Chapter 4 - Peas In A Pod
The klaxon continued to sound, nerve janglingly loud and shrill. Tara was sprinting to keep up with her guide. How does she know which way to go? Oh, forget it - just don't lose her. Taura disappeared out of sight around a corner, and Tara suppressed a little scream and ran faster. Don't leave me here, please!
There was another sizzle of weaponry ahead, and she aimed her stunner rather wildly in front of her as she ran, sparing a brief downward glance to ensure that she was holding the right end this time. Why are you running into a gun battle? You really are mad, aren't you? Still she ran on, straight towards the sounds.
As it was, she and her stunner weren't needed. She rounded the corner, and ran through a door to find herself in a small claustrophobic room, with a low ceiling, painted the same dirty off-white as the rest of the place. More huddled bodies lay on the ground, with Taura looming above them.
Taura looked up and grunted, "Lock the door behind you." Tara looked around, at a loss. How? Taura gave another, annoyed, grunt, and stepped toward her, and waved the card in her hand over a little keypad. The door slid closed, then Taura aimed her laser and fired. The keypad blackened, and burned. Taura nodded once, then crossed the room again, stepping over the two bodies on the floor. Tara followed nervously, skirting round the human obstruction. Two men lay together in a tangle, one skinny, the other considerably beefier, their limbs tangled, their heads lolling, a large metal carrying case spilled open beside them.
There was a row of small hatches in the wall, each with a glowing green light beneath it. The first five hatches were closed, and the lights shone a brilliant red. But the last hatch stood open, and the keypad was green.
"One left," said Taura, "we were just in time." She moved over to the open hatch, and rapidly and expertly ran her hand over the keys.
The beefy fellow groaned, and Tara turned nervously, stunner in hand. Taura didn't seem to have shot these two - maybe she'd just cracked their heads together?
Taura looked up from the keypad, and took a single long stride across the room. She leant down, and lifted the man from the floor. He groaned again, and stirred, and Tara took two swift steps forward, swung, and banged his head neatly against the wall. There was an ominous crack, and he fell still. She pinned his limp form against the wall with one hand at his throat, stripped off his boots and socks, and trousers in quick succession with the other, and handed them to Tara.
"Uh, thanks," said Tara. She took the trousers, still warm from his body, and started to pull them on, shivering a little with repulsion.
Taura's grip on the man's throat released and he slid to the floor with a thump, bare hairy legs folded beneath him. "Right," she said, "Come on." And then she stopped, staring at the objects spilling from the carrying case on the floor. "Grenades and incendiaries," she said happily, "Well, well, well."
There was a massive clang on the door outside, and the muffled sound of cursing outside. A small dent appeared in the metal surface, and then another.
"What will they do next?" asked Tara nervously, trying to stamp her right foot into the first boot. It was still warm as well. Ugh, ugh, ugh.
Taura showed her fangs again. "If we're very lucky they'll try to burn their way through the door with their lasers. They're just about dirt-ignorant enough." She picked up the case, and piled all the grenades and incendiaries against the door, then she pulled out two ominous-looking metal pins from the two sticks at the top of the pile and stepped back to admire her work. "Nice."
Then she ran back to the little hatch, and swung herself through it, feet first. It seemed to be a tight fit. She paused, only her head and shoulders protruding.
"Come on!" she ordered, then she disappeared, like a rabbit down a rabbit hole. Tara hobbled across the room, one boot still in her hand and the socks bunched awkwardly under her elbow, and grabbed the handholds, swung her legs into the hole, and followed Taura into the darkness. The hatch sealed above her with a sibilant little hiss. Shit, when did I decide to trust a stranger this much?
She landed on her feet, after just a small drop, and found herself standing very, very close to Taura, virtually pressed against her chest. Taura reached up and past her, and pulled the little hatch door shut, than another, inner door. A reddish overhead light snapped on. They were in a long upright metal pod, shaped like a cigar case, maybe twelve feet long.
"Get in a bunk."
Tara looked around her. Two padded alcoves faced each other, and after a disorientated moment she realised they were the bunks - currently vertical bunks. Taura was already moving across to wedge herself into one alcove, and Tara did likewise. As she pressed her back against the cushions, a web of restraints shot out, and grabbed her, cocooning her into position. Somehow she managed not to scream.
