'The thirteenth of May 2452, was a Friday. Superstitious people claimed the bad luck inherent on a Black Friday explained the events of that day, for on that day, disaster struck the Los Angeles arcology, not once, but twice.
'The first disaster was an earthquake of unprecedented magnitude. Measuring 9.8 on the Richter scale, the quake flattened Domes Six and Eight, resulting in the loss of millions of lives as entire residential and commercial towers were brought down by the tremors or by falling debris from the domes. Tens of millions were injured and trapped under the rubble, and a frantic rescue effort, with assistance from the San Francisco, Chicago, Denver, Houston, New Orleans, Miami, New York and Washington arcologies and the O'Neill Halo, was launched.
'The rescue efforts had to be called off a few hours later, however, when the second disaster of an already black day struck. An armada storm had been detected, and it was bearing down on the battered arcology.
'When the storm hit, it piled tragedy on tragedy. Three more domes, Domes Five, Seven and Nine, had been weakened by the quake to such an extent that the armada storm brought those domes down as well.
'Even to this day, the death toll from the quake and the storm is unknown. But estimates range from fifty million to one hundred and ten million. It was certain that there had been very few, if any, survivors from the destroyed domes, but what was uncertain was the number of casualties in the remainder of the arcology.
'Determined not to suffer such a disaster again, the Los Angeles Municipal Authority decided to shift the geographic centre of the arcology to the north and east, away from the San Andreas Fault.
'By the start of the 27th century, the centre of the arcology had been shifted by two hundred kilometres ... the newest dome, Dome Thirteen, was situated on the former site of the small town of Sunnydale.'
- From 'A Brief History of the Los Angeles arcology' (2613)
Govcentral State of North America archives
Fear. Fear was the key.
Acolyte of the Light Bringer Luka Cormarthen reflected on fear as he patrolled the Downtown districts of the Sunnydale Dome. He was able to do this without worrying unduly about lack of concentration, as threat-analysis and peripheral-motion programs were both in primary mode in his neural nanonics, and would let him know if there was anything suspicious in the area.
The High Magus of the arcology imposes his will on the Magi of the domes through controlled fear. The Magi impose their will on the Senior Acolytes through controlled fear. The Senior Acolytes impose their will on the Sergeant Acolytes through controlled fear. The Sergeant Acolytes impose their will on the Acolytes through controlled fear. And we scare non-sect members into giving us what we want. Control fear, and you control a lot.
But something was making the Magus of the dome experience, not fear exactly, but worry and a little concern. Acolytes and Sergeant Acolytes had started disappearing, some while carrying out their assigned tasks, and others had just... vanished.
For a while, desertion had been suspected. But some of the latest disappearances had been of sect members who had been amongst the most dedicated. Some of them had been about to be promoted further up the sect hierarchy, which made it unlikely that they would desert.
Then a few bodies had been discovered, with their throats torn out. Blame had immediately settled on a nearby gang who used cosmetic adaptation packages to make themselves look like vampires. Which wasn't a bad idea, on reflection. To make yourself look like one of the most feared things in human legend had to be useful. And the fangs would probably make effective and nasty close-quarters weapons.
Several of the more aggressive acolytes - Luka among them - had wanted to break out the heavy weapons and sort the gang out once and for all. The Magus had not been impressed.
"God's Brother, just how stupid are you people?" he'd roared when the idea had been first brought up. "We don't do anything until we find out more about this gang. Information is how God's Brother wins His wars."
But he had authorised the issue of hand weapons - TIP pistols and rifles mainly, along with maser carbines - and heavy-duty communication blocks, and ordered information-gathering patrols. This had cheered up some of the aggressive acolytes - after all, there might be the chance to inflict grievous bodily harm on a few members of the 'vampire' gang.
Suddenly, neuroiconic warnings flashed red in Luka's display, cutting off his optimistic thoughts of violence. The peripheral-motion program had picked up something, and his threat-analysis program had flagged it as a potential threat.
Drawing his TIP pistol, Luka spun to his right and saw...
A heavily distorted face, with ridges on the forehead, glowing yellow eyes and long, sharp fangs. Luka grinned to himself. He'd obviously run into a member of the 'vampire' gang. Pointing his pistol, he snarled, "Alright asshole, you're coming with me. There are a few people who want to ask you some questions. One wrong move and I slice you in half."
The gang member just smiled and began walking towards Luca. As he approached, Luca was startled to recognise him. He was one of the missing acolytes, Steve! And to think he had about to have been promoted to Sergeant Acolyte...
Luka's mind whirled with confusion. Some of the missing acolytes had betrayed God's Brother, and had gone over to the 'vampire' gang. Well, it would explain the near-surgical way that some of the others had been grabbed. This was information worth taking back to the Magus, and might even earn him a promotion to Sergeant Acolyte...
Luka was brought back to reality when his threat-analysis program started going berserk. "I'm warning you, dickhead. One step closer and you become crispy-fried."
If anything, Steve's grin became wider.
Fuck this, Luka thought and pulled the trigger. The TIP pistol buzzed as it sent fifty thermal pulses towards...
The empty space where Steve used to be standing. He'd dodged out of the way so quickly that Luka hadn't even seen him move.
What the fuck? No way was that possible, unless he's got a boosted muscle system! Cosmetic packages and boosted muscle implants? That's some heavy shit.
Luka adjusted his aim to where Steve now was closing at an even faster rate. He pulled the trigger again and held it down for a sustained burst, wiggling the muzzle slightly to cover a greater area.
Five hundred pulses laced an area of about three square metres... and, once again, missed completely as Steve flattened himself below the incoming thermal pulses, before picking himself up and charging at an impossibly fast rate.
Thoroughly panicked now, Luka simply held in the trigger and sprayed pulses almost at random, desperate to even come close to the charging Steve, who ducked and weaved at that same impossibly fast rate, causing every shot to miss.
The TIP pistol bleeped as the power cell ran dry. Without a thought, Luka dropped it and went for the fission blade clipped to his belt. Too slow.
Steve grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the knife and squeezed. A sickening crunch and a burst of pain - quickly cut off as Luka's neural nanonics erected axon blocks on the nerves in his lower arm - announced that his right wrist had been crushed, and the fission blade fell from suddenly nerveless fingers.
I'm fucked, Luka thought as Steve adjusted his grip and bent Luka's head back to expose his neck.
God's Brother, help me! was Luka's final thought as he felt something rip into his throat.
'Living conditions in the so-called 'Downtown' sections of the arcology are atrocious. In fact, under Govcentral human-rights laws, conditions in prisons are better. And what does the Municipal Authority do about it? NOTHING!
'Arcology infrastructure services such as public transport are almost non-existent - in fact, even basic amenities such as clean water and a reliable power supply are erratic. Education and employment opportunities are equally bad, verging on non-existent. Parents are forced to work long hours to keep starvation at bay, leaving children at day clubs for far longer than they should be while they labor to bring in even a minimum wage under work-pay schemes.
'Is it any wonder, then, that arcology crime figures reveal that up to ninety percent of some categories of criminal offences (such as assault, larceny and homicide) are committed in the Downtown sectors?
'Is it any wonder, then, that rumours of Satanic cults flourishing in the Downtown sectors are so abundant? If you were living like that, wouldn't you jump at anything that promised a better life?
