yes… they are both extremely impressive." Then he smiled. "It might take quite a while for you to discover the source of this Force, am I right?"
Mr Giles relaxed slightly and smiled back. "It might take a great deal of time."
"And if your research is incomplete, then there's no point in informing the Council – after all an incomplete report is no basis to form a rational and lasting opinion on the matter, is it?"
"That would be… most improper."
"Then I think that I will have to wait until your report is complete, Mr Giles. What else can I do?"
Giles raised his pint in salute. "Wesley, you're a very fast learner."
"Thank you Mr Giles," he replied and the two glasses clinked.
Professor Worth was short and smelled of old burritos and looked rather bemused at the sight of her. Faith was used to seeing men undress her with their eyes, but was rather bemused herself at being effectively ignored once Giles and Wesley started speaking to the guy. Giles had shown him some kind of ID from the British Museum and after the guy had stopped goggling - and Wesley had stopped being pompously sniffy about it – he'd talked himself blue in the face about some geological dig in some place that Faith couldn't even pronounce.
Then Giles had mentioned the remains of the creature that had dug up and the guy became massively defensive. He said that the carbon something-or-other dates had put the remains of the creature - some kind of unknown dinosaur obviously - to about 300 years ago, which meant that the wrong samples had been dated because the idea of a dinosaur bone that wasn't less than 65 million years old was ridiculous. Which was odd.
According to Dr Boring, the lava flow surrounding the body was made up of extremely vicious lava, something that Faith couldn't have heard right, but the very mention of it had given the Giles a dose of extreme wigginess. He'd stared and then asked a series of questions that had made Faith's head swim, something about ejections and tipras and other words that she didn't understand.
And then a grin had flashed over Giles's face, and he'd nodded to Wesley and then told Professor Boring that Sunnydale was not a very safe place. The guy had then nodded thoughtfully, looked as if he was about to say something, paused, muttered something about his granny telling him about the Boca del Inferno, and then showed them all out.
Once they were back in Giles' old wreck of a car, the Watchers had both grinned massively and shook hands like they'd just survived something. And Faith lost her temper.
"Okay, what the hell is going on? Why are you two grinning like a pair of cats that just caught the Tweety Bird? And what the hell was that guy talking about?"
The older Watcher smiled and started his boneshaker of a car. As he pulled out he looked back at her for a moment. "Faith, the demon that the dig uncovered wasn't killed by the lava. From what he said, from the position of the remains, it was hit in the proverbial face by a pyroclastic flow."
She stared at him. "What the hell is a plastic flow?"
"A pyroclastic flow is a, a cloud of superheated gas and ashes that is ejected from a volcano, Faith. It can move at hundreds of miles an hour, is invariably lethal unless you're underground or underwater and it's like being hit in the face by a nuclear explosion. Even brief exposure can sear your lungs and cause extensive burns to your skin."
She stared at him as if he'd gone mad. "So?"
He grinned at her again. "If the body of the demon was covered in extremely viscous lava - which means very slow moving lava - then it was first killed by the pyroclastic flow. Which means that the Mayor can be killed in his demon form. We can kill him, Faith, we can kill him."
She did the whole staring thing again. "Hello? Do you see a giant mountain blowing off near here, throwing up these plastic flow things? 'Cause if you can, I'm not seeing it."
"Faith," said her Watcher, looking pompous again, "What Mr Giles means is that in his demon form the Mayor is no longer invulnerable. He can be hurt. He can be wounded." A hard look crept over his face and for the first time since she'd met him Faith started to suspect that Wesley had hidden depths. "He can be killed."
Faith felt a grin creeping over her face. She pulled out her knife and felt the edge on it before pulling out a honing stone and starting to run it along the edge of the blade. "Cool. Now we just need to find a way to kill a sixty-foot snake."
If anyone had looked through the door, they would have thought that Harry Wolfit was working overtime again, his desk mounded with paper and files. In reality he was operating on automatic pilot, his eyes appearing to read the files, even turning pages and swapping old files for new ones, but his mind was on something else.
So far his research on the lightsabre had come up with zilch. No one had ever come close to creating such a device outside the movies, and he'd even (discreetly) made a few enquiries about private research. Nada.
Wolfit knew that he was many things – former marine, good lawyer and former family man – but he was no technical expert. He knew next to nothing about complex machines, although he could programme his VCR, something that many men his age had trouble comprehending. So when it came to understanding the incredibly technical piece of equipment that was hidden in his desk, he didn't have a clue and what was more he knew it. Rather than meddle he needed to think. He needed a honking genius.
At Wolfram Hart scientific geniuses were ten a penny. They were freaking everywhere. There were entire floors of them. Trouble was, they were all conspiring away for promotions and busy stabbing their bosses in the back at the first chance they got. If he took the lightsabre down to one of them it would get caught up in an inevitable spiral of greed and politics which would result in someone else getting all the credit and someone else ending up in hell. Literally.
That left some of the others. There were no incompetents in Wolfram Hart – they didn't survive that long. But there were some people who worked on long-term projects, long-term as in not seeing any results in that particular century. Others worked on wacky theories. And then there were the others... the misfits, odd types, nut jobs, so-called "blue-sky" thinkers, the ones who like Winston Churchill had a hundred ideas a day, but couldn't identify which one was the single brilliant one. He paused. The analogy had brought to mind... Yes, he might do...
Reaching down he opened the desk drawer to the right and then groped around. After a moment his fingers felt the button and he pressed it, feeling the wood above it move outward on silent rollers. He grabbed the wooden box and pulled it out.
Taking a deep breath he opened it and smiled at the picture of his wife and children. His dead wife and children. Dead because of Holland Manners. He repressed his desire to snarl and brushed a yearning hand over the picture instead, calming himself. Then he carefully moved it to one side and pulled the lightsabre out quickly, pushing it into his jacket pocket. Taking one last look at the picture he closed the box and replaced it in its hiding place.
Then he stood up and straightened his tie before walking out of his off. Passing down the corridor he noted the lights on the offices of Morgan and McDonald. It looked like the children were burning the midnight oil again. What fun. He resisted the temptation to put his hands in his pockets and whistle. Once he made sure that the lightsabre was safe and that the firm could profit from it... well. The children would have to find somewhere else to play. And Manners would die. Very, very slowly.
"Focus..." He was balancing on one hand, his feet together, his other hand out, his mind still. The sound of feet walking around him in steady circles was a presence but not a distraction. "Focus..."
He reached out with the Force to feel the area around him. The ground. The floorboards. The stones. The sword. He took a breath and then picked the sword up with the Force. Then the first stone. Then the second. Then the third. And then the fourth. Focusing carefully he raised the sword in the air and started to spin it slowly around its long axis, the hilt whipping around quickly. Then the first stone started to orbit around its midsection. The second looped down from its pommel to the tip and then up again. The third started to orbit at a 45-degree angle between the two and the fourth mirrored it on the other side. The stones moved slowly at first and then faster and faster, becoming first streaks and then blurs in the air.
"Good," said the now stationary figure in front of him and then suddenly and violently clapped his hands loudly. He didn't even flinch at the unexpected noise and the stones continued to whiz in their orbits. "Very good. Release."
The stones stopped, rose in the air and then fell to the ground slowly while the sword drifted over to his free hand. The Oz flexed his arm up, flipping himself up and onto his feet. Sheathing his sword he nodded at Xander. "Fun."
Xander laughed. "Complex fun." The smile faded. "Are you ready for this?"
His Padawan paused for a long moment, before nodding. "Yes."
"Lets go then."
He rounded the corner and looked in some bemusement at the line of bullet holes in the wall. Then he looked into the shambles that was a thoroughly wrecked laboratory. From the tape outline on the floor it looked like a headless man with one leg had been found there. Other tape outlines located the missing bits. Wolfit shook his head and moved on down the corridor, wincing every now and then at some of the chemical smells that can from the closed doors.
When he reached the end of the corridor he turned right into another, passed three empty laboratories and finally stopped in front of a door that displayed a large warning sign that seemed to have been signed by one Mustrum Ridcully. He sighed and knocked firmly on the door.
After a while there was a confused scuffling noise and the door opened to allow enough room for a tousle-haired head to blink at him. "Oh hi Harry," said the head and then opened the door fully to reveal a youngish man in a very dirty white lab coat. "What brings you down to the third circle of hell?"
Wolfit walked into the room and then blinked hard. It was slightly tidier than the last time he'd been here, but it still looked as if a troupe of juggling monkeys had been practicing in it. The main workbench was covered in bits of wire and other parts, along with what looked like a half-eaten pizza, while another workbench had round gold object that had been disemboweled, with odd-shaped crystals scattered around it.
"What the hells' that, Walt?"
Walt followed his gaze and then rubbed the back of his head. "Oh, just something I've been working on. I think that the object that Ulswater smuggled back from that dig in Egypt is some kinda holographic projector, so I've been taking a look at it and trying to reverse-engineer it."
"Any luck?"
"Sort of… here, hang on a second. There." Reaching down he pressed a button on the underside of the globe. It let out a low grating noise and then a beam of wobbly light shot up and then spread slightly to reveal a flickering image of a very indistinct face. A thin squeaky voice said something that was too fast to understand and then the face flashed and the whole thing shut down.
"What was that?" asked Wolfit.
"Not a clue," replied Walt cheerfully, "but it sure ain't a bomb like they first thought! It's been a nice distraction from my project."
"How's that going and are they still bugging you about it?" asked Wolfit easily, jabbing a forefinger at his ear, and then looking at the object that took up one corner of the room. "Oh and what happened in Lab 46? There were bullet holes outside it."
Walt sighed and walked over to where a Bunsen burner was flickering. Turning it up and adjusting it so that it burned blue, he put it under a stand, filled a clean flask from a tap and placed it on top.
"Relax, Harry, they don't bother keeping surveillance on me anymore, not since I shorted half the system by mistake. Coffee? Okay, well the project's the same as ever. Some progress. It still sets up electrostatic fields that screw with any cameras and bugs. Not as much progress as I hoped though. I guess that the chances of creating anti-gravity on a sustainable basis that keeps the crew alive is pretty remote at the moment. Still, we might have something workable in a few decades." He pulled two mugs out and filled them with coffee from a jar.
"As for Lab 46, Shoho was working on that multi-dimensional mirror interface of his. Seems he made a teensy error with his calculations and overdid the power/flux ratio. I guess he got a bit careless and instead of creating a hole to another dimension he somehow got the interface to go back in time and grab some more dinosaurs."
"Oh hell, not velociraptors again?"
"Yeah, 'fraid so. Made a hell of a mess before security shot them to pieces and Shoho didn't make it. Shame really, he owed me 50 bucks. Ah well."
He looked up from the bubbling water. "Anyway Harry, how's life on the upper levels?"
Wolfit smiled caustically. "Same as ever."
"That bad?" Walt said as he grabbed a pair of tongs and lifted the flask off the burner to pour the boiling water into the mugs. "There you go. Milk?"
"Please." He paused. "Actually something came into my possession the other day and I'd like you to take a look at it. It's… a bit odd Walt."
This was like dangling something shiny in front of a magpie, because Walt instantly straightened up. "Odd in what way?"
"Best if I show you," said Wolfit and pulled out the lightsabre. "What does this look like?"
Walt blinked hard at it and then looked up. "Vader's lightsabre from the original Star Wars trilogy. Looks like a really good copy. By the way you're handling it, it looks the right weight too. I never took you for a Star Wars fan, Harry."
"I'm not," he said dryly and then pushed the activation button. The red blade sprang to life with a menacing hum. Walt stared at it with eyes as big as saucers and then put his mug of coffee down with a shaking hand. Then he picked up a piece of aluminium tubing and raised his eyebrows ay Wolfit, who nodded and held the lightsabre out. Tossing the tubing onto the blade Walt blinked hard again at the two pieces as they hit the ground.
"Where," said the technician, his voice squeaking. Then he tried again. "Where did you get that?"
"Contact of mine. I was going to meet him and deal with some unfinished business. He was leaking information to another company after he got greedy. Realised the depths of his mistake and was trying to patch things up. Apparently he got it from a contact of his own, who'd chopped his own head off by mistake with this thing when he pushed the wrong button at the wrong time." He shrugged. "I got this and dealt with the leak at the same time. As for where the original guy got it from..." he shut the lightsabre down and handed it to Walt, who held it as if he was afraid that it would evaporate into thin air. "He got it from Sunnydale."
This broke through Walt's stunned expression, because he looked up with a frown on his face. "Sunnydale? I thought that we couldn't go near that place? Liz Azala got all excited when she heard of it snowing in southern California a few months back and had put her team together when she found out it was Sunnydale. She sulked for a week!"
"Yes, Walt, we can't go there. But this came from there. Nothing in the Arrangement about that."
Nodding slowly, Walt ran his fingers over the surface of the lightsabre, careful not to touch the buttons. "Nice workmanship. Weird." He looked up. "What do you want me to do?"
Wolfit folded his arms and tilted his head wryly. "I can't find out a damn thing about it. Who might have built it, why, how, where... nothing. I want you to analyze it. Disassemble it as much as you like, but make sure you can put it safely back together. Initial report, then a full one. How long will you need?"
The technician blew out his breath and shrugged. "Initial report? A few weeks at least. I don't know what I'm dealing with here. I mean, the amount of power it takes to produce that beam – and the beam itself... It's too soon to say, Harry. Have to be honest, too soon to say."
Wolfit nodded. "Do your best." He turned to head back to the door and then stopped when Walt cleared his throat.
"Harry, why ask me? Why not take it straight to the guys up on the innovations floor?"
The lawyer smiled quietly and then turned to look at the man in the dirty lab coat. "Because you're not one of those assholes with ambitions to stab their boss in the back. You're your own boss down here. Because I've done favours for you in the past. Because my wife was your aunt. And because I intend to... deal... with a certain person with that thing... one piece at a time."
Walt's eyes tightened and a grim smile crossed his face. "Okay, Harry. It's a deal."
"Where's Willow tonight?" asked Xander as they walked up the road. "I didn't see her back at the library."
Oz smiled quietly. "At home. I bought her a new book. Quadratic equations. She's dealing with it."
The Jedi laughed quietly. "Ooooh, yeah. I can see those equations now, all screaming 'run away! run away!' as Wills does her stuff on them. She always was good at math."
They walked on for a bit, looking around quietly in case there were any other people around with less than noble motives. The vampire population of Sunnydale never really gave up on the chance of a snack, even with two slayers, a Jedi and a Padawan in town. Scooby opinion was divided on this, with the main consensus being that vampires were either ludicrously optimistic, or badly informed, or just really dumb. Maybe a combination of the three, mused Xander. But it was a warm, moonless night and the stars were bright in the sky again. After a while they reached the park and they stopped, staring into it.
"Ah," said Oz after a long moment. "Dark side over there." He pulled a face. "Not nice."
"Sewer with a hint of chemical factory?"
"Yup. Kind of slimy as well. Evil, anyway."
"Right," said Xander. "Let's get down to it. You know what you have to do. I have faith in you. Oz, you've come a long way. You've done a lot, seen a lot, learnt a lot. This is the next step. I can't tell you how to face your own fears – only you can do that. All I can do is say that when I met one of those things in desert it appeared as my worst nightmare. It appeared as the one thing I was afraid of becoming – Vader. That's the Dark Side for you. That's a wraith for you. If you can face your worst fear and walk out again, then you've conquered it. You've beaten the Dark Side within you."
He paused and then put his hands into his sleeves unconsciously. "I can't tell you what form that thing will take – only you can. Trust yourself. Fight it. Face it. A wraith is born out of fear and anger and hatred. If you can deal with that, you can deal with anything – as a Jedi. There'll still be stuff to learn after that, but this is the one thing that I can't really help you on. That I can't really teach you. I know you can do it. Do your best. May the Force be with you."
Oz looked at him for a long moment. "I won't do what Luke did," he said smiling. Then he pulled his sword out from under his coat and handed it over before walking into the park.
The mouth of the tunnel was dark, menacing and just screamed Dark Side. Something was also odd about it, and it took Oz a moment to realise that the light from the lamppost off to one side wasn't penetrating the entrance. It felt as if something was… waiting... inside. Watching somehow, but without eyes. He couldn't sense anything there yet, but there was a presence in the Force.
He closed his eyes for a long moment and then let out a breath. "Do or do not," he whispered to himself, "There is no try." Opening his eyes again he walked up to the dark opening, raised an eyebrow at the way that the darkness seemed to move ever so slightly and then stepped in slowly, looking around. The air felt cold, dry and dead and he found to his surprise that he could see reasonably well in a pale light that hadn't been visible outside. Which was a good thing, because he quickly spotted several sluggishly moving tendrils of black mist that were weaving their way along the floor towards his general direction. Calmly he stepped over them and pressed further into the tunnel, pausing when he saw a sad little pile of dust. The late Mr Trick, he presumed, stirring it with his foot. Odd that the wind hadn't disturbed it… but then there was no wind. Not here. Odd too. Something caught at his peripheral vision and he turned to see another black tendril groping on the floor. It seemed as sluggish as the first ones, as if it could vaguely sense him but was confused. He walked around it and then stopped dead. There was something ahead of him; he could feel a dark presence in the Force, steeped with the stench of the Dark Side. Out of the darkness ahead a figure was emerging, a shaggy stooped figure with mad eyes and snarling teeth, letting out a low growl. A werewolf. It caught sight of him and them the growl increased in volume as slather started to gather on its' muzzle and its eyes glittered greedily.
Oz had been expecting this. Of all his nightmares, the wolf that was inside him was the worst, the thing that he dreaded transforming into, the merciless thing that he could become. But at the same time it was also now the thing that he had conquered, keeping it at bay with the Force.
Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small object. "Dog biscuit?"
The werewolf's ears pricked up and for a split second it looked very keen and as if it was about to beg. Then it caught itself, shaking its head and snarling again as it started to move towards him, preparing to pounce.
"Come on. I've got my slathering under control," he said. Tossing the biscuit in the air Oz watched as the werewolf leapt in the air to snatch it and turn it into a small blizzard of crumbs. Then it caught itself again and with a roar of animal rage leapt at him.
Using Force-assisted speed the Jedi dodged the first attack, darted back, and then caught the werewolf's clawed hands in his own and held it at bay calmly. The creature gaped for a second and then snapped at him. "I'm sensing anger management issues," he said and then pushed the werewolf backwards.
The werewolf recovered its balance and then leapt back at him, its claws flashing as it reached for his face… only for Oz to reach inside its grasp and calmly take hold of its arms at the risk and hold him away from him. The werewolf howled madly, its back legs raking at the concrete floor as it tried to gain the leverage it needed to overcome him, but Oz held it off easily. Was that really what he looked like as a werewolf? Willow said that he looked fluffy. This thing foaming at the mouth impotently opposite him wasn't fluffy at all – except in his nightmares, where it was dank and streaked in blood. Nightmares that he never had any more, not since he'd learnt to control the Force.
Sighing he pushed again and the werewolf tumbled down the corridor, where it flipped over and crouched there, snarling and studying him carefully. "I'm not afraid of you," said Oz quietly. "You have no power over me."
The werewolf snarled deep in its throat and sprang at him again, its claws reaching for his throat. Oz used the Force to slow it in mid-air and then jabbed with his hands to swing it around and send it reeling back again. This time the werewolf yelped as it hit the floor and when it came back up to crouch in front of him it looked shaken. The snarl was gone and its hands shook. It was staring at him again, staring as if it didn't know what he was. Then it seemed to flicker slightly. One second it was a werewolf and then it was black mist. Werewolf and then mist again and then... it formed into a new shape. A girl dressed in leather, with pale skin and long red hair. Willow. She looked at him for a long moment and then suddenly her eyes turned yellow, her forehead grew lumps over her eyebrows and her incisors lengthened into fangs.
Oz looked back at her. "Xander was right; your kind have no imagination," he said calmly, shaking his head. "Tell you the truth that's my second worst nightmare. And that's why I became a Jedi, to stop it from happening."
The pseudo-Willow looked confused for a moment and then came at him with a hiss of malice, one pale hand coming back to reach for his throat again – and being caught in a tight grip that made her face convulse in hatred. She struggled to pull free and when he let go she stumbled backwards again, her fangs bared in a long hiss. Oz tilted his head and looked at her with almost pity. "What did this to you? Why are you here, feeding off hate, driving people away or killing them?"
The wraith gaped at him for a moment, flickering slightly again, but then it rallied and raised its fist to flail out wildly at him. Oz dodged it easily; noticing as he did that there was a faint blurring to the outline of the fist. It's weakening, he thought as he dodged the next blow and then, as the fist came up again, he stood still, his mind empty of all emotion, his grip on the Force absolute. The cold tingling feeling as the wraiths fist passed straight through him was a little odd, but that was nothing to the look of total horror on the pseudo-Willow's face. She looked down at her hands and then lashed out again, her arm passing uselessly through Oz like so much mist. Her hands were violently shaking now and she moaned loudly and then looked at him.
The flicker was back, Willow, mist, Willow, mist, then werewolf again, snarling weakly and then whimpering. It raised a shaking claw, lowered it briefly before then slashing again at him, whimpering again at the useless gesture. It shuffled back slightly; its claws grating on the concrete floor again and then flickered again. Mist, Willow, werewolf, mist, Willow... and then a short dark-haired woman, dressed in jeans and an old leather bomber jacket. She looked about 25, with dirt on her forehead and one hand clenched at her side at a red stain. She stumbled backwards, a combination of terror and defiance on her face and Oz followed her, slowly.
"Who are you?" he asked softly, "Who were you? What happened here?"
The wraith hissed at him, her eyes glittering with some indescribable emotion, and then she looked back at something further back in the tunnel. Whatever she saw there it seemed to give her a desperate courage, because she suddenly darted forwards again to slash out at his face with her free hand. It passed uselessly through him, but she screamed with anger and tried again and again, panting with fear before retreating again a few feet. She seemed to be pulsing slightly now, or rather fading in the gloomy light and then reforming. She tried to attack again, but this time as she raised her hand she caught sight of it and she stopped, raising a violently trembling hand to her face and staring at the slow pulse of fading and reforming.
Looking up at him she moaned again and then shrank away from him, looking back down the tunnel before turning at bay again, showing her teeth as her hair fell over her eyes. Oz stepped forwards. She was dying in front of him and he wanted to know what had made her, but before he could ask she stopped and then sank to her knees. "Why..." she panted with great effort, "why... didn't... he... come? He... promised... We... were... waiting..." Shakily she looked back up at him and then clutched at her side with both hands, where the red stain was growing. "It hurts..." she whimpered, and then looked at him. "Thank you..." Then her eyes rolled back in her head and as she shook violently she started to flicker again, in and out of existence until suddenly she seemed to compress into a tiny black ball of darkness, which winked out with a sharp 'crack' of noise.
Standing there in the tunnel Oz could feel the Dark Side slide away from the place, like a dark stain being washed away by clean water. He let out a long breath that he hadn't until that moment realised that he'd been holding in and looked around. The pale light had faded and suddenly there was a breeze on his face from the entrance and he could see the faint light of the lamppost outside. Which was good, because it was rather dark in here, a darkness that was suddenly lit up at the entrance by the light from a blue lightsabre.
"I think we should have brought torches," called Xander, a wry note in his voice as he walked down the tunnel. "As not even Jedi can see like cats in the dark. Ah well, live and learn."
He stopped in front of Oz. "I could feel it start to weaken from outside. It was like... a bad smell passing. And then it just... went away. What did it look like?"
"Wolf me, at first. Then a vampire Willow. Then... a woman. Older than both of us. Leather jacket, what might have been a bullet hole." He turned and looked down the tunnel thoughtfully. "It was... odd. Asked me why 'he' never came. Said that 'we' were waiting."
The Jedi looked at him sharply and then, holding the lightsabre up, started to search the darkness. "We? She said we, but just appeared as a woman at the end?"
"Yes, she... there." He pointed to the dark shape slumped against the left hand side of the tunnel wall. As they came closer the blue light revealed a half-skeletal body dressed in a leather bomber jacket and dirty blue jeans. It was clutching a bundle and a small suitcase and from the position of one of the sleeves, had been clutching at its side, where a dark stain surrounded a hole in the jacket.
"What a place to die," breathed Oz. "She must have been waiting for someone?"
"Yeah, but that doesn't explain the 'we' comment, unless there's someone else down the tunnel. This doesn't make sense; wraiths are born from fear, hatred and other such fun stuff. One person dying down here wouldn't-" He stopped and then lowered his head. "Ah, hell."
"What's wrong?"
"Look." The lightsabre changed angle slightly and revealed two things. The first was a tarnished gun to one side. The second was the pale glint of tiny bones in the folds of the bundle. "She had a baby. She was waiting for someone with her baby. That explains the fear part. She must have been terrified, wounded, alone, afraid for the child... what a way to die." He sighed deeply and shook his head. "Well, she's away from the Dark Side now at least. I'll call Giles and have him call up Father Martinez. He's used to this kind of thing. And I'll have Willow do a missing persons search. We might be able to find out who she was and why she was hiding here. Check that suitcase first, in case she had any ID. I'll do the jacket, as carefully as I can."
Oz nodded and gently slid the suitcase away from the body. It was still in one piece but the locks had rusted slightly and he had to force the locks open. Then he stared at the contents. "Xander, I think I found out another reason she was so afraid."
The Jedi stood up from the body and came over. "Hum. A suitcase full of 20 notes. Why does that make me suspicious? Let's have one."
Oz handed one over and the Jedi held it up to the light of the lightsabre before taking it between his fingers and feeling it carefully. "A baby and a suitcase full of fake 20 notes. This stinks, and I don't mean literally." He looked sad and then straightened up. "Come on, let's tell Giles and the others. Oh, I almost forgot." He stopped and held his hand out with a wide grin. "Congratulations, fellow Jedi."
