Chapter One – To Challenge Fate
Disclaimer – same as before. I make no profit from this, I do this because writing is what I love, despite what others may have suggested as of late…
Author's Note – I have gotten multiple reviews running the gamut of reactions, from admiration to outright condemnation. I have read them all and I have realized that I really did not think this through too well, having written from the heart, so consider this an attempt to correct what to others might have been the one fatal flaw in this story. Even evilredknight, in his own way, has brought my several errors in writing this to my attention, and this chapter will seek to address those issues…
That said, let the story resume…and let hope live
Six billion plus people died in an instant…
And then Xander Harris woke up, his sweat-drenched sheets plastered to his skin. He was still shivering from the horror of his nightmare, the images of which were very fresh in his mind. Almost immediately he felt an overwhelming urge to vomit, and he rushed to the head in his quarters on board the Death Star.
The Death Star…
His Death Star…
He sat there for a long moment after emptying the contents of his stomach, still contemplating the horror of what he had witnessed. It had been a dream, but for Xander, it had not seemed any less real than if he had actually done it. Of course, he had known for a long time, since the sudden appearance of the Death Star over Sunnydale ten years ago in 1997, that something was going to happen, but that knowledge didn't make it any easier to live with. According to the dream, he was responsible for the deaths of billions of people. His people. He simply would not, could not press the button to kill off the whole human race. He didn't care that people now knew there were more of their kind out there in the galaxy; to Xander Harris, the whole of humanity was tied to planet Earth, and nowhere else. He would not be responsible for that kind of genocide.
He would not be the fomenter of another Holocaust. He wasn't even Jewish, and he understood that part very well. Xander swore when he saw Willow again in the control room, he would take her aside and tell her about his nightmare.
"Why talk to her when you can do something about it, son?" came a voice out of the shadows all of a sudden.
Xander jumped up and turned to face the unseen intruder. "Who's there?!"
Why hadn't the control room noted the presence of an intruder and informed him? The alarms should have been blaring like crazy. Instead, there had been only silence to announce his guest's sudden arrival.
"All alone with your horror, are you? You know, the Powers would be disappointed, Xander. You have the means to lift every man, woman and child off the surface of your home planet, and you have a nightmare about blowing it up? Killing everyone, have you lost it?!" The intruder's voice was growing more agitated with every word, but what concerned Xander was how this person knew what he had feared ever since the terrible power of the Death Star became his exclusive province.
He fumed at this provocation from his unknown tormentor. "You have exactly two seconds to tell me who you are and what you're doing here before I have you thrown in the brig, mister!"
"And I was sent here to lend you a hand." He stepped slowly out of the shadows, revealing himself to Xander. An old man with grey, curled shoulder-length hair, a vest and long-sleeved shirt, and blue jeans with a leg brace smirked at Xander's challenge. "You oughta know who I look like, young man," he drawled on, "so I shouldn't have to tell you who I am…"
Xander stared wide-eyed, not knowing whether to look over his shoulder and expect Blade to suddenly appear. There was only one possible explanation, then.
"Whistler? What happened to the old look?"
"Just wasn't workin' for me anymore, plus I like Kris Kristofferson in that role. Figured I'd use it."
Xander snorted in disbelief at this insane drivel coming from the supposed Balance Demon who'd chosen to take the form of Abraham Whistler of "Blade". "So what's the hand you're supposed to lend me? What do the Powers want with me?"
"They don't want six billion people dying on them, that's what they want. Shit, boy, you're supposed to have the memories of this Tarkin bastard in your head, and from what I've seen of "Star Wars", he was one smart son of a bitch to use the Death Star like he did. Now you've got the Death Star, you know what else you have, don't you?"
Xander had started to settle somewhat; there was no way that a messenger of the PTBs would just announce themselves, but it would have made him feel just a little bit better to have been told first that Whistler was here before he showed up. Still, this was Whistler, and while he didn't much like the Balance Demon, he knew what the Powers That Be valued, and that was human existence. Ergo, they and Xander had something in common, and so he tolerated Whistler's presence.
"Yeah," he answered at length, "I have five thousand TIE fighters and bombers, all automated, plus I have at least a thousand long-range shuttlecraft that I could use to evacuate the planet when those demons finally break out, which I expect they're supposed to do sometime soon. Plus I have a shitload of allies in the US government, Stargate Command, the Asgard and the Free Jaffa. One phone call from here would get every Ha'Tak and "O'Neill"-class battleship here within twelve hours, with more on the way from the System Lords themselves, if they keep their end of the Protected Planets Treaty. Not that I trust snakes, of course…"
"Yeah, son, you got all that, you just don't have time to get it all in gear. That's what the Powers wanna give you, time. So they're gonna send your ass back to 1997 with everything you know up to now, which will come back to you when the time comes, of course."