'We say, ENOUGH! We live in an era where interstellar travel is routine, and still far too many of our fellow human beings are forced to live in conditions that would be condemned as dire by animal-liberation organizations. Well, we aim to be a human-liberation organization.
'Liberation from poverty. Liberation from poor education. Liberation from medieval living conditions.
'Enough is enough.'
- 'Downtowners Are People, Too' (2614)
Things were going reasonably well, and almost according to plan. The number of fledglings was increasing steadily and, because he'd limited the area of operations to the Downtown areas, without attracting the attention of the Municipal Authority - particularly the police, who would have little or no hesitation in sending in the Assault Tactical squads.
Master vampire Henrik Jonsson was almost four hundred years old. In that time, he had seen humanity expand from its fortified enclaves on an environmentally-ravaged planet to an interstellar civilisation. It was nice to see that, in all that time, humanity hadn't lost touch with their dark side. Terrorists using nukes and antimatter devices to achieve their aims. Inter- and intra- system naval skirmishes, sometimes blowing up into full-scale war. The sterilisation of Garissa by Omutans using antimatter planetbusters, resulting in ninety-five million deaths and a planet incapable of sustaining life for the next quarter-million years or so. Stuff like that.
It was a great time to be a creature of the Darkness.
Jonsson had no illusions as to what he was. If he had ever entertained any such illusions, four hundred years of existence had burned them out of his system. And if he still nurtured any doubts, all he had to do was look at the collection of artefacts with which he decorated every nest he resided in.
The skulls of the four Slayers that he had killed with his bare hands. And above them, in a place of honour...
The skull of Elizabeth Anne 'Buffy' Summers, the only Slayer ever to have died of old age, rather than at the hands of a demon or vampire. It had cost him a few not-so-small fortunes, and locating Summers' gravesite had taken a considerable amount of time, but money was nothing to him, and if he was reasonably careful, neither was time.
Alongside Summers' skull was a high-quality static hologram - also expensive, as was the original image it was taken from - of Summers' support group, the so-called 'Slayerettes'. They had been the reason that Summers had lived to a ripe old age, and had entered vampire legend as the closest thing that vampires had to a bogeyman. For Jonsson, it served as a reminder of what could happen.
As near as he could determine, the current Slayer had no such support mechanism. Sure, she had some helpers, but they didn't even come close to the deadly efficiency that the Slayerettes had supposedly possessed, even allowing for the distortion of the facts that was inherent in all legends.
All of this meant that the plan could go ahead as scheduled. It had taken many years of research and waiting. Research to find the American Hellmouth - there was one on every continent except Antarctica, even if only one was active at any one time - and waiting until the expansion and migration of the Los Angeles arcology put a dome over it. After all, not even a vampire could survive unprotected the full fury of an armada storm.
But now that the Sunnydale Dome had been opened for habitation...
His musings were interrupted by a commotion at the entrance. One of his more recent childer - some thought identified the demonhost as Steven - was returning, with a limp body draped over his shoulder. Obviously, he'd decided to turn someone. Which wasn't really surprising. Fledglings were keen on getting someone lower down the pecking order than them, as when pissed-off master vampires feel like staking someone on general principles, they usually start with the youngest and weakest.
Dumping the body on one of the thin mattresses used for placing the newly turned until they woke up again, Steven approached Jonsson and dropped to one knee. "Master, I bring news," he started.
"Speak, my childe. Tell me what you have discovered," Jonsson prompted. Sure, the whole affair was somewhat archaic, but it served to remind everyone exactly who was boss.
"The Light Bringer sects are becoming more active, Master. They are sending out armed acolytes to patrol the area. I encountered one, and decided to turn him in order to discover what the sect suspects," Steven said, then bowed his head to await his Master's pronouncement.
Jonsson thought for a moment. Steven had displayed commendable initiative, and intelligence beyond most fledglings. That made him someone to keep an eye on, not only for future advancement, but in case the initiative and intelligence came with ambition. It always did, of course, but exactly how much was unknown.
In fact, Steven was a former sect member himself, and the information he had provided had been most useful. But information has a limited life span and new information was required. The newest addition should prove useful.
"You have done well, youngster. What was he armed with?"
"A TIP pistol and a fission blade, Master. He was also skilled in their use, although I suspect that some of his skill came from neural nanonic programs. If I had been even a fraction slower, I doubt that I would have survived to report."
Well, that was interesting. Initiative, intelligence, and an understanding of his limitations. He was definitely someone worth keeping an eye on. "And you believe that his more recent of the sect's activities will be of some use," Jonsson mused.
"Yes, Master," Steven replied, which came as no surprise. A fledgling did not disagree with his Master unless he was suicidal or had a damned good reason.
Jonsson raised his voice so that all of his minions currently present could hear him. "Begin acquiring weapons - small arms, for now - and step up surveillance on both the Light Bringer sects and the Slayer. It is unlikely that they will form an alliance, but stranger things have happened."
He swept the room with his eyes, and whenever his gaze fell upon a minion, that minion stopped what they were doing until he finished speaking. "Also, being the preparations for the Summoning, and initiate the procedure for getting in contact with the Order of Teraka.
"But above all, do not draw attention to yourselves. The last thing we want are the police tactical squads, or worse, Govcentral Internal Security Division agents, starting to pay an interest into our activities.
"The day is approaching fast when we will once again rule this world as is our destiny. Events are falling into place... but disaster is only one mistake away, and if you make that mistake, pray that it kills you before I do. Now, get back to your duties."
Having both inspired his minions and reminded them of the consequences of failure - a horrible, drawn-out death - Jonsson went back to his planning.
The sects believed that fear alone was enough to get results. What utter crap. Fear was a useful tool, but you also needed to reward success, which was not something the sects did too well.
Having a backup plan - or better yet, several backup plans that could be implemented independently depending on exactly what had gone wrong couldn't hurt, either.
'It is a point of interest to note the forms the possessing souls assumed once they took over a host body. Most simply altered their host's features to more closely resemble their own, and clothed themselves accordingly, although a number of the possessed engaged in a military action - particularly on the Mortonridge peninsular - clothed themselves in one form of military uniform or another.
'A significant minority, however, chose historical figures. A smaller minority chose creatures from ancient Earth legends.
'For some reason, vampires seemed to be a somewhat popular choice.'
- From 'A Preliminary Report On The Possession Crisis' (2612)
Captain Matthew Henderson continued his inspection tour of the headquarters, checking to see that everything was going smoothly. Well, as smoothly as it ever got in an arcology, anyway. With an officially estimated population of three hundred million - it was anyone's guess as to what the actual population of Los Angeles was - it was inevitable that the raw crime numbers, particularly in the Downtown districts, was going to be high.
Even with close to one hundred thousand officers, surveillance mechanoids and AIs, the LAPD couldn't be everywhere at once.
But the crimes being reported seemed to be along the lines of the usual patterns - gangs preying on gangs, petty theft, minor assaults with the occasional homicide - and officers were being dispatched to each crime scene within seconds.
As he turned to head back to his office, someone called out, "Sir?"
He turned to see the night shift's computer jockey signalling for his attention. "Yes, Officer Matthews?"
"Sir, the AI's spotted some sort of pattern in the recent spate of gang killings." She datavised a command to the AI's processor, which opened a channel to his neural nanonics. He closed his eyes as a series of images floated into his vision.