As she watched, Taura jammed herself awkwardly into the other bunk, her head forced sideways at an uncomfortable angle. The restraints enveloped her, and the pod fired, like a bullet leaving a gun.
"I really hate those automatic launches."
Tara stirred groggily, and opened her eyes. Taura, smothered in webbing, regarded her from across the pod.
"They always take off too fast. The program's designed not to kill or injure you, but apparently a headache doesn't count."
Tara blinked, painfully. Her head felt like a big blossoming balloon of pain.
"No bang yet, said Taura wistfully, "Looks like maybe they remembered their spacers' code and didn't burn through the door." She tapped a little console of numbers beside her thoughtfully, a dissatisfied frown darkening her face. "It would be a real shame if they didn't blow up. Those guys are so scuzzy they're not even welcome at Jackson's Whole - which is really scuzzy."
Tara closed her eyes again. If she didn't move, at all, the headache was just about bearable.
The next time she came round things had changed. Taura had removed the webbing, How? and was floating half in, half out of the bunk, rubbing her neck. She saw Tara looking, and smiled - a terrifying ripple of lip over fang, and tapped the console. "Something went bang, just a few minutes ago. The radiation shields on this thing just went crazy." She flexed her head backward, exposing a powerful, tawny coloured throat. "These things are just a little too damn short for me, always." She pushed off from bunk, turned neatly in mid-air and reached into a locker just below her feet, and pulled out a silver pouch.
"Water?"
"Gah," croaked Tara, "Wa'er would be good." She tried to reach out her hand, but she was still strapped down, with the soldier's purloined left boot cutting uncomfortably into her ribs under her arm. "Um, how exactly do I get out of this?" she said.
Taura grinned, "There's a button, just by your right hand."
Tara looked down. Yep, there was the button all right. About three inches beyond where she could move her hand to. Taura saw the problem too, and another fangy smile rippled across her face. "Next time, you'll know to put your hand on the picture," she said. She stood, and reached across Tara, warm and large, and pressed the button. The webbing withdrew, and she grinned down, and tapped a large fluorescent green outline of a hand on the side of bunk by the button. "Every cadet ever enrolled gets caught by that. Usually the instructors leave 'em there for a few hours to make sure the lesson gets learned. Lucky for you, I'm kinder." She floated gently away, and settled down into a sit again.
"Now she tells me," grumbled Tara. With the webbing removed, she was beginning to float too. She made a startled grab for the bunk with one hand, and took the proffered water with the other. Her stomach was flipping over, and she was dizzy. Zero gravity was proving very uncomfortable. And it always looked like such fun when the guys on the space station did it.
But in a minute or so, Tara found herself breathing a little easier. She examined the water pouch carefully. There was a little foil seal at the end - if you tugged it, it should... oops! Well, she'd only spilled a few drops, or no more than a cupful. They were floating past her in little silvery bubbles. She looked up. Taura was grinning again. Nice to know I'm a source of such amusement for her.
"So," she said, taking a long, rather messy swallow of water"What happens next?"
"Well," said Taura, her gaze turning introspective, "One of two things. We're either going to get picked up by those guys in the ship again, or by Ground Control from whatever planet we're buzzing around. Of course, hopefully the bad guys are all too busy trying to save their ship." She grinned. "If there's anything left of it to save."
Several hours passed. Tara awkwardly took off her right boot, which floated upside down beside her, then donned her stolen socks, and the boots afterwards, while floating inches above her bed, her head bumping the ceiling. She still hadn't gained the courage to float out of the bunk and swing around like Taura had done, but the nausea was receding at least. They ate from time to time, ration stick after ration stick - all identically bland. They had a brief moment of excitement when Taura remembered the candy, from the guy she had thrown into the wall. Otherwise there was nothing to do. Except doze - and talk.
Only talk was proving difficult. Taura seemed to be the strong silent type, and Tara... She wasn't really sure just what type she herself was. Seems like I should know that. She looked across at Taura, who was sitting in her bunk again, huge hands resting on her knees, her face formidable and, in repose, quite unreadable.
Tara frowned. She had seen monsters before, she knew she had. When? She tried to concentrate. The headache was still there, but faded, and it wasn't causing the fogginess that came every time she tried to think about what she remembered, and who she was. Still, she was sure she hadn't met a creature like Taura before, or been in a space ship. That all felt new. It was reasonable to ask about that, surely? The whole eight-foot-tall-with-fangs thing really did cry out for an explanation.
"If you don't mind me asking," Tara said cautiously, "what kind of creature are you, exactly?" She looked across the five feet or so of space that separated them. Taura loomed, surely too large to be real. And yet, real she was. Very much so.
"I'm a Super Soldier," said Taura flatly, twisting uncomfortably in the too small bunk, and rubbing her neck self consciously.
"Oh!!" said Tara, enlightened. "Yes, you do seem kinda good at the soldier thing. And you know, I've come across some super soldiers before. Not as... advanced as you. They tried just jazzing up some ordinary guys with hormones, and steroids and stuff." She jumped, startled by the vividness of her recollections. The Initiative, she thought, monsters with serial numbers... Adam. Where did that memory come from?
"Really?" Taura looked interested.
"Yeah," said Tara distractedly. "It didn't turn out so well. In the end they made a kind of Frankenstein's monster out of parts." She thought back a moment. "Assholes," she added.
Taura's brow wrinkled. "That sounds kinda primitive, but I suppose I'm pretty much the same. Only they did it all with genes - animal genes. Splice a bit here, splice a bit there. She regarded her own hands sadly. "I'm still mainly human, though," she said, with a touch of defiance in her voice - "99.99. It's just that pesky 0.01 that causes all the problems."
But Tara barely heard her. A whole sequence of memories was unlocking in her mind - monsters, spells, good and evil, the Hellmouth, Mr Giles, Buffy, Dawn, Xander, Willow. She gasped, pressing her hand to her ribs. Willow! And then it was like a wind rushing through her, full of knowing. Tara Maclay - student at UC Sunnydale, white witch, Slayer's sidekick, wielder of magic. Now she knew. She knew all of it. She trembled with the shock, with the sheer weight of it all. Then finally she drew a deep breath, and rubbed the back of her hand across her face.
She looked up. Taura was still staring at her own hands, no doubt expecting some reaction to the animal genes thing. She should say something. She opened her mouth, but at that moment Taura's gaze turned upward, meeting her own - that sudden overwhelming glow of her eyes catching Tara off guard again.
"So, Tara-not-Taura," she said, "what are you?"
"I've just now remembered," Tara said. She drew a deep breath. "I'm a witch."
Taura continued to stare at her, her face unchanged. "A white witch!" said Tara a bit desperately.
Taura sniffed, delicately, and looked away. "Some people," she said pointedly, "think I'm dumb, because I'm all big and stuff. I'm not dumb at all, and witches do not exist."
"And yet, here I am," said Tara, gesturing. "In a space ship, yet," she added. She began to tremble again. And this isn't my time, it isn't my place. Something has gone very wrong.
"In a pod," said Taura sternly. "That's way different." She looked Tara over critically, "Well, you're certainly not a soldier." She paused, then tilted her head. "So, you can do that light thing because you're a witch?"
"Uh huh." Tara nodded distractedly. Memories and scenes were flicking past her eyes at lightning speed. But there's more, there's something else, something very, very important. What?
"Huh," said Taura, folding her arms.
Tara bent forward, folded her arms. It was coming, she could feel it, more knowledge.
And she remembered. The garden, Buffy with Xander, Willow, Willow with blood, the cold, the dark rushing wind, blackness, blankness...
She looked up, "And also," she said, "I think I'm dead."
Taura frowned. "You don't look dead," she said suspiciously.
"I don't feel dead," said Tara tentatively. "But I remember..." She pulled the white shift away from her shoulder and looked down. Her skin was unflawed. "It doesn't make sense," she said, "but this isn't my time, and it isn't my place." She looked up, "I've been somewhere else, for a long time I think. I remember dying, and I remember my life, and my friends," she swallowed as their faces flicked by in her mind's eye. "But it feels... old. Like it happened long ago."
She looked down at her hands - pale, long fingers, slightly bitten nails. They didn't seem ghostly at all. "I died in the summer of 2002, she said firmly. "In Sunnydale, California, Earth." She looked at Taura. "What year is this?"
"1011 standard clock," said Taura, "but I'm guessing you're talking Earth years. I don't know the Earth year date, but it's been 1,000 Earth years since some guy stepped on the Earth's moon - there was a big hoopla on the news feeds a while back. Although measuring things in Earth years doesn't really make sense - except on Earth I suppose," she added belatedly.
Tara looked at her dumbly. 1,000 years?