"Yeah, didn't think it was gonna be that easy…" quipped Xander. "So what do I do?"
"You'll know when the time comes. You always did, son, so don't sell yourself short when you make a decision. You pick the Tarkin costume, you'll have this goddamn battle station and everything that comes with it. You make your allies and you get your shit wired tight from day one, and everything will work out just fine. That's what they told me to say to you, boy. So how about it, you ready for this shit?"
After a long reflective pause, Xander asked, "Will I have time to tell my friends, my allies about this? Since I'll be leaving them for this big do-over, they have the right to know, I think. And I need to know who's gonna take up the slack in my absence. Or will this timeline cease to exist?"
"Boy, I can't tell you about what's gonna happen here once you leave except they'll do the job the best they can when the shit finally hits the fan. But if you get this done right, then they won't have to worry about who's gonna die and who's not, cuz you'll have saved everyone. Earth will be gone, but humanity can go to other worlds where others of your kind will gladly take them in. You know where those worlds are, and so do your friends. But to answer your question," Whistler added, and here he pulled out a pack of Marlboros, packed it, and pulled out a cigarette then lit it, taking a long pull before continuing, "yes, you can tell them, but it won't really matter because they won't ever know you left."
"Really? No changes in my personality here or anything else that might jeopardize the mission?"
"None, Xander. You just go back to sleep, and when you wake up, it'll be 1997 all over again. No nightmare this time; it'll be like we never had this conversation, like none of this shit ever happened. Telling your friends won't change a goddamn thing, son, so let's just do this."
Xander did not speak for a long moment, for then he was suddenly lost in thought. This was his chance to evade the terrible vision that had haunted him in his sleep for weeks until now. To suddenly be able to do it all over again, this time with the knowledge of what was to come of that strange night…it was the dream of every man that had ever made a horrible mistake and lived to regret it. Though Xander mercifully had not committed the atrocity that had taunted him in his dreams, he was not immune to those selfsame desires. He would be far luckier than most men his age or older…
At length he looked Whistler in the eyes as the Balance Demon took another healthy pull (at least for Whistler) and lowered the fag from his lips, the tip still burning an angry red. It reminded Xander of the price of failure for him, for if Xander failed, if he were still faced with the possibility of having to commit genocide for humanity's sake, then he knew there would be no refuge for him in life or afterwards. Eternity in Hell seemed a sufficient motivation to make the choice of starting again.
"Alright, Whistler," Xander said finally. "Let's do this…"
"The Powers will be most pleased. Now get some rest…" Whistler stood up and walked toward the door, pausing to look back before he left Xander's quarters. "You're gonna need it."
********
Sunnydale, 1997
Xander woke up with a start. It was Halloween, and he still had not scrounged up enough money to supplement his rather meagre costume budget. Plus, his so-called "parents", for lack of a more negative description at the moment, had somehow found the little money he had managed to put away, save for a wrinkled five-spot, and they'd spent it on more booze. They were now sleeping off the effects of last night's binge, and he was left without a single thing to spend on any quality duds for tonight's mission.
That dreaded diminutive homunculus, Principal Snyder, had cornered the Scoobies yesterday, and he had demanded upon pain of expulsion that they would be required to supervise the elementary school children during their trick-or-treating festivities, so naturally all their best-laid plans for an evening at the Bronze had been cancelled without so much as a by-your-leave. It was no big for Xander Harris, though, for he was master of the two-dollar wardrobe. He would put together something from what he had on hand, and the five dollars he had to his name would be put to good use. Perhaps he might have some change left over, if he played his cards right, but it would be more likely afterwards that his abomination of a father would just beat him senseless again and take it for more beer. It was better to have it all spent by nightfall.
He rolled out of bed, his bones and muscles still aching from the beating he had taken from the abomination that called himself Tony Harris, and dressed in a hurry, throwing on his best Hawaiian shirt before throwing his book bag over his shoulder, pocketing the five-dollar bill, and slipping as quietly as he could out of the basement window before running to school.
That night…
"Wills, I don't know why you insist on the ghost costume, it's just lame!"