Each was of a body lying on the ground with its throat torn out and bloodstains all around it. Messy, but he'd seen worse in his fifteen years as a police officer. It was a pattern, if an obvious one.
Henderson refrained from comment, knowing that the AI wouldn't have flagged it, and Matthews wouldn't have brought it to his attention if that was all there was to it.
He was proved right with Matthews' next statement. "Every one of these bodies was completely drained of blood. That's speculation, sir, but it seems to be borne out by the fact that the bloodstains in the vicinity are nowhere near enough to account for the amount of blood in the average human.
"The victims don't seem to have been killed somewhere else and moved to their current locations, due to the lack of post-mortem lividity. In fact, there is no post-mortem lividity at all, which also bears out the theory that they were completely drained of blood."
Henderson, still with his eyes shut, nodded to indicate that he'd understood the information and agreed with the tentative conclusions presented by Matthews. "There's one more thing, sir." The images within Henderson's vision vanished, to be replaced with an image of a serpent emerging from a human heart. Broken chains hung from the heart, indicating that it had once been shackled. It seemed vaguely familiar to Henderson, but he couldn't precisely place where he'd seen it before.
"This was found tattooed on the back of the necks of all the bodies found, sir. It seems to be an insignia of some sort. I ran it through the AI, but it returned no firm matches."
Henderson dispelled the image and opened his eyes. "What do you mean, no firm matches?" he asked, shooting a hard look at Matthews.
To her credit, she didn't flinch or react at all. "Exactly that, sir. But there were some tentative matches, and the firmest of those were with the Light Bringer sects."
Henderson groaned in dismay. "Great. That's all we need. Something tells me that we're going to see a sharp increase in the body count."
"Umm, sir... that's not all," Matthews said hesitantly. "There are other sites where it seems that an abduction of some sort has taken place." This time, she called up the image on a screen where they could both study it. It was of an alley in some anonymous Downtown area, with some black marks mottling the walls...
No, they were the char marks left by thermal pulses. A lot of them. "The AI estimates between eight hundred and a thousand thermal pulses were fired, probably from a pistol-range weapon." Matthews paused before continuing. "And there is nothing to indicate that any of them hit a target."
Henderson was stunned. Even the worst shot in the Confederation should be able to hit something with a thousand shots. This case - he was already working out how to crack it - was getting stranger and stranger every second. He could already feel a headache building strength, seemingly immune from anything his neural nanonics could do. He turned and headed towards his office once more, already calling up the procedures from his neural nanonics.
Once he was in his office with the privacy field activated, Matthews sighed with relief. She hadn't run the insignia through the AIs data stores. She hadn't needed to.
She knew that it, indeed, was the insignia of the Light Bringer sects. She also knew exactly what the pattern of the killings was.
Vampire attacks. And the finger of blame was pointed firmly at the minions of a Master Vampire named Jonsson - which was about all that was known of him. Not even his age, or his current whereabouts could be pinned down with any accuracy. All that was known of his current location was that he was somewhere in the Sunnydale Dome but patrols, along with a few cobbled-together surveillance devices, had yet to turn up any information. Even their usually-reliable snitches had turned up a blank.
Being the chief computer jockey had some major advantages for her extra-curricular activities. For starters, she had unlimited access to the information gathered by police patrols and collated by the station's AI.
For another thing, she knew exactly how to get the information out to the relevant parties without being detected, as she had overseen the installation of the station's data security measures and left a number of untraceable means of sending data in the system. She retrieved a complex code from her neural nanonics and datavised it to the AI.
Her normal neuroiconic user interface vanished, to be replaced with a prompt, saying 'Welcome to the Slayerette Net'. She had done all the coding herself, of course, and that little rhyme at the end had been too hard to resist.
Matthews composed a short message; 'Cat, Jonsson's becoming more active. He - or his minions - is now starting to leave bodies where they are being found. I've got a bad feeling that something big is about to happen. Amanda'.
Attaching the AI's files, she sent the message and logged out of the system, making sure that no trace of her unofficial use remained. Another advantage of being the chief computer jockey.
Leaning back in her chair while her neural nanonics resumed normal monitoring duties, she wondered what was in store. She had been a Slayerette for nearly four years now, ever since when, as a rookie officer fresh from training, she and her partner had been attacked while on a fairly routine patrol in the Downtown sections.
Her partner had been killed, and Amanda had been left with injuries serious enough to remove her from street patrols. What had amazed her, though, was the fact that her attackers had been driven off by a girl Amanda's age, who had helped her into a sitting position leaning up against her patrol car.
"Are you all right?" her rescuer had asked, applying medical nanonics to the worst of her injuries.
"No," Amanda had stated flatly, the shock of seeing her partner brutally murdered in front of her still strong. Her composure hadn't been helped when she saw the strange piles of dust situated where there had been no piles of dust just a few minutes previously. Her eyes flicked from the dust piles to her rescuer. "What the hell just happened?"
There was a flicker of something in her rescuer's eyes. "You were attacked by a gang..."
"Bullshit," Amanda interrupted. "I may be a rookie, but I know that gang members tend not to explode into dust. What... happened?"
"I'm Cat, by the way," her rescuer said, presenting her hand and obviously hoping for a change of subject.
"Amanda. And don't try to change the subject."
"You're probably not going to believe this..."
"Cat," Amanda interrupted again, "currently news reports are flooding in about the souls of the dead returning to take over the living. I find that believable. Just tell me, and let me decide what to believe or not, okay?"
"Fine," Cat sighed. "You were attacked by vampires."
Amanda sat quietly for a few seconds. "Vampires," she repeated. "Fangs, glowing eyes, the whole 'I vant to suck your blud' thing, can be killed by a wooden stake..."
"To the heart." It was Cat's turn to interrupt. "Those vampires, yes."
"Oh." There was silence for a few seconds. "All right."
Cat was somewhat surprised by this. "You believe me that easily?"
"Why not? After all, people are being possessed by the souls of the dead, so why not this." Amanda paused, and appeared to come to a decision. "Need some help?"
'This is intolerable! Begin issuing the heavy weapons! We'll show those 'vampires' who's top of the food chain around here! No more information-gathering patrols - now they're search-and-destroy patrols!
'Of course, I will require a few survivors... the leaders for sequestration nanonics, any good-looking gang members for the celebrations, and, of course, a sacrifice or two for God's Brother.'
- Magus of the Sunnydale Dome of the Los Angeles arcology (2614)
The young woman was running - fast.
She was obviously looking for something, but it was equally obvious that she hadn't found it yet, as she kept running. Her options were running out fast - currently they were down to; stand and fight the things chasing her, or keep running while trying to find a place to fight from.
Number one was bad because, even though she had whittled down the number of things chasing her, she had merely weeded out the stupid and the unlucky. The survivors were the smart, the lucky, and the ruthless - and there were too many of them to take on all at once. To further add to her problems, she was unsure if she had enough weapons remaining to deal with the things chasing her.
And number two was also becoming bad as she still hadn't found a defensible location - she thought she had on a few occasions, but the things chasing her had proven her wrong every time so far, crashing through windows, doors, and sometimes even through walls to outflank her and send her running.
Elizabeth Baker had been a Slayer for eight months, and it looked like tonight was going to be her last night.
She had started off tonight's patrol well enough, dusting four individual vampires, but then she had run into a large group - she hadn't had enough time to count them, but it seemed like thirty or so - and had been forced to run for her life.
The first six had gone down easily enough, but they had been the youngest, eager for the glory that would be theirs if they managed to kill a Slayer, and she had lost all but one of her stakes in the process.
Four more had been decapitated by her maser carbine, but the fifth vampire, following close behind had tackled her, sending the carbine flying out of her hands and into the night. It had been broken anyway, so it wasn't that great a loss. It had, however, required the use of her last stake to prevent the vampire from ripping her throat out - and she hadn't been able to extract the stake, which meant that it dusted along with the vampire.
She had managed to take out another ten with her TIP pistols in her running fight, but that had drained her supply of energy cells, and she doubted if she had enough juice left in her last two energy cells to take out the remaining - nine, by her count - vampires. Enough for a few, maybe, but that would leave the rest 'alive' and in a good position to kill her.
She may have accepted the possibility of dying tonight, but she would much prefer to live through this.
As she was passing yet another alley - examining it and discarding it as a possible spot for a stand in a heartbeat - she heard someone shout, "GET DOWN!"
Acting entirely on instinct, she dived into the alley and crouched behind a stack of composite containers, both TIP pistols pointed at the entrance to the alley.
She may have dived into the alley on trust, but she wasn't going to take any chances.
As it turned out, she needn't have worried.
The same voice that had told her to seek cover now shouted out, "FIRE!" Seconds later the buzzing and cracking of energy weapons rang out, interspersed with the WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP of a heavier weapon. Then the screams started.
"Shit!"
"We've been ambushed! Let's get the fuck outta here!"
"Fuck! I'm on fire! Help m-"
"CHARRRGE!"
"I would if I could see them... oh, shit."
She also heard wordless screams of pain and the distinctive sounds of vampires dissolving into dust. Clearly, the vampires chasing her had run into more than they could handle. The question was, however, were they friendly, or merely another enemy of the vampires?
The firing stopped, and Elizabeth heard...
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
"Nine up, nine down!"
"Clear, smartass!"
She was still wondering what was going in when she saw a group of faint blurs standing at the entrance to the alley. They were so faint, in fact, that she suspected that only her Slayer-enhanced senses could pick them out.
The blurs shimmered slightly and faded, revealing five people advancing towards her, cradling weapons in their arms. Three maser carbines, and what looked like an X-ray laser rifle. The leader, a woman who appeared to be a few years older than Elizabeth, was carrying...
A gaussgun! Where'd she get that? My Watcher was unhappy enough about the maser carbine and the TIP pistols. I'd hate to think what he'd have to say about truly heavy artillery like that, not to mention the chameleon suits these guys are wearing...
"Is she alright?" the leader asked.
"Bloody hell, Cat, give me a chance, okay?" a young man standing next to the leader - Cat - said in a plaintive voice, clipping his maser carbine to his equipment harness. Kneeling down next to Elizabeth, he pulled a block from a pouch and attached it to her forehead. "Don't worry," he said gently. "It's just a diagnostic block."
While the block was doing whatever it was supposed to, he gave her a quick, but gentle, physical examination, which finished just as the block bleeped to announce that it was finished as well.
Turning to Cat, the young man said, "No major damage. Just a few minor scrapes, cuts and bruises. Some epithelium membrane should take care of it." He placed the diagnostic block back in its pouch and started removing some flat sheets from another pouch, peeling off a backing layer before applying the sheets to Elizabeth's minor injuries. She sighed as the pain reliever infusing the epithelium membranes began to take effect.
Seeing this, the young man smiled. "I was going to ask you how you felt now, but it's pretty obvious, isn't it?" He extended his hand. "Alexander Matthews, but you can call me Alex. I only get called Alexander when I'm in trouble."
Elizabeth came to a conclusion. Good guys, and well-equipped good guys to boot. I can trust them.
She grasped Alex's hand and shook it before introducing herself. "Elizabeth Baker -" She hesitated, then decided that if she was going to trust them, she was going to trust them all the way. After all, they did save her from a group of vampires. "Vampire Slayer."
Alex's eyes widened at that. "Really? Now, that is interesting."
Cat stepped forward. "Slayer, huh?" At Elizabeth's nod, she extended her own hand and said, "Allow me to introduce myself. Catherine Piper, Vampire Slayer."
'The history of the Slayerettes isn't as long as the Watcher Council. Unlike their millennia of existence, our history stretches back a "mere" six hundred years, to the end of the twentieth century.
'Also unlike the Watcher Council, we know exactly who the first Slayerette was.
'His name was Alexander Harris.'
- From 'The Slayerette Handbook' (2610)
An area of space writhed and twisted as it was subjected to incredible energy stresses. Finally, it ruptured, the hole in the fabric of reality increasing in width from the size of a photon to one hundred and fifty metres across in under a millisecond.
A nearby observer looking into the hole would have noticed sheer blackness, which might or might not be rippling slightly. This hypothetical observer would be correct in thinking that he was looking at nothing - in the most accurate sense. On the other side of the hole was nothing, as the wormhole was, strictly speaking, outside the normal universe.
This observer would have had to look quickly, however, as the wormhole interstice was blocked by a large shape. Imperial purple in colour and resembling a flattened teardrop in shape, the blackhawk Kerisal slipped back into the real universe after a swallow of twenty light-years.
Inside the main life-support capsule, Kerisal and its captain, Jakob Mendelsson confirmed their location: almost precisely in the middle of the emergence zone.
Did you doubt my ability? the blackhawk asked, slightly affronted, as Jakob made sure of their location.
You know how twitchy Earth's Strategic Defence network is, he replied with a smile. I would really hate to be on the receiving end of a combat-wasp salvo because of a mistake.
Very well, was the slightly mollified response.
Just then, the speaker above Jakob's acceleration couch crackled into life. "Unidentified blackhawk, this is Earth Defence Command. Please identify yourself and transmit your ASA code."
"Earth Defence, this is the blackhawk Kerisal, Jakob Medelssson commanding, Tranquillity registration. Our Tranquillity registration code is Alpha-Tango-Golf-Bravo-Six-Eight-Eight-Four-Nine-Echo. I request approach and docking clearance for the Supra-Brazil orbital tower."
"Clearance granted, Kerisal. Maintain acceleration of one gee. Your docking point is pedestal three-six-Alpha."
"Thank you, Earth Defence. Kerisal out."
I wonder why the Lord of Ruin thought this mission was so important? the blackhawk asked, clearly having thought about it.
I have no idea.
I wonder if it has anything to do with what happened last week?
Jakob shuddered, remembering the wave of black terror that had swept through the affinity band. Both the blackhawk and himself had been driven nearly into catatonia, which wasn't helped by the physical injuries suffered by Jakob due to the sheer affinity power projected by any habitat. Damaged affinity symbionts, damage to his medulla oblongata, minor cerebral haemorrhage...
I was worried for you, the blackhawk said softly, obviously picking up on the flow of Jakob's thoughts.
But we managed to pull through, Jakob replied. That's all that matters.
Yes.
The remainder of the trip to the orbital tower terminal was completed in silence, as two minds worked on the tricky navigation of the crowded space of the Earth/O'Neill Halo system.
Amanda was monitoring the station's AI as it tried to find more details of the pattern of the brewing Downtown gang war. Since the Light Bringer sects were now being targeted, the Commissioner now had AT teams on standby in the confident expectation that they would not meekly accept their losses, and would strike back as soon as possible.
In fact, there was a highly unofficial betting pool doing the rounds of the station regarding how long it would be before the sects launched a counter-attack. Amanda had her money on tonight.
Suddenly, she was jerked from the reverie by an alert signalling that there was an incoming datavise. After checking to ensure that there were no virals in the incoming message and that the sender was authorised to send the message, she alerted the captain.
"What is it, Matthews?" he asked as he arrived.
"Incoming message, sir. The headers indicate it's from Govcentral, but it's also marked as being relayed from... Tranquillity?"
"Why would the Lord of Ruin send us a message?" Henderson mused.
"Even stranger, sir, is the fact that it's also been marked as the highest possible priority and heavily encrypted."
"Open it up and let's take a look at it."
Amanda applied the decryption algorithm and opened the file. It was a huge file, indicating that it was some form of audio-visual format. She maintained her link to the AI as it played the file into Henderson's neural nanonics, both the check the integrity of the data and to run a real-time virus check.
Henderson knew that she was accessing the file as well, but didn't mind. He closed his eyes as the data poured into his neural nanonics, and through them, into his brain.
It was the data taken from Xander's debrief nanonics.
Henderson found that he didn't need the simulated emotion-analogues, as his mind was busy manufacturing his own horror. Vampires. Demons. The end of the world, averted a number of times through the efforts of a small group of teenagers.
These things make the possessed look like nice guys, he thought dazedly.
He noticed that Matthews' eyes were as wide as physically possible for a human, and her face had gone pale.
Amanda had gone into shock, but not for the reason that the captain thought. The reason for her shock was the revelation of the source of the data.
Alexander Harris? The First Slayerette? HERE? How did that happen? I've got to tell Cat somehow...
"Matthews?" she heard Henderson ask, but it didn't fully register. "Amanda?"
That got her attention. "Yes, captain?"
"Run this new information through the AI and see what it throws back at us, will you?" he asked gently.
Amanda didn't have to resort to an AI as she already knew what the likely result would be, but she did so anyway, just for the confirmation.
"With the new data, the AI reports a one hundred percent match with the data in the file." She took a breath to steady herself before dropping the bombshell. "Vampires are active in the Sunnydale Dome."
Henrik Jonsson was not a happy Master Vampire.
Not that Master Vampires are ever really happy, but on this occasion, he was in a high fury.
"THERE ARE TWO SLAYERS IN LOS ANGELES???" he roared, as every minion who could find even the smallest excuse left the room. Unfortunately, that option did not exist for the minion cringing in front of him.
Just then Damien, Jonsson's deputy, stepped forward and placed a hand on Jonsson's shoulder. "Perhaps you should let him explain, Master. You can always kill him if his answer is inadequate."
At that, Jonsson's fury abated - but only very slightly. "Explain yourself," he said from between clenched teeth.
"We were carrying out our surveillance on the Slayer when she encountered a large group of vampires. She immediately broke contact and ran for her life. We kept up our surveillance as she ran. She engaged the vampires chasing her in a running fight, managing to eliminate twenty-one of the thirty chasing her.
"Suddenly, someone instructed her to find cover, which she did. A group of people who I had not seen then opened fire on the pursuing vampires with heavy weapons, killing them all. The reason I did not see them became apparent soon afterwards - they were wearing chameleon suits, which they deactivated before moving to aid her. After providing basic medical attention, she introduced herself as the Slayer. One of the group, a young woman, also introduced herself as a Slayer.
"They then returned to their base of operations. I followed them there, remaining unseen. I returned here directly." The fledgling completed his report and remained in a kneeling position, awaiting judgement.
"Where is the rest of your group?" Damien asked as Jonsson contemplated this new information.
The fledgling looked up for the first time since his interrogation started. "They have not returned?"
"No, they have not," Jonsson snarled. "It seems that they have fallen foul of this group you describe. Get out of my sight while I think about what to do with you."
Glad to be escaping with his unlife, even if it was possible that it was only temporary, the fledgling sketched a gesture of obeisance and fled.
Damien turned an inquisitive glance at Jonsson and raised an eyebrow as if to ask, "Well? What now?"
Answering the unspoken question, Jonsson said, "Gather as many of my servants as possible and issue the weapons. We attack tomorrow night."
"What of the situation with the Light Bringer sects, Master? And such overt action cannot help but be noticed by the authorities." After all, a large part of the plan was to ensure that the Govcentral agencies did not notice their activities.
"To hell with the sects, and to hell with the authorities," Jonsson growled, and then turned a baleful glare on Damien. "Speaking of authority, the next time you question mine will be your last."
"I did not mean to question your authority, Master," Damien back-pedalled. "I was merely raising a point of concern regarding the plan."
This seemed to mollify Jonsson somewhat. "Concern noted. But think on this: one Slayer we had made allowances for. Two Slayers with a support group pose a far greater risk." His gaze moved to the trophy wall.
More specifically, Slayer Summers' skull and the hologram of the Slayerettes. Damien followed his gaze and nodded in understanding. Despite their youth and lack of training, the Slayerettes had thwarted the plans of those far more powerful than themselves on many occasions.
It now looked likely that the Slayerette organization has survived to this day. Add to that the far more efficient weaponry available...
Damien shuddered involuntarily, and Jonsson nodded. "You understand, then, why we must take action now."
Damien nodded. "The Slayers, and all that aid them, die tomorrow night."
'The traditionalists within the Council were most upset with Slayer Summer's involvement of others. It was unnecessary and posed more risks than benefits, they argued. Better to stick with tried and true methods, they claimed. The world still existed with humanity in its proper place, ergo, their methods worked, they said.
'The so-called 'New Men' on the Council countered those claims by pointing out the lamentably short lifespan of most Slayers. Speed, strength and weapons skills were one thing, the argument ran. Imagine what would be possible if the Slayer was able to survive long enough to add experience to those skills. For an example, they pointed to Slayer Summers - still alive and active at the time of writing - and the support group that she had mustered. If one could do it, the argument continued, why not others?
'Another thing that enraged the New Men was the Cruciamentum. Slayers die before their time as it is, they pointed out, so why subject them to a ritual that three out of four do not live through?
'The whole debate came to a head after the Slayerettes' greatest victory - the fight against Glorificus. Seeing this as vindication for their beliefs, the New Men tried to obtain Inner Council support for their methods, but were quashed by the traditionalists.
'Infuriated, the New Men quit in disgust and set up operations in Sunnydale, helping the Slayerettes.'
- From 'Schism: The Division of the Watcher's Council' (2004)
Rupert Giles
"Make yourself at home", Alex said as he palmed open the entrance to the Slayerette base of operations. "If you want something to eat or drink, the kitchen's just down that hallway there."
Elizabeth followed the Slayerettes as they returned home from their patrol. She didn't know what to expect, but she certainly didn't expect a large, comfortably furnished series of room. It was much better than the small apartment that she shared with her Watcher.
"God, these things are annoying," Alex muttered as he started to peel his chameleon suit off. "You'd think that some bright person would come up with a 'can't-see-me' suit that didn't cause you to nearly die of dehydration and drowning in your own sweat..." he voice trailed off as, out of the corner of his eye, Elizabeth staring at him. Smothering a grin, he continued, "Well, I'm going for a shower. Let me know if anything important happens."
"Self, self, self," Cat chided gently. "That's all you think of, isn't it?"
Elizabeth managed to shake off the shock she had been in since her rescue. "Wh-what is this place?" she asked tentatively.
"Our home, and base of operations," another member of the group who had been introduced as Michael, answered. "The fact that it is our home is useful, 'cause vamps have tried to take us out of play a few times over the years."
"How can you afford something like this?" she asked, looking around her in amazement.
Even though he was halfway to one of the doors leading out of the room, Alex fielded the question. "We've all got jobs, which goes a long way. As for the rest... well, my sister is a genius with computer systems. A little tweak here, a switched number there, and we own this place free and clear."
"Your sister?" Elizabeth asked, looking around as if to try to work out which person could be related to Alex.
"Yeah. Oh, she's not here right now, since she's currently on night shift as the station. But she should be here before too long. Now, there's a shower here with my name on it..." With that parting comment, he went to find the aforementioned shower.
Elizabeth turned to the others, curiosity all over her face. "Station? Does that mean his sister is..."
"A police officer, yes," Cat finished for her. "She also holds the official post of Research Girl for our little group."
"Which is damned useful at times," Michael put in. "Since sometimes the police pick up information that we can't."
"Do you mind?" Cat asked in a slightly peeved tone of voice. Grabbing Elizabeth by the arm, she hauled an unresisting fellow Slayer to a nearby sofa. "And don't you guys have equipment to check?"
"Yeah, alright."
"'Yeah, alright' what?" Cat demanded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"Yes, O Mighty Slayer, She Who Must Be Obeyed," Michael replied, smiling himself.
"And don't you forget it."
Cat guided Elizabeth to a seat on the sofa, and sat down next to her. "I suppose you're full of questions right now." When Elizabeth nodded, she continued. "I bet that number one on the list is 'Who are you?', right?"
Elizabeth nodded again, and Cat sighed. "Not feeling talkative? That's all right. To answer the question, though... we're called the Slayerettes. At the end of the twentieth century, there was only one Slayer, and her name was Elizabeth Summers.
"Not long after she was Called, she encountered a Master Vampire by the name of Lothos. She eventually killed him, but her Watcher died in the process, along with a number of high school students, who were killed when Lothos' minions attacked a high school to get at Summers.
"Soon after that, she moved to the town of Sunnydale - which was near here, incidentally - and started high school there. The first friends she made there were Alexander Harris, Willow Rosenberg and Jesse Burnham. Alexander was the first to discover that Summers was the Slayer, when she saved him and Willow from a group of vampires.
"He insisted on helping her, especially after Jesse was turned and Alexander was forced to stake him. He even coined the term 'Slayerette' to describe them. Since that day, anyone who has helped a Slayer has been called a Slayerette. It's become slightly more formal over the years, but that's basically it."
Cat decided to leave out the bit about how eventually the Watcher's Council split over the issue. Thinking about the Watchers raised another issue...
"Elizabeth," she asked slowly, "when you ran into that large group of vampires, did you let your Watcher know you were in trouble?"
Elizabeth nodded. "Standard procedure. It's to ensure that no Slayer simply vanishes, as several have in the past."
"And has your Watcher tried to get in touch with you since?"
"No," Elizabeth replied, awful realisation setting in. "He hasn't."
"Try again," Cat suggested, trying not to let the dreadful certainty in her thoughts infect her voice. She sat quietly, trying not to pay too much attention to the flickering of emotions crossing Elizabeth's face as she repeatedly tried to raise her Watcher.
"Nothing," Elizabeth said after a few minutes, anguish marring her features. "Not even an acknowledgement from his neural nanonics."
"BASTARD!" Cat suddenly yelled, causing Elizabeth to jump. "He probably figured that you were as good as dead when he heard that you were up against thirty vampires and instructed his neural nanonics to ignore anything that came from you."
"Surely, he wouldn't do that... would he?" Elizabeth asked softly, unsure of what answer she would get.
"I wouldn't put it past those bastards. HEY, RESEARCH BOY!" Cat called out. "Get your British butt in here!"
"I know your manners are a lost cause, Catherine," an English-accented voice said, "but you do have neural nanonics. Surely it would have been simpler to simply send a brief message, instead of... oh, my."
The owner of the voice, a sandy-haired man in his late thirties, entered the room from a different door than the one Alexander had left from. "This is an interesting situation. When you informed me via datavise that something interesting had cropped up, I had no idea that this is what you meant."
"She followed me home, Will," Cat said with a grin and a wink to Elizabeth that earned a tentative smile in return. "Can I keep her?"
"I suppose I shall have to add 'sense of humour' to your list of lost causes, Catherine," the man identified as Will replied with a sigh. Turning to Elizabeth, he introduced himself. "William Goldsmith, formerly of the Council of Watchers, at your service," he said, bowing slightly. "And you are?"
"Elizabeth Baker, Vampire Slayer," Elizabeth replied, extending her hand.
"Delighted to meet you," William said, shaking Elizabeth's hand. "I'm sure there is a good reason as to why both Active Slayers are here," he continued.
"She's been abandoned, Will," Cat said with certainty. "The bastard pretending to be her Watcher cut off all contact when she reported that she was in deep shit."
"That is a serious charge to make, Catherine. Are you certain that this is what happened?"
"Well, he didn't respond to her initial report, Will, and he hasn't tried to get in to contact with her since. When you add in the fact that he's ignoring all attempts to get into contact with him, can it sound like anything else?" Cat said, and Elizabeth nodded her agreement with the stated facts.
A brief display of anger flickered across William's face. "I shall see what can be done to remedy the situation. But I make no promises," he said after a moment's thought.
"That's all I can ask for Will," Cat said with a smile. "C'mon Liz, let's get some food into you."
The Magus surveyed the assembled acolytes. All present were heavily armed with a variety of weapons, including TIP rifles, maser carbines and X-ray laser rifles. All were also riding an aggression high, stoked by his carefully selected words, and ready to rip apart the members of the 'vampire' gang with their bare hands.
"These 'vampires' have declared war on God's Brother with their abduction and murder of our brothers. They think that they are stronger than us, smarter than us, more ruthless than us. Well, they are wrong!
"Tonight, they learn a lesson in violence. Tonight, we take the fight back to them. Tonight, the call is 'Cry Havoc, and let loose the dogs of war!'
"FOR GOD'S BROTHER!!"
"GOD'S BROTHER!"
He smiled as the acolytes surged from the room, led by their Senior Acolytes and guided by their Sergeant Acolytes. This should prove amusing.
Jonsson watched on as his minions continued their preparations for the assault on the Slayers. A fairly impressive collection of weapons had been gathered and, although some had grumbled, his minions were preparing them for tomorrow night's assault with all due care and diligence.
The Order of Teraka was taking so long to respond to his message that he was starting to wonder if they had received it. No matter, he thought. There are always targets worthy of the Order's attention.
His thoughts were interrupted by one of his minions, who abased herself and said, "Master, we are being approached on three sides by persons unknown. They are, however, suspected to be members of the Light Bringer sects."
Jonsson growled in anger. It was annoying that the Light Bringer sects had chosen this moment to launch a retaliatory strike on his lair, but there should be enough minions and weapons present to deal with this threat.
The main concern was not the Light Bringers. It was the LAPD AT teams that would be dispatched to the scene of any large battle in the Downtown areas that was the main concern. Even if his followers won the battle, he would still be forced to relocate to one of his fallback lairs, which was not something he particularly wanted to do.
But he had no choice.
"Begin preparations to relocate to Emergency Location Two," he ordered. "And begin the issuing of weapons and the taking up of defensive positions. How many sect members are involved in this attack?" he asked, almost as an afterthought.
"Uncertain, Master," the minion replied. "Hundreds, certainly."
Jonsson growled again. Dealing with that many sect members most certainly would draw the attention of the LAPD AT teams. And even victory against such numbers would be expensive.
He started barking out orders that shifted the focus of activity in the nest from preparations for an offensive to defensive preparations combined with preparations to relocate. The first items packed away were Jonsson's trophies, which were carried through a hatch in the floor into a tunnel leading to one of the myriad of utility tunnels that wove maze-like under the arcology.
Next were the relics required for the Summoning, which was now on a more uncertain timetable.
Then there followed the supplies required to keep a nest running, especially the blood reserves that would feed the inhabitants when hunting was not possible.
Finally, the minimum number of vampires required to conduct the Summoning followed, closing and codelocking the hatch after themselves.
The nest was ready for war.
'They're all over us! The assault mechanoids are barely slowing them down, even firing straight into them! What the fuck are they? Oh, God, NO! Traci, look out! There's one to your... SHIT! ARRRGGGHHH! static'
- Last datavise of Sergeant Tobias Fletcher, LAPD
The first shots of what would later be called the Vampire War were several light armour-piercing rockets fired at the walls of the vampire nest. The electron explosive warheads ripped one wall apart, sending debris and shrapnel ripping through the rooms beyond.
Several vampires were decapitated, and more were so badly ripped up that they were taken out of the immediate fight in order to heal their bodies. For every vampire taken out of the fight, however, there were three others ready and now even more pissed off.
Before the echoes of the multiple explosions had died away, a wave of Light Bringer cultists surged from their positions and charged, trusting in the protection of God's Brother and their combat suits, with light exoskeletons laid over with thermal dissipation circuits.
Picking themselves up and shaking off the effects of the explosions, those vampires that remained combat-capable took up positions in the rubble and at the few surviving windows and opened fire. They quickly learned that it required sustained fire from more than one vampire to saturate the cultists' thermal dissipation circuits. This sustained fire took its toll on the charging cultists, and none of the first wave survived to reach the vampires' positions.
It did not go all the vampires' way, however. Several more had been eliminated by the cultists' own sustained fire.
And another wave was now beginning its attack.
Jonsson swore and pulled his head back as TIP and maser fire hit the wall around the blown-out window he was using as a firing point. The sect members had pressed their attack home with great vigour. This would be the fifth wave, and the last two had reached his defensive positions. Fortunately, casualties had been reasonably light each time, but they were starting to mount.
More worrying that his mounting casualties, however, was the fact that AT teams were now surely on their way. Hopefully, they would turn their firepower on the cultists, giving him and his minions a window of opportunity to break contact and escape.
Of course, there was the chance that the police would turn their weapons on both sides indiscriminately. Jonnson pondered this, unconsciously licking the blood from his hands - which was from the cultist whose head he had ripped off with his bare hands - and waiting for the fire directed at his position to end.
Just before the firing stopped and he popped back up to resume firing himself, he decided to pay it by ear and see what happened.
Almost shift end, Amanda thought to herself. And I can find out what the 'interesting thing' that happened on tonight's patrol was.
Just then, a shrill datavised warning from the station's AI interrupted her pleasant thoughts. Her eyes widened as the meaning of the warning became apparent.
"CAPTAIN!"
"What is it, Matthews?" Henderson asked, hurrying over. He knew that when she sounded like that, it was urgent.
"Reports of heavy weapons fire in the Downtown districts... there's a small war going on down there!"
"Show me, Matthews," Henderson ordered. Amanda nodded, and brought up one of the station's high-res display screens. It flickered into life, showing the feed from a surveillance mechanoid.
There were some shocked gasps as the screen focused, showing...
A building, with its lower floors severely damaged by rocket fire...
The wide streets around that building, with black-clad bodies strewn all around, their postures indicating that their deaths had been violent...
Traceries of targeting lasers flickering back and forth between buildings separated by that wide road, punctuated by small explosions...
More black-clad figures hurling themselves at the building that was under siege...
In short, a major firefight.
"Woah, chief. That is pretty grim."
Both Henderson and Amanda turned to see the station's second-in-command, Lieutenant Geoffrey Robertson, staring at the screen with an expression of intense concentration.
Henderson nodded. "Are the AT teams on their way, Geoff?" he asked.
"Sure are. Four teams, ETA five minutes. Four more teams, ETA ten minutes. In half an hour, we'll have most of this dome's and the surrounding domes' AT teams either on site or en route."
Henderson nodded and said, "Good work." And it was good work, co-ordinating the movements of dozens of heavily armed police officers and assault mechanoids, which was never easy at the best of times.
The pressure of a live situation made it even harder. But he'd done well.
Robertson seemed to remember something. "Damn," he muttered. "I lost the pool."
Henderson looked at him sharply. "Pool?" he asked. "As in 'betting pool'? You mean to tell me that officers under my command have been betting that this would happen?"
Robertson shrugged. "Once the Light Bringer sects started coming under attack, it seemed inevitable. I had fifty G-dollars on tomorrow night. How about you, Matthews?"
Amanda shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Err... twenty on tonight, sir..." she admitted.
Henderson glared at both of them for a moment, before suddenly grinning sheepishly. "I had a hundred on the day after tomorrow," he admitted.
"No wonder you're peeved, chief," Robertson said with a smirk. "That's a fair bit of money to lose. Hey Matthews," he added to Amanda. "What's the pool worth? Don't try denying that you know. You're the chief computer jockey - and the bets were stored in the station's AI."
"Close to three thousand G-dollars," Amanda admitted.
Robertson whistled in awe. "That's a tidy little earner, even split two or three ways," he said.
"Can we get back to business here?" Henderson asked, slightly annoyed.
"Well chief, since the AT teams are on their way, there's not a lot we can do," Robertson pointed out.
"What do you suggest, then?"
"That we sit back and watch the show."
The first four AT teams on the scene arrived from all four sides with uncanny precision, guided by the near-AI-level computer system in the command post, which was setting up a block away. Regular patrol units set up roadblocks, diverting normal traffic away from the scene of the firefight.
Once the preliminaries were out of the way, the AT teams deployed their assault mechanoids, and gave their one and only warning.
"THIS IS THE LOS ANGELES POLICE. PLACE YOUR WEAPONS ON THE GROUND AND COME OUT WITH YOUR NEURAL NANONICS OPEN, ANY BLOCKS DEACTIVATED AND YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM. THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING."
No-one seemed to pay any attention to the warning, though, if the continuing sounds of fighting were any indication.
The tactical commander waited for sixty seconds before giving the 'go' order. With an almost eerie synchronisation, eighty heavily armed Assault Tactical police, backed up by the same number of assault mechanoids, swung into action...
And came under immediate and heavy fire from the Light Bringer cultists, who had decided to take as many of the police with them as possible.
Inside the nest, Jonsson regarded the arrival of the AT teams with relief. Not something I expected to feel regarding the arrival of law enforcement authorities. But it will give me and my followers a chance to escape.
He regarded his minions, whose numbers had been severely reduced by the brief yet intense battle. Barely a quarter of those who had started the battle remained, and of those, quite a few had been near-crippled by battle injuries.
Coming to a decision, he addressed his surviving followers. "Now is our chance to make good our escape. We only have this one opportunity to depart, and we must take it, in order to safeguard our future work.
"This may seem like a defeat, and in many ways, it is. But remember this; once the Summoning is completed, we shall be in a perfect position to take our revenge.
"We cannot use the same tunnel used earlier, since it poses to great a risk of our being followed to our new base of operations." Jonsson paused and held up a processor block before continuing. "The explosive charges in the tunnel have been armed and will detonate when the hatch is opened.
"That leaves only one way out: through our enemies. Divided, fighting amongst themselves, they will prove no match for us. However," he paused again and swept a burning gaze over his minions, "there will be no stopping once we launch our breakout. Kill quickly, break through their lines, and make your way to the agreed rendezvous.
"The call is - HAVOC, NO MERCY!"
"HAVOC - NO MERCY!"
The assembled vampires surged from the room, the youngest and keenest in the lead. Jonsson let them, knowing that the older and more cunning vampires would be behind them, ready to take advantage of any confusion created by the youngsters.
The assembled police officers watched as the vampires made their breakout.
The detail of the image they were watching was good enough to show the ridged foreheads, the glowing yellow eyes, and the fangs.
"Well, I guess that answers the question of what they are," Robertson muttered as the vampires ripped through the cultist ranks like a fission blade through ice. Necks were snapped, organs ripped out, and heads and limbs were ripped off, testifying to the savagery of the attack.
A few vampires were eliminated, but for every vampire turned to dust, seven cultists died brutal - but quick - deaths.
None of the watching officers were sick, a testament to the efficacy of nausea-suppression programs hastily shunted into primary mode, but more than one face bore a queasy look.
Then the vampires hit the AT line.
There were several hasty gulps as the same brutality repeated itself. Amanda would later swear that she saw one of the leading vampires rip an arm from an AT officer and use it as a bludgeon to club the maimed officer to death, before turning on the victim's fellow officers. Gives a whole new meaning to the ancient phrase 'to rip off someone's arm and beat them to death with the soggy end', she thought dazedly, bringing a tranquilliser program on-line to combat the sudden rush of nausea that thought brought on.
That particular vampire was eventually eliminated, but not before brutally savaging two more officers with the severed limb and ramming the sharp-edged fractured bone of the severed end into the face of a third officer so hard that it protruded like an extra-large nose.
Being better equipped and better prepared, the AT teams scored a better casualty rate, but the number of dead was still in the vampires' favour at a rate of three to one.
Having successfully broken through the police lines, the surviving vampires scattered, moving in too many directions at once to be tracked by the available officers on-site - those that weren't too busy tending to their own casualties, at least - and moving too quickly for the arriving AT teams to pick up their trails.
"Well, that was... disturbing," Henderson said weakly, drawing nods from all who had heard him. "Matthews, start making arrangements with local hospitals to arrange for transport and treatment of the wounded." He turned and headed for his office. "I've got a report to write."
'Maybe we should have realised that this wasn't your average bunch of bloodsuckers when they started using modern weapons and armour. That had only happened a relative handful of times in the past, and it always meant trouble.
'Then again, hindsight is always perfect.'
- Slayerette Alexander Matthews (2614)
When Amanda burst into the main room, she saw a new face who, along with the others, was gathered around an Audio-Visual pillar, watching with a grim intensity as the laser sent its data down their optic nerves via a series of coded pulses.
It took a few seconds for anyone to realise that she'd arrived. Much to her lack of surprise, it was Cat. "Hey, Amanda! Have you seen this?" she asked, waving a hand at the pillar.
Amanda looked at the pillar and as the laser swept across her eyes, she saw the same building that had been the centre of the firefight earlier. Police and medical vehicles filled the scene, hauling off the casualties to local hospitals and the survivors to the police station.
"In the aftermath of the biggest criminal shootout in North American history since the High Noon shootout in Edmonton," the presenter was saying, "the Los Angeles Police Department have imposed a three-block exclusion zone around the scene and are refusing to comment on the cause..."
"Oh, that," Amanda muttered, and the flat tone she used was enough to get everyone staring at her in surprise. "I saw the whole thing live. Believe me, it's not pretty."
She brandished several fleks. "Here it is, live and unedited for your viewing pleasure. Although if you get much pleasure out of this, there's something seriously wrong with you." Brandishing another handful of fleks, she added, "And something else of interest, to be viewed after the first set."
Moving over to the desktop processor, she inserted the first set of fleks into the input slots. As one, all heads turned to the AV pillar once more as the laser flickered into life...
Three-quarters of an hour later, shocked silence reigned supreme. Since all present had neural nanonics with nausea-suppression programs, no-one had felt the need to throw up, but queasy looks - Much like the ones at the station, Amanda thought to herself - indicated that it was a close-run thing.
William was the first to break the silence. "That is truly disturbing, Amanda," he said slowly, a clear sign that his brain was working overtime. "If Jonsson's forces are strong enough to take on both the Light Bringer sects and the police Assault Tactical teams and, if not win, then at least not be annihilated, then the situation if quite grim."
Amanda shook her head. "He didn't take on our full strength," she pointed out. "Just what was available on short notice. After all, that sort of battle could not have been allowed to go on. God alone knows where it would have ended up."
"True. But the fact that Jonsson's forces broke contact the way they did indicates that he is willing to make a tactical withdrawal in order to preserve his future plans," William replied thoughtfully.
Alexander broke in at this point. "Well, if worst comes to worst, we can always find a way to bring in Govcentral or the Confederation," he said. "I doubt that Jonsson would stand up to a full assault from Marines in any sort of shape. The AT teams may be well-equipped for police," he continued with an apologetic shrug to his sister, "but they're not kitted out the same way we are." He said this with a fair degree of authority, being a corporal in the Govcentral Navy Marine Corps. The only reason he was able to take part in Slayerette activities was the fact that he was on a month's leave after a three-month deployment with Govcentral's commitment to the Confederation, conducting anti-piracy patrols and exercises designed to ensure that any groups on asteroid settlements who had aspirations of independence stayed with peaceful means.
Amanda nodded, conceding the point. While the police AT teams were lavishly well-equipped, they lacked the heavy weapons of a true military force.
"Wait a minute," the new person, whose name Amanda still didn't know, objected. "Assuming that we can get in touch with Govcentral, why should they believe us?"
Amanda frowned in thought. "Err... not to sound rude or anything, but who are you?"
Cat groaned. "Give me a chance," she said. "I was going to make the intros, but you decided to show us something that will probably inflict nightmares for the next week or so. Liz, this is Amanda Matthews, LAPD. Amanda, this is Elizabeth