To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers
Part 43: Enemy Territory
Years before I was born, there was this old science-fiction-horror movie called Mimic. I saw it on cable one night the summer before Warren, Catherine and Drusilla's little scheme came to fruition, and the damned P'korkin demons made me think of the monster bugs in that movie. Over six feet tall, with the "classic" insectoid three-section body, though thickened at the joining points to allow for much greater mass. The upper body section and the head stooped forward a little bit, to allow for bipedal movement, the "arms" longer than the back or middle legs, but with an extra joint to allow the P'korkin to walk on all sixes and stay level. All six legs are sharp and tough, and the carapace is very tough.
We didn't even have to fight, though— because that tough carapace isn't bulletproof.
"Down!" Graham called from behind us, and we three dove for the ground.
The ten-soldier squad and Graham opened up with their M-22B rifles, all on single shot, and the two at either end dropped grenades in the middle of the mass. Fifteen seconds later, no living P'korkin was in the area.
"Thanks, Graham," Buffy said. "I hate fighting bug-things."
"No problem," Graham said, and bowed us towards the next barrier, which was an even deeper shade of blue.
This time, a tile-puzzle stood in front of the force field instead of a whiteboard. You know, those puzzles that you get that are frames with tiles in them that usually have one empty square, and you slide the squares around to make a picture or a pattern or something? Where you have to be careful because with only one empty square, your choices are limited? I hate those things, and by Buffy's groan, I wasn't alone. Add in that this one was sixty-four (well, sixty-three, with the one missing square) four-inch squares in an eight-by-eight pattern, all in a frame almost three feet on a side, and missing only one square as usual, and I groaned really loud.
The tiles weren't numbered or part of a picture, either, but were covered with little symbols, dots on some (in various numbers and colors), lines on others (also in various numbers and colors), some lines straight, some with angles, some curved or even outright squiggly, and some with two kinds of symbols, some with three, a few with all four.
"Judith?" Buffy said hopefully.
"I see the pattern of solution, I think," Judith said. She bit her lip then said, "However, I don't know if I should… oh, for lack of a better phrase, 'count up or count down.' Highest value to lowest, or lowest to highest?"
From behind me, Piper said, "Solve for whichever will take the longest. That's probably how Catherine set it up, since the idea is to delay us."
"Logical," Judith agreed. "Buffy?"
"Makes sense, from Catherine's point of view," Buffy agreed. "Do it, Judith.
"Piper, how'd you figure that out?"
"I don't know the lady the way you do, or Giles does," Piper said, smiling a little, "but Buffy, I know supervillains!"
Buffy laughed, Judith started working, Piper stood and watched Judith, and I moved away, stood and thought. After a couple of minutes of listening to the soft "rattle-click-rattle-clack" of Judith sliding tiles in the puzzle, I felt a presence at my elbow, looked up to see Graham standing next to me.
"You look all pensive," Graham said. "You can't be worrying about being Chosen anymore, kiddo— so what's up?"
"This doesn't make sense, Graham," I said softly. "There shouldn't be solutions like this to get past barriers. The barriers should just be… barriers, not locks. Catherine shouldn't be offering us a chance like this. She wants Buffy and Willow dead, and her best shot at that is completing her ritual— so why is she giving us a chance at stopping it?"
"Crazy people don't always make sense, Jocelyn," Graham pointed out.
"Maybe not, but… but is she crazy? I mean— psychotic-crazy? Not-in-touch-with-reality crazy? Or is she just 'you killed my daughter' crazy?" I sighed and looked back at where Judith was working on the puzzle, Buffy's pseudo dragon friend Pointy sitting on her shoulder and watching with evident interest and pleasure. "She's been acting like the second kind of crazy, Graham— and that doesn't fit with these passable locks."
"You make a good point," Graham said. "Any thoughts on how it might affect what's coming?"