"Xander, it's a classic theme! You don't go wrong with the ghost!" complained Willow as she held a white sheet out of Xander's reach. It was nondescript, save for two eye holes and the word "Boo!" scrawled in red near what would have been Willow's midsection.
Buffy just snorted and yanked the sheet out of Willow's hand with Slayer speed, "Willow, you're missing the whole point, it's 'come as you aren't' night. This is your perfect chance to be sexy at last, to finally break out of your shell! Who knows, but you might even grow a liking for it, girl! What say I help you pick out something really spectacular?"
Willow blushed and hesitated before uttering a fearful "I don't know, Buffy. What if the others don't like me?"
They walked to the new costume shop in town, and Buffy continued to console a babbling Willow at the loss of her ghost costume. Inside, they browsed all the latest that had come in and was being sold for far less than what they would have had to pay had they gone with Cordelia to Party Town. Buffy found a rather elegant ballroom gown that would have looked excellent on an eighteenth-century noblewoman, while Willow continued to look around nervously. Xander was, however, drawn to the weapons racks by the assortment of plastic assault rifles. Strangely, he found something out of place at the end cap. Several small polished cylinders that looked like they were made to be placed in pockets and a small badge of coloured squares in a two by six array were stuck to a piece of cardboard backing and shrink-wrapped in cellophane with one word – "Tarkin".
Suddenly Xander remembered something. He wasn't sure what, but all thought of being a soldier for Halloween went right out the window. He stood there admiring the rank insignia and code cylinders of a Grand Moff when a voice startled him.
"May I help you with something, young man?"
Xander spun around screaming, "Gaahh! Don't ever do that to me again!" He stood face to face with an elderly man with thinning hair, a Brit by the accent, and wondered if in terms of stealth, the man might be a match for Buffy.
The Brit adopted an apologetic expression and replied, "You're right, I'm sorry. Where are my manners? Introductions first. My name is Ethan Rayne, and I am the proprietor of this shop, and I believe I can help you with that." He pointed at the Tarkin badges.
"Yeah, kinda had my eye on that, didn't I? I was actually in the market to customize a certain outfit I have, and these would fit just fine. How much you charging for that?"
Ethan smiled a greasy little smile and said "Seven dollars and it's all yours."
Suddenly Xander was at a loss. How was he ever going to get another two dollars? There simply was not enough time for it, and it had been a miracle that he'd been able to hold onto the five he had so far without Tony beating him up again and just taking it for booze, which left one option. He'd have to haggle for it.
"Seven doesn't look like the sort of money I'd be willing to pay for the cheap cardboard they're tacked onto, and the shrink wrapping looks like an amateur job. Tell you what, I'll give you five dollars, since it's all I have. Better in your hands than some cheap boozer's, don't you think so?"
Ethan, for his part, saw an opportunity here for some wonderful chaos, and since he'd labelled the package himself, being an old fan of the original Star Wars film, he'd gone for a touch of nostalgia. But would it please Janus? After a moment, he decided he'd go out on a limb.
"Well, speaking of my hands, I must confess that indeed that is an amateur job of shrink wrapping. I never was really good at it myself, and that's my handwriting on the package."
"Yours?" Xander asked as he gave the storekeeper a sideways glance. He looked back at the little package, then back again at Rayne.
"Why of course, dear boy. A man must do what he can to keep his business afloat in these hard times. He has to find a use for all his talents. Take your costume accessory, for example. You would think that it was a rare find, but in fact it would be so easy to cobble together something like this from lipstick tubes, cardboard, paint and glue, and to make it look as realistic as though it had come from the set of the film itself. This is one of those, but it looks real enough, don't you think?"
At that, Xander had to admit it had him fooled, but real or fake, it was perfect. Plus his Uncle Rory's old Army fatigues were so faded that the camouflage pattern was barely recognizable, and would not be noticed at all from a distance. He could cut off the pockets in the front and wash it once more, carefully as it had laid up in his Uncle Rory's chest of keepsakes and was probably by now fairly moth-eaten.
Or he could wear it as it was after removing the pockets, and simply tape the code cylinders to either side of the lapels and pin the rank badge in its proper place. A grey baseball cap, which had once been part of Rory's uniform also, would set off the piece rather nicely.
There was a reason why Xander Harris was master of the two-dollar wardrobe. Ethan looked at Xander's increasingly pleased expression and smiled to himself. Moff Tarkin's genius, his depth of planning and sheer ruthlessness would make an excellent spot of chaos this night. He finally said to Xander, "I see you're being rather a good sport about all this. Might I make an amendment to my proposed price, and let you have this for the five, plus something extra?"
That got Xander's attention. "Like what?"
Ethan smiled and said, "It just so happens that I have something special in the back of the store, in a box of odds and ends. After the store closes, I would invite you to remain behind and peruse those items at your leisure. You may pick any items that you find that would further complete the costume of Grand Moff Tarkin, and they will be yours at no charge, provided you purchase this at once." He paused to allow his words to sink into Xander's mind, and then he asked the final question. "Do we have a deal, young man?"
"Sir, this young man has a name. Xander Harris. And yes, we have a deal," the young customer replied, handing over the crumpled specie.
"Oh no, my dear Moff. Tonight, I think your name will be Wilhuff Tarkin…"
********
An hour or so later…
He watched young Harris walk away with a loose assortment of prop accessories that, surprisingly, he had found in the loose items box rather instantly, almost as though he had known in advance where they laid. Within moments, Harris had found a comlink, a blaster pistol, a small cap device in the shape of a tiered silver disk, and a fist-sized replica of Tarkin's brainchild, the Death Star itself. A black belt that Harris had found with a rectangular silver buckle fit him rather well, and grey spray dye for hair would give him the look of the Grand Moff rather convincingly, if Wilhuff Tarkin had suddenly found himself inhabiting the body of a sixteen-year-old boy. All the boy would need then was to put together the ensemble and shave his forehead to form Peter Cushing's famous widow's peak, and the look would be complete. He smiled as he made his final preparations for the ritual…
********
1630 Revello Drive
The knock on Joyce's door startled her out of her dinner preparations. She was due at the Mayor's office later for an exhibition of the Gallery's latest work, and the sudden appearance of company, even in the form of Xander Harris to pick up his friends, had just set back her plans. No successful divorcee ever learned not to roll with the punches, however, so Joyce sighed loudly and strode to the front door. She opened it to reveal an Imperial officer in full regalia standing proudly at attention with all the airs of an established aristocrat.
"My, my!" she exclaimed. "I'm due at the Mayor's office later this evening, but now I'm graced by the presence of a representative of the Emperor himself! Governor Tarkin, I presume?"
"You presume correctly, madame," replied Xander in his best imitation of Peter Cushing's Scottish brogue. "I have come to take three Rebel fugitives into custody, providing they are here, of course. Might I come in?"
"Please do, Governor," Joyce bubbled as she opened the door fully and stepped aside to admit Xander, bowing low as she did so. She closed the door after he had passed the threshold and straightened, and then she looked up to the top of the stairs and cried out, "Buffy, Dawn, Willow! Are you ready to go?"
Just then Buffy emerged in her costume, and Xander could not believe his eyes. Her hair had been piled up atop her head, and she wore the dress she had purchased as though she was born for it.
"My Buffy, Lady of Buffdom, Duchess of Buffonia, I hereby completely renounce spandex…"
"Thank you, kind sir," she effused, "You should see Willow, she's…" and just at that moment, Willow appeared at the top of the stairwell, her ghost costume in her hand, the "Boo!" scrawled across her torso.
"…Casper," Buffy finished lamely.
"Hey Wills, nice Boo you have there," stated Xander. Willow blushed lightly under her sheet, replying "Thanks…"
********
The circle had been cast, the blood on his eyes and hands still fresh. Ethan Rayne lit the candles in the prescribed sequence and then began to chant in Latin.
" Janus, evoco vestram animam. Exaudi meam causam. Carpe noctem pro consilio vestro. Veni, appare et nobis monstra quod est infinita potestas. Persona se corpum et sanguium commutandum est. Vestra sancta praesentia concrescet viscera. Janus! Carpe noctem!"
(Janus, I call upon your soul. Hear my plea. Seize the night for your counsel. Come and show us your infinite power. Person of the body and the blood itself is changed. Your presence is made present in the flesh. Janus! Seize the night!)
The blood burned on his hands and eyes, and then suddenly a cold wind blew through the room, snuffing out the candles and knocking Ethan back on his spine. He rose and surveyed the results of his handiwork. Janus would be pleased…
"Showtime…" he muttered with an exhausted smile on his face before collapsing…
********
Author's End Note - I know I didn't get the translation of Ethan's invocation to Janus exactly correct, I was working off of Google Translator, and I tried to get it as close as possible...someone lemme know what the proper English translation would be and I'll paste that in here..Thanks...