Mea culpa, mea culpa. The delay is unfortunate, but there have been, problems, with internet access lately. It's here now though!
Once again, I do not own the characters contained herein…
"What are you offering?" This was the first question, asked by Lara Croft.
"We are prepared to supply a sum equal to two billion pounds sterling, along with a few minor pieces of equipment." Offered Brognola.
"Completely unacceptable…" Began Jack.
"The sum is more than generous." Interrupted Lamont "But what exact 'equipment' are you offering?"
"A modified Osprey tilt-wing retro-fitted with jet engines and an internal structure suited to your purpose. Small arms in the vein of 20 Fabrique-Nationale
P-90's and 30 FN-FiveSeven pistols. A thousand rounds of custom ammunition designed for anti-demonic use and six clips per gun. 12 modified Atchisson combat shotguns with drum clips and anti-demon rounds. Four M206 grenade launchers with customised attachments for the P-90 or the Atchisson. Ten grenades in each of the standard rounds – hi-ex, concussion, AP etc. Four zat'nik'atels and six intars – four pistol variants and two sub-gun variants. Mr Lazarus here can vouch for the effectiveness of both zat's and intars."
Jack nodded to the rest of them, who took him at his word until they could test them for themselves.
"A small number of grenades. The latest field watch issued to MI6 agents for each of you and this." Trilby placed a small metallic rectangle in the middle of the table.
"What's that?" Cassandra was first to ask, but they were all curious.
"A couple of years ago…" began Brognola "…there was a temporal event in San Francisco. We are still unsure as to what exactly happened, but it appeared to focus on the Technodyne building and several pieces of technology from the future were recovered. This is one of them. It took over a year, but we've discovered it to be a mobile holographic emitter capable of producing 'hard-light'. It took some work, but we managed to charge it and, well, see for yourselves."
Brognola tapped a button on the top of the 'mobile-emitter'. A 'man' appeared, bald with some dark hair at the sides of 'his' head. He wore a black and blue uniform with some pips at the collar.
"What is the nature of the medical emergency? Oh, it's you again." The apparent doctor growled at Brognola. "I told you, the Temporal Prime Directive prohibits me from giving you any of the information you've requested."
"Bwahahahaha" Xander and Cassandra had gone into hysterics, Lara and Jack looked confused at their reaction while Jarod grinned. Lamont, Brognola, Trilby and Sir Basil all looked baffled at their companions.
"What?" queried the hologram irritably.
"G, Good joke guys." Choked out Xander.
"What joke?" asked Sir Basil.
"Getting the guy from Voyager to make an appearance." Replied a still mirthful Xander.
"How do you know about Voyager!" demanded the hologram. Xander sobered slightly.
"You, you mean this isn't an elaborate practical joke?"
Trilby shook his head slowly.
"And you really have no idea what I'm going on about?"
Brognola just stared at him.
"The U.S.S. Voyager? Lost in the Delta Quadrant? Capt. Kathryn Janeway? Tuvok? Neelix? Seven of Nine? Nothing?"
Sir Basil continued to look befuddled.
"The last good Star Trek series?"
Realisation began to dawn.
"What on earth's Star Trek?" inquired the Doctor.
"Uh, Doctor?" started Cassandra tentatively.
"Yes?"
"This isn't your reality. It must be pretty far off in fact, because here, Starfleet, the Federation, the Borg, is all a television show."
"What!" exclaimed the Doctor
"How did we miss this?" barked Brognola.
"Because our staffs contain a paucity of science-fiction fans, presumably." Replied Sir Basil urbanely.
Lara leant over to Lamont. "Do you have any idea what they're going on about?"
"Not really. I mean, I lent Roddenberry some money for the original series, but I'm sure I'd remember holograms and the like."
"HOLD IT!" the bellow came from Jack, stilling the exited muttering coming from, pretty much everyone. "If I'm guessing right, and I'll bet I am, you want us to take the doc here along as medical support for our operations."
"Well, yes…" began Sir Basil.
"You asked him yet?"
"I beg your pardon?" confusion crossed Sir Basil's face.
Until a coupla days ago, I was a high school student. I watched a lot of TV. The Doc here is an AI, an Artificial Intelligence. The SGC has had a few dealings with them, and unless you're designated their superior officer, which none of us are, you can only ask them politely, not order them around."
"But it's a hologram, a computer." Spluttered Brognola.
"And we're bits of meat animated by sugar and bio-electrical impulses." Put in Jarod.
"Uh, excuse me?" the Doctor called attention to himself. "What 'operations' will these be, exactly?"
"An initially covert war with hostile beings, with the probability of it becoming overt within the next decade. If you decide to join us, you wouldn't be fighting, more patching us up when we get injured. While we wouldn't insist on you providing us with future technology, I personally would appreciate any medical technology you feel you could safely contribute. I don't know about the others, but there's only so many more bit's I can lose before having to take a back-seat to the combat side of things." Offered Xander seriously.
"I presume that the eye-patch isn't decoration?"
"You'd presume correctly."
"Lost it in this 'covert war'?"
"Yep."
"Are you the aggressors I this conflict?"
"We most certainly are not!" insisted Trilby, but Xander quieted him with a gesture.
"Technically, we are. As in, this group will be searching our enemy out from their strongholds and hide-outs. However, the most common of our enemy exist by draining humans of all their blood until they are dead. They do this despite the fact that they can live off of pig or cow blood and need not completely drain their victims. In all of our recorded history, of which we have about five thousand years of at this point, there have been three of that variant who defeated their nature, all within the last hundred years and all due to the highly immoral actions of homo-sapiens. One of them would have starved to death if we hadn't found him because of a behaviour modification chip forcibly implanted in his brain."
The doctor looked aghast at the lack of morality inherent in such a procedure.
"Another had an innocent psyche placed 'in-the-driving-seat' as it were. The catch, the new psyche felt the guilt for what the creature had done its time. But the second it forgot that guilt, the original psyche was unleashed, which led to a rather large number of deaths before it was stopped. The last only stopped drinking blood because its employer demanded that it not, and tested regularly for it. If she'd refused, she'd have been staked. Apart from those three, all the others are either mass-murderers on a massive scale, dead, or both."
"I would have to research the matter carefully, but you appear to be justified in your actions. What happened to these non-aggressive specimens?"
"'Chip' died saving the world, was resurrected by means unknown, then died saving the world a second time. 'Psyche' had his good side returned and fought unregenerate members of the species. He died in the same battle as 'Chip's' second death. Stakee, don't know. Presumed dead in same battle as other two."
"I will consider this information further, but currently I have no objection to serving as medical officer for this venture."
There were murmurs of gratitude from the newly assembled field team, and some grumbles from over the table.
"Returning to the matter of your provisions for this enterprise." Began Lamont "They are, of course, impressive. I would appreciate the addition of some low-key ground transportation, preferably able to fit in the Osprey."
Sir Basil looked at his companions, then shrugged.
"While they aren't quite cutting edge, I could provide a couple of converted BMW's, each comfortably seating five. Armour plated and armed of course. Some 'point-and-shoot' missiles, two ground-to-air missiles, a roof mounted retractable turret of two barrels with a 360 degree field of fire, a 0 to 20 degree elevation and holding one thousand rounds in 5.7mm. Re-inflating tyres and a three round mortar cannon in 200mm. Alas, there is no boot space. I believe that they can fit in the Osprey as it is. Fully loaded, of course."
"Much appreciated." Murmured Lamont.
"Could you give us some more details on this 'Osprey' please?" piped up Cassandra "We really should know what we're gonna travel in."
Jack, Lara and Jarod looked slightly chagrined. Xander looked proud.
"I won't go into statistics here, but the general outline of the plane is this." Began Brognola, the man who'd overseen the modifications to the plane. "In the nose is the main navigational array, radar, instruments and the like. Behind that, the Osprey has two levels. On the lower, we have the computer centre. It's cramped, only space for one person in there and that would be for repairs, as software access to the computers is via remote terminals. Behind that is the armoury. The weaponry we're providing will fill the racks by about half, we figured you'd have your own stuff, or would build some. There's space for three thousand rounds at a pinch, but two and three-quarter thou would be better, safety-wise. That's in insulated, fire-proof cupboards by the way. Aft of the Armoury is the Workshop. For its size it's the most capable of its kind ever built. CAD facilities are far beyond the on-hand CAM facilities I'm afraid, but there are the tools and materials for constructing all sorts of toys." His grin when he said this suggested that the 'toys' he spoke of wouldn't be suitable for kids. "Also present in the workshop is the belly access hatch. Beneath this is a drop-boat. Basically, you get in it, and you drop. It has facilities for the waterproof storage of 5 P-90's and side-arms, which is convenient, because you won't fit more than five people in there before the drop, and that's with really friendly people. Maximum rated drop is 20 meters. And I mean maximum. We dropped one from twenty-two meters and it went rather leaky, people. The drop-boat can be collected by winch, five lines are lowered from the hull of the Osprey and attached to the boat and it is picked up. The boat-to-hull seal isn't airtight, but the seal of the belly hatch is. We added this feature because the Osprey is not rated for water landings, and our modifications have, in fact, made it even less capable of doing so in an emergency. If you have to ditch in the water, I strongly advise you bail out before you hit. Aft of the Workshop is the main cargo bay. This is where we'll store the BMW's. In the forward port corner is a small washroom with retractable toilet and sink. They're retractable to allow for a shower, we don't advise mixing the activities. Hot water lasts about ten minutes, but re-fills quickly enough. Stored in the main bay are your survival packs, parachutes and emergency rafts. Also present, because we suspected you might wangle ground vehicles out of us, is an equipment chute capable of dropping four tonnes without damage. It may interest you to know that one of the BMW's, fully loaded and with four people on-board, weighs 3.8 tonnes. The aft wall of the hold is the access hatch, providing an entrance and egress for the cars and any other large equipment you need aboard. Heading straight up from the hold we come to a set of six sleeping berths. Forward, we have access to the Command Centre. This is where the computer terminals are. You have the option of internet access, but that will cost a pretty penny. Also present is the safe, should you need to keep anything safe. The terminals are also capable of recreational activities, and there is a communal DVD player/projector and a roll-down screen which then covers the access to the cargo bay. Above the Command centre is your main fuel tank, armour plated naturally, with supplemental fuel held internally within the wings. Additional, external, fuel pods can be attached, but there is a trade-off in maximum attainable flight speed. Just aft of the forward bulkhead is a personnel hatch on the starboard side of the plane. You know, for use with those stair things they wheel up to you on landing. Forward of the Command Centre is a small galley, fridge, freezer, microwave and coffee-maker is about it. The main medical supplies are also kept here, anything needed to be kept cold is in a separate fridge to the food. Forward of the galley is the Cock-pit. This is where you fly the plane. Communications are also routed through here, but the pilot can pass them off to someone in the Command Centre. There's an intercom system and full auto-pilot capable of cruising for extended periods. Also present is remote control of the doors, an indicator panel and, you'll love this, a prototype Structural Integrity Field which allows the Osprey to respond as if it was a fixed wing craft. That thing accounts for a full third of your computer capacity. This can, of course, be turned on and off to allow for its tilt-wing VTOL capability. Also present is a modified missile defence system, which can dispense chaff, befuddle radar and provide jamming against being locked on in the first place. Of course, it does nothing against the Mk1 eyeball. In heavy weather we recommend the presence of Pilot, Co-pilot and Coms officer. There's the BRB, or Big Red Button, which sounds an alert signal to tell the guys in the back to secure any loose items and strap in. The basic hull is bullet-proof. It'll stop a .357 Magnum round at four meters. Unfortunately, high-powered armour-piercing rounds still pierce it, but with a greatly reduced velocity. All the fuels tanks are wrapped in enough layers of the stuff to stop any bullet shot of its target. Finally, recessed into the bottom of the fixed portions of the wings and almost undetectable are two Heavy Staff weapons on each side. They fire forward and have an effective range of about 1000m. They're looted from a crashed Death Glider and our guys estimate are good for up to 2500 shots before they need recharging. This provides you with more firepower than almost any other aircraft in the air today. Additionally, there is pair of grenade ports concealed in the cargo bay on both port and starboard sides. Again, almost undetectable to inspection. All in all, it's a fantastic plane."
Jack spoke up "That sounds really great, but I know how this sort of thing works. You guys have at least three times that 'two billion' squirreled away in penny-packets across the globe which you would prefer not to have to give us but may be persuaded to."
Brognola, Sir Basil and Trilby all stiffened at Jack's accusing tone, then relaxed.
"Well, yes. How exactly are you going to persuade us?" inquired Sir Basil.
"It's irrelevant really." Stated Jarod.
"Why is that, Mr McNally?" growled Trilby.
"Well, your earlier comments stated that this is to be an operation with no official contact. Therefore, the funds you just admitted to having at your disposal are unlikely to be missed. Therefore…"
Lara stepped in. "I suggest that we all calm down." She smiled urbanely at the triumvirate. "Might I suggest a compromise?"
"Suggest away." Invited Brognola.
"Jack doesn't want to operate close to the bankruptcy line, and rightly anticipates the cost of this organisation being large, especially if we have to have large numbers of customised vehicles constructed. I suggest that you put aside £1,750,000,000 for our use. Any large customised vehicles we need, say with an estimated price-tag of £1,000,000 or over, we bring the plans to you and you have built at cost as one of your classified projects. We'll pay half, and you subsidize it from the 1.75 billion you have salted away. When it's gone, it's gone and we'll have our vehicles. You keep the 4.25 billion to use as you see fit, and we're all happy."
Sir Basil and Trilby looked interested, while Brognola looked dubious, so Lara sweetened the pot. "Ok, we pay 51 of the cost, and when the vehicle gets surplussed out due to age or whatever, you get to buy it back for no more than 30 of the total cost, dependant on an independent inspection to assure both sides of it's true worth. You get a set of vehicles designed by us, tested and modified by us, procedures for efficient use worked out by us and completely unknown to be affiliated with your organizations for at most 79 of it's build-price. Your buy-back option obviously drops should the vehicle be surplussed due to damage or worn out parts. What do you say?"
"Whaddya think Hal?" asked Trilby.
"It's a lot more than was initially offered, but it seems like a good deal for all that."
"Sir Basil?"
"I think, that we should make our agreement conditional on Lady Croft not bargaining with us in the future, and being in full command of negotiations with anyone else."
"Agreed." Was the rumble from the two American intelligence directors.
"Jack?" inquired Lara.
"Better than I was hoping for." He admitted with a grin.
Xander leaned over to Jarod "You can 'simulate' Lara's negotiation style, right?"
"Indeed."
"Cool."
Trilby cleared his throat, and everyone straightened up.
"There is one other thing we have to offer."
"Elucidate other-eye-patch-guy." Joked Xander.
Trilby visibly winced, and then held up an impressive looking memory stick.
"Contained on here is the contact information on every other 'paladin' we have info on. If this fell into the wrong hands, the results would be, unfortunate. You have not only our authorisation, but our whole-hearted encouragement, to contact whoever you wish on this list to aid your endeavours. Our only proviso is that you keep our involvement completely classified. If, for whatever reason, someone absolutely has to know about us, we need to be advised ASAP. And we'd really prefer not to have to be, understood?"
There was a chorus of assent from the room.
"Also contained here is a list of, if not paladins, experts in various arcane and specialist fields. These are not to be advised of our involvement under any circumstances, is that understood? The different lists are clearly labelled."
There was another rumble of assent from the assembled Paladins.
Brognola then posed a Very Important Question. "I suppose you are all willing to join what we're tentatively calling the 'Paladin Provision Command'?"
There was yet another round of assenting noises.
Trilby walked over to Jack Lazarus. "Very well, here's the pick up info for your plane. The cars will be loaded as of noon tomorrow. Good luck and I hope we don't need to hear of you for a good few years."
"Thanks."
Sir Basil was suddenly next to Xander. "It would be well worth you contacting your old employer's. I think you might find the results heartening."
"I'll think about it." Xander then turned to his new team-mates. "Meet at…" he looked at Jack enquiringly, as Trilby, Sir Basil and Brognola left the room.
"RAF Gwynedd." The clone supplied."
"…thanks, RAF Gwynedd tomorrow about oneish?"
"Sure, youbetcha."
"It would be my pleasure."
"Easy as pie. Pez, anyone?"
"And I thought I was the one with the ability to read minds!"
"Ok Boss."
If one of you would be so kind as to take my mobile-emitter, that will be just fine."
"Alrighty then, see ya there." Xander turned to leave.
There was a flash of light. As the group blinked furiously to clear their eyes of the after-images, they were confronted with a small grey alien in line with the 'Roswell' aliens.
"O'Neill, we need your help…You are not SG-1."
"THOR! Fercryingoutloud! You picked up the wrong one! Again!"
"My apologies Clone O'Neill…"
"Lazarus, the name is Jack Lazarus." Muttered Jack.
"…I shall return you directly. Do these others pose a security risk to the SGC?"
"Nah, they're cleared."
"Very well."
Flash.
Xander turned to Jack.
"So, Aliens, huh?"
"Yep."
Flash.
"THOR!"
"Who's Thor?"
"Willow!" exclaimed Xander "What are you doing here!" He side-stepped between Willow and Cassandra. Willow noticed but didn't comment, though she did look a little hurt.
"You weren't answering your cell, so I had to do something more direct."
"I threw away my cell so Buffy and you guys couldn't track me down!" said Xander defensively.
Meanwhile
Jack to Lara: "Is she… floating?"
Lara to Jack: "Yes, now hush, I'm listening."
The Doctor: "Most unusual."
Jarod: "Fascinating."
Lamont to Cassandra: "Do you know her?"
Cassandra to Lamont: "No! Now shush!"
"Xander, I've been trying to contact you to tell you…"
"I'm not coming back."
"…that Buffy was well out of line. Giles yelled at her and everything. The rest of us would love it if…you're not coming back?"
"Nope. In the seven days since I quit the Council, Me and Cassandra have been head-hunted by, well, that's classified. Suffice it to say, we may bump into each other on missions."
"Xander, this isn't the military is it? Remember the Initiative?"
"No, it's not. Well, mostly."
"Mostly?"
"There's the Colonel over there…" he gestured at Jack "…and I think Monty here holds a reserve commission in the army…"
"Lamont Cranston, at your service. Not 'Monty'."
"…anyone else?"
"I passed the SAS certification course." Offered Lara.
"So, only one military guy here, and he's Air Force."
Willow blinked at Jack. Teenager Colonel in the Air Force. Huh.
"Ok. New friends of yours. In the same business as us, I guess."
"Yep."
"Xand, just 'cos Buffy was a bit of a poopy-head, don't forget the rest of us. Dawn actually fainted when Buffy told us what happened."
Xander warmed a little. "She ok?"
"Sure, you know Dawnie."
"I'll keep in touch, I promise. But right now, we're going out on a team-bonding exercise known as the 'bar-crawl'."
"We are?"
"YES!"
"THERE IS A GOD!" Both Cassandra and Jack were rather happy.
"I could use a pint or two."
"If it's good enough for a Lady…"
"Just think of the damage to your livers!"
"C'mon Doc, you can join in. Expand your socialisation sub-routines a bit."
"Uh, very well Colonel." Stammered the Doctor, not used to being invited to social events.
"Please, 'Jack', I'm begging ya."
"Very well, 'Jack'."
Xander's voice rose above the others "And those who don't have ID appropriate for the legal age in this country…"
Cassandra and Jack both deflated, knowing that they didn't.
"…most certainly do not see me for an enchanted ID card permitting you to obtain one alcoholic beverage per bar."
Jack rushed over to his new, best, friend. beerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeer!
Cassandra did too. There was a scuffle.
"Ah, Willow, you'd be most welcome. We could all use some dirt on Xander here after the briefing we were given on him." Offered Lara.
Xander's eye widened in panic.
"Sorry, I'm due in New Salem in fifteen minutes. I'd guess there's nothing else to do here, 'cept this!" Willow's grin was impish, Xander looked scared. "Xander, with the exception of Buffy, the entire Council wishes you to know that you are not considered a renegade, nor Cassandra a rogue."
"Thanks Wills." He really was grateful.
"No problem. For the rest of you unfortunates present, here's an enchanted memory stick containing some of Xander's most embarrassing moments."
"What! No!" back to scared.
"Cool!" exclaimed Cassandra, leaping to retrieve the item in question. A brief brawl ensued, with Jack wanting custody of the item himself, and Xander trying to destroy it. Cassandra won, duh.
"Goodbye Xander."
"Bye Will, I'll see you around."
And she was gone.
"There's only one thing left to say Xander."
"What's that Jack?"
"Where's that bar?"
So, whaddya think folks? That's the last we'll see of the Council for a while, except for perhaps the occasional phone call to see how everyone is. And, uh, sorry about the massive block of text which describes the plane. If you want a pictoral representation of it, send me an e-mail. I've got a rough design I did on 'paint' which I can forward to you.
Use that little button at the bottom-left of the screen, go on now…REVIEW!