"Not yet," I admitted. "I can't… make it fit. I'm not Judith, or anything, but I do usually sort of… grasp these things, you know?"
"I know," Graham said, and tapped the patch on my START jacket that read 'Civilian Attaché: Combat/Intelligence.' "That's why I gave you this, remember?
"Is it okay if I bring your Dad and Buffy over, have you tell them this?"
"Sure," I sighed. "I wanted to have a possible reason to give them first, but I'm not seeing anything, or even getting a brain-nudge, so I might as well do it now.
"Oh— bring Piper, too, she made a point about how she understands villains."
A couple of minutes later I'd repeated my thoughts, and Buffy looked thoughtful as Dad and Piper nodded.
"I was thinking about that myself," Dad said, squeezing my shoulder. "Looks like everyone's been right all these years, Jocelyn— you got your mother's targeting ability and my detective's brain. And your mother's looks, which I know you're glad of.
"It doesn't fit. She's right. Everything I know, everything I've read, everything I've learned in college classes… it says that Catherine should be fighting much harder to keep us out."
"Can you make it fit at all?" Buffy asked Dad.
"Not with what we know, or have been thinking, no," Dad said.
"Um, I can think of one thing, just did think of it," Piper said, blushing at contradicting Daddy, who knew so much more than either of us about this.
"Stop your blushing and spit it out," Buffy said with a grin. "Piper, we know you've got a brain and damned good instincts— we'll listen."
"Okay, well… what if her heart's not in this?" Piper asked. She spread her hands and said, "It's been going on at least since May, so maybe she's… I don't know, calmed down. Gotten some distance, some perspective.
"What if she's figured out— subconsciously, I mean, not with the top of her brain— that what you and Willow did you did because Amy forced you to? What if she's just… going through the motions, now?"
"Oh," Buffy said, looking startled. "I hadn't…."
"Or what if she's just doing it because she agreed to?" Daddy asked, looking thoughtful. "If she's just doing this to fulfill an obligation? Isn't a witch— even one who uses black magic— supposed to take her word pretty seriously?"
"Dawn?" Buffy called. "Come here a sec, please?"
Aunt Dawn came over, and Piper went through her thinking, Dad added his thoughts, and Buffy looked at Aunt Dawn and raised an eyebrow.
"It's possible," Aunt Dawn admitted grudgingly. "I mean— I can't argue with Jocelyn, Piper and Whitey's reasoning, but… I'm having a hard time imagining it, Buffy. She killed a lot of people, a lot of girls, out in Montana. That doesn't seem like the sort of thing you do if your heart isn't in it."
"So… maybe that's what broke her out of it," Dad suggested. "Maybe seeing what she'd done, or knowing what she'd done just… cleared her head a little."
"Oh!" I said, as my brain latched onto something and shoved it in front of my eyes. "Wait, what if— look, Drusilla, wasn't she threatening to… uh, torture Helena, make her watch Dru kill Angel and Faith, then make her a vampire? All to get back at Angel?"
"Yes, that… oh." Buffy nodded slowly. "If Dru talked about doing that to Catherine, and Catherine is the one who drained Faith and I, well… then she may think that she's responsible for someone's daughter being tortured. Even if she knows Drusilla failed, that might have… I don't know, made her really look at what she was doing.
"Good thought, Jocelyn. Dawn, what do you think?"
"It's not impossible," Aunt Dawn said. "If so— well, it increases our chances, so I won't argue with it. But does it change the mission any?"
For a long moment, Buffy looked a mixture of worried and unsure. Then her expression hardened, and she said, "No. No, we can't take that chance. The mission stays the same; stop Catherine Madison, stop her permanently— and stop her hard.
"Jocelyn… it has to be me or you that takes Catherine down. Judith hasn't the experience, and I won't ask her to kill a human, or Joyce. Piper… what she is would make that something she can't do, and I won't ask her to, I won't have her feeling like she's not the hero she is. (Don't argue with me, Piper Benjamin, because if I did ask you to kill someone, your Uncle Ben would haunt me forever, and I don't want that.)
"Judith… she might be able to handle it— but I won't ask it of her. Joyce… that isn't who she is, or who she wants to be. We've talked about it, me and her and Xander, and she's… well, she's sure that she could kill a human if she absolutely had to— but scared to death of the possibility of having to.
"Can you do it if it comes to that, Jocelyn?"
I didn't answer right away— I thought about it. Answering that right away… well, if I'd been able to, I'd have scared myself silly. After almost a minute of considering, of thinking, of counting up all the things I cared about that would end if Catherine succeeded, I answered.
"If she succeeds, everything I ever loved will very probably die," I said, my voice a little unsteady. "You don't get to threaten to destroy my family, my friends, all the people I love, and all of the people that the Scythe Chose me to protect, not with impunity.
"If it comes to killing her or letting her succeed, she dies. I'll need a lot of sessions with Diane if it comes to that, I think— but I'll do it, and I'll get past the hurt of having to.
"I'm in, Buffy. All the way— and for keeps."
Buffy looked at me soberly for a moment, then a slow, proud smile broke out on her face. "And once again, I get to say it: Jocelyn Kelly Penobscot, I told you so!"
She hugged me, Daddy hugged me— they all hugged me. Graham only let go when Judith said, "I'm two moves from the solution— everyone had best get ready."
We spread out across the hall— and just as Judith slid the last tile into place, a big, bright light flashed off to our left, just outside the windows of an old men's clothing store, and five… people, I guess I'd have to say, appeared, even though three of them weren't human. Regardless of species, though… I recognized them all.
The barrier came down a half a second later, and there were vampires, animated corpses and demons swarming at us. I barely had time to yell, "On the left— they're not enemies!" before I had a Praxlig demon (cross a caterpillar and a grizzly bear, then give it deep yellow fur that exudes grease like a mink, and put curving, catlike claws on the ends of its twelve claw-paws— ugh!) in my face, rearing up to fall on me, intending to grip me with its front two sets of claws and rip me limb from limb.
I killed it— Praxligs have a nice, soft underbelly, perfect for slicing open with a sword— and heard Buffy yell, "Hey, no! You'll get hurt!"
I glanced to my left to see Constable Rej (short for "Reginald") Shoe, the only zombie member of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch (and he didn't look like a zombie to us— he wasn't runny or rotted, just gray-skinned and covered with stitches where he'd sewn himself back together here and there), picking up a zombie— a runny and nasty specimen— by the scruff of the neck.
"Excuse me, miss," Rej said, his English accent more cockney than anything else, "but have you tried simply talking to the zombies to find out why they're angry?"
Before Buffy could answer, I shouted, "Constable Shoe, these are NOT the zombies you're used to— they're mindless killers!"
"Oh, now, that's a hard attitude— oi! You bloody idjit!" Rej looked at the zombie that had dropped to the floor by the simple expedient of clubbing Rej's arm until it separated from his shoulder. "All right, chummy— if you want to play carnivorous eating machine, then that's how we'll play!"
Rej used his still-attached right arm to pick up his left— the hand formed into a fist as he picked it up— and started beating the runny-zombie with it, punctuating each powerful, hammer-like blow with a single word.
"Do— you— have— any— idea— how— long— it's— going— to— take— me— to— sew— this— back— on!?" he snarled. The last blow left the zombie on the ground, its head broken open, and it effectively un-animated.
Buffy stared for a long moment, a mixture of horrified— and amused. Then she waded back in, even as Constable Shoe, still wielding his own left arm as a weapon, started clubbing the next zombie in line.
I'd killed a couple of zombies while I half-watched Rej, and now I saw Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson moving to defend Joyce and Ian, who had a problem with a press of Praxligs and zombies. Even as he drew his sword and stepped forward, he called, "Don't you worry, Miss Harris, Mr. Matthias, I can help!"
Amazing. In the Discworld books that these people had stepped out of, Carrot was famous for knowing the names of every person he ever met— and it seemed that there really was magic involved, if he could do it here.
I got stupid and distracted by these people who'd stepped out of the pages of some of my all-time favorite books, and a pair of zombies grabbed my sword arm, dragged it down— and I saw a Praxlig charging at me, all twelve legs churning like mad.
I tried to brace myself for the impact— but it never came. Instead, a ropy, muscular bag of rusty-red fur landed on the Praxlig's back, grabbed both of the demon's ears, and yanked up and sideways with a bellowed "OOOK!"
The once-human, now-orangutan Librarian of the Great Library of Unseen University (where wizards go to learn to be wizards on the Discworld) pulled the demon's head around so suddenly and sharply that its body followed automatically, and it charged right past me— and since it reared up when the Librarian yanked its ears, it gave the START commandoes behind me a nice, soft, sure target. Several of them shot at once, killing it, and the Librarian leaped off as they shot, landed next to me.
"Ook," he said conversationally, and punched one of the zombies holding my arm hard enough to knock its head clear off.
I killed the other one by levering it up and over my head and slamming it headfirst into the hard tiled floor of the mall, then said, "Thank you, sir— but be careful, these aren't the creatures you're used to on the Disc."
"Ook, ook," the Librarian said, nodding, and I swear, I knew— somehow— that he'd said, "Yes, I'd guessed as much."
That left Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, and the troll Sergeant Detritus— an eight foot high pile of ambulatory stone who's even stronger than you might think from that description— standing and watching the fight. After a moment, Commander Vimes lit a cigar, looked at Detritus, and said, "Sergeant— I do believe these people are badly outnumbered. Why don't you go even things up a bit?"
"Right, Mr. Vimes," Detritus said. He levered the freaking ballista— a siege crossbow— that he used as a hand-held weapon off of his shoulder and said, "Can I use der Piecemaker, Mr. Vimes?"
"Make sure you're at least in the middle of the enemy group before you do, Sergeant," Vimes answered.
"Yes, Mr. Vimes." Detritus lumbered forward, plowing right through a line of oncoming zombies, ignoring them as they broke their teeth trying to bite his stony hide. When he'd gone a good thirty feet inside the mass of demons that had formed around him, trying vainly to stop his implacable motion, he leveled the giant crossbow— loaded not with one bolt, but with a huge, long, bundle of hundreds of arrows, all tied together— at a Praxlig muzzle, and said, "Dis is der Watch. All of youse surrender now or I make youse deader den youse already are!"
In answer, the Praxlig tried to bite the head of the Piecemaker (and yes, it's spell p-i-e-c-e instead of p-e-a-c-e on purpose). Detritus pulled the trigger— and all hell came to visit the demons.
The Piecemaker was meant to fire huge, metal bolts that weighed a hell of a lot more than any bundle of even hundreds of wooden arrows. So the bundle broke up, the arrows broke up— and the friction of their insane speed out of the huge weapon caused them to burst into flame. The end result? A huge, expanding fireball that killed a double-assload of demons, vampires and zombies, and heated Detritus's armor to temperatures that would give a human serious burns, since the fireball started only a few feet from his massive form. It finished by slamming against the deeper-than-dark-blue wall of the next force field in, and when it burned itself out, our enemies were reduced by about half.
"Nicely done, Sergeant!" Commander Vimes called— and gave a vampire that had charged him the famed 'Vimes Elbow,' a weapon feared far and wide across the Discworld. "None of that, my lad! I've never liked vampires anyway!"
Captain Carrot was still helping Ian and Joyce, the Librarian seemed to have attached himself to me, and Rej Shoe was watching Buffy's flank for her. Detritus wandered back towards Commander Vimes, punching anything that came within reach with a fist the size (and consistency) of a cinder block.
We fought— and we won in much shorter order than might have been expected. When it was done, Buffy came over to me and said, "Okay, Jocelyn— you know these people, right?" I nodded, and she said, "Good— how about you help try to explain and do some introducing."
I nodded again, and went slowly over to where Commander Vimes stood, puffing on a cigar and looking relaxed.
"Uh, hi," I said. He looked at me with an expressionless face, and I said, "Commander Vimes, my name is Jocelyn Penobscot, and I'd like to thank you and the Watch for your help— you made things a lot easier for us, and you, Mr. Librarian, may have saved my life.
"Um, you're probably wondering how you got here, how I know who you all are—"
"No, I've got that bit," Vimes said, and reached around to his hip pocket. He brought out a paperback copy of THUD!, one of the later Discworld books featuring the Watch, and handed it to me. "Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler found this in his sausage tray after a bit of a fuss near the High Energy Magic Building, and for a wonder, he was bright enough to bring it to me at the Treacle Mine Road Watch House. We took it to the Librarian, and as soon as he touched it— well, here we are.
"I'm guessing you've read this?"
"Yes, Commander," I said. "That and a lot more that also take place on the Discworld. Here… well, to us, you're fictional characters. But, um, I have to say— wow! Meeting you guys— this is the only cool part of this mess we're in."
"What sort of a mess is that, then?" Vimes asked, leaning against a wall (and looking obscenely comfortable doing so).
"I'm not really sure there's time to—" I started.
"No, you go ahead," Buffy said. "Judith's gotten a look at the next lock— another whiteboard, this one with a bunch of chemistry stuff on it. She said it might be a bit— Piper's helping, and so's your dad. Take a couple and explain. These folks were nice enough to help us out, they should at least know what they've fallen into."
So I spent the next ten minutes explaining (as best I could) what was going on to five people from some of my all-time favorite books. If Susan Sto-Helit (Death's granddaughter) had been there with them, it would have been better than just those five— but that's the only way.
When I finished, Commander Vimes looked at me and asked "How old are you, young lady?"
"Almost fifteen, Sir Samuel," I admitted.
"Aren't you a little young for this sort of work?"
"No, sir." I gestured around at the other Slayers present and said, "With the exception of Buffy, I've had the Slayer power longer than any girl here. I know what I can and can't do better than most, and when my mind's on my work— I admit, I got distracted when I saw you guys, I won't let that happen again— I'm among the best there is at what we do. My calendar age may be low, but that's got nothing at all to do with my experience or my willingness to do what needs done."
"Hmm, I suppose you're right," he admitted. He lit a fresh cigar, looked around and said, "All right. You people are the Watch here— so far as I'm concerned, anyway— and coppers are coppers, never mind little things like gender, species and age. That being the case, I think we'll tag along until whatever happened to bring us here un-happens."
I had a thought then, and I grinned. "Commander, there are a lot of people outside who are temporarily without the power that they're used to having, and they're likely to 'fall into the kacky' while we're in here— the spell that's being done, it will cause more ripples in reality as it progresses— and they may need help more than we do. With you five along, well… I'd feel better about my friends being in danger. Detritus alone makes up for a lot of de-powered Slayers, Rej and the Librarian help on the power scale, and you and Captain Carrot are no pushovers. Plus you personally know a lot about fighting, more than most anyone out there. Could you help them out? I'll introduce you, make sure people know that you have some serious experience and should be listened to, if you'll do it."
Commander Sir Samuel Vimes gave me a long, hard, appraising look, and decided that I was serious, not just trying to get his people out of our way— he had always had a way of reading people— then nodded once. "I think we can do that, yes. Coppers are better at holding a line than they are at making advances. Lead on, Miss Penobscot."
So I cleared my idea with Buffy and led them outside, introduced them to Vi and to Major Gideon of START. (I didn't have to introduce them to Lydia— she saw us coming and squealed, "Oh my GOD, that's Detritus and Rej, and— and the Watch!") When I went inside, Commander Vimes was listening to Vi and Major Gideon explain the situation, and Lydia was deep in conversation with Captain Carrot and the Librarian. (Like me— like everyone— she seemed to understand the many and varied kinds of "ook" that the Librarian could produce.)
Ten minutes later, Piper finally worked out the answer to Catherine's chemical riddle, and the last force field before the entrance to the underground space where Catherine was working came down— only to reveal a plethora of demons in a plethora of types. At least a hundred critters, ranging from standard vampires on up to a half a dozen Y'rorak demons, which stand twelve feet at the shoulder, move on four tree-trunk-like legs tipped with humanoid fingers and thick, bearlike claws, have hide like an armored truck, the disposition of rabid baboons and an eye-searing orange, purple and electric green pattern of colors on their hides.
Inevitably, one of those was right in front, and it charged a group composed of Judith, Buffy, Aunt Dawn and my Daddy right away.
Unfortunately for it, it roared as it charged. I didn't think, I just jerked an explosive crazy-disc off of the bandolier I wore and flung it on the straightest course I could manage into the thing's open mouth. The disc went off on the roof of the thing's mouth— bye-bye brainpan, hello great beyond.
"Thanks, honey-girl," Daddy called as he drew his European longsword and followed Judith into the battle.
"You're welcome!" I called back as I beheaded a vampire in front of me, then snatched a bone knife thrown by a Miquot demon (they manufacture the things in their bodies, can pull them out of their forearms at will) out of the air and flung it back, getting the thing in the shoulder and at least slowing it down.
"JOCELYN, DUCK!" Joyce Harris yelled, and I dropped into a forward shoulder roll, felt wind from something passing over my head, and stabbed up and backwards from a crouch. I didn't hit anything, but the big, black-skinned, orange-haired demon that looked to be wearing samurai armor did have to jump back to avoid my blade, so that worked out well. It drew its katana up to the high guard position, and I grinned ferociously, jumped forward— and kicked it in the crotch. It folded up neatly, and I beheaded it before calling, "Thanks, Joyce! You and Ian work your way this way!"
I slammed my blade into the gut of a Wendigo (Native American monster, a transformed human who had eaten human flesh— and learned to like it, even crave it). It didn't mind that so much— Wendigos are gaunt and skeletal, look like a human who starved to death and rotted a little before getting back up, so not a lot of gut there— but yowl-roared in anger when I kicked it in the chest and drove it back. It charged back in— and an eagle-feathered dart sailed over my shoulder, sank into it's chest, and caused the whole thing to burst into flames and die.
"Thanks, Aunt Dawn!" I spun to build up momentum for a strike on a Groblod demon— big, heavy things, eight feet tall and built like a weightlifter on his best day— and saw Aunt Dawn grin and wave in response just before my blade cut off the Groblod's left arm just above the elbow and sank into it's chest most of the way to the sternum.
"On your left and back," Joyce called, letting me know she'd come into my sphere of combat.
"Got it, you two watch my back," I replied, since I knew Ian wouldn't leave her side. I went after a pair of vampires that were charging me, and as I did, I heard Ian singing under his breath.
"Hi-diddle-dee-dee, a Zippo's life for me," he sang, and grabbed the shoulder of a second Wendigo that was coming at me from the side. It burst into flame— and I burst out laughing as I killed the second vampire.
"Glad you approve," Ian said as I stepped forward to engage a Chiswinth, which are nasty, seven-foot-tall centaur-like things with tentacles tipped with bony spurs. One of them had almost killed Giles way back in the Battle of Bloomington, only Sara Lamont and Samantha Finn keeping him alive long enough for Uncle Ethan to get there and heal him magically had averted it.
I slashed off the tentacles on one side of the Chiswinth, laid a deep cut down its side (flank?) on that same side, then drove my blade in right behind its rib cage, angling back for the heart, getting a lung, and accepting that as it crumpled.
We worked our way towards the center of the big courtyard ahead of us, and the big circle of plants at the middle of the court, not in a planter, but set in twenty foot cutaway circle the floor, with a little path through the middle of it made of cement discs of various sizes set in the dirt. As we (Joyce and Ian stayed close) moved towards the unhealthy-looking but still-alive mini-jungle (mostly tropical and semi-tropical plants, all having been there for more years than I'd been alive, they were pretty damned big), the bad guys tried to close in behind us— but Piper decided that she didn't like that. She charged in, the big battle axe that had become her preferred weapon making meat of the demons that closed in behind us, and was soon bracketing Joyce and Ian on the other side of me.
"I'm betting that circle would be the gate, right?" Piper panted as she settled into a rhythm of pure destruction. "The nasties seem determined to keep us from it, kind of a clue!"
"Pretty sure you're right," I agreed. "Shall we do a push?"
"It'll be a pain in the butt, even if it is only another thirty feet or so to the path," Piper said. "But, yeah, okay. Push it is. We get there, we can hold it 'til the others catch up."
"I can help, I think," Ian said, sounding nervous but determined. "Something I thought of the night before all this went crazy— haven't tried it, but… let's see if it works."
"I hope it does," Joyce said, and actually giggled as she said it.
Ian grinned at her pun— then his face settled down into a mask of calm determination. The light of the lines that Hope had drawn on Ian's body grew brighter, overwhelming the dim lights of the mall (the power was still on, but only the maintenance lights were on) in just a couple of seconds. He grew still more bright— and monsters near him began to burn without him even touching them. Brighter still, and the light of Hope washed over me, banished my minor aches, pain and fatigue completely, left me feeling fresh as the morning dew— and monsters still farther away started to burn. Suddenly, Ian pulsed really brightly, brightly enough to leave the a man-shaped image drawn in angular lines of bright blue burning on my eyes— and every demon within twenty feet screamed and died, and demons out to forty feet caught on fire.
"Now!" I yelled, and we four charged onto the path. I grabbed one of Joyce's hands as we went, and Piper grabbed onto her shoulder. Ian came after us, and the four of us landed on the cement-disc path—
I felt a sensation vaguely like that of passing from gravity to no-gravity all at once, like when the shuttle engines had stopped when I went up to Asimov Station last summer, a twisting like I'd just stopped a particularly violent spinning Capoeira move— and we four were somewhere else entirely.
We stood in the middle of a thirty-foot-wide, thirty-foot-high cement hallway that ran in two directions. Behind us was a big set of ordinary steel double doors (twenty feet high, most of that wide, but only ordinary steel), ahead of us a great big steel vault-style door veritably bristling with locks— two keypads, one a number pad, the other a standard qwerty keyboard, a pair of combination locks, and a huge spin-knob, like you expect to see on a vault door.
Piper looked at the vault-style door and let out a low whistle before she said, "Holy crap, but I'm glad that Brian decided to teach a course in breaking and entering, right now. That's a seriously locked door, Jocelyn, and it'll take a while to get past all those locks."
"Get to it," I said. "We don't know how long we have, but it can't be long.
"Ian, Joyce, we watch her back. Ian, are you okay?"
"I'm good," Ian said, gulping air. The lines of Hope had sunk back to their usual brightness on his body, but not gotten any dimmer than usual. "I won't be doing a pulse like that again anytime soon, but I'm good."
"Okay, and good job," I said. "Good job both of you— Joyce, you're awfully good for someone who's only had the Slayer power for a few months, kiddo."
They both thanked me, and I stood and waited for the others to arrive or Piper to open the door— and I tried not to think about what might happen if the others didn't arrive before we got the door open. I could lead, sure— but I didn't want the big, heavy part of the mission to go down without Buffy here.
I stood and I waited— and I wondered about what was happening both up in the mall and farther up on Asimov Station while we fought down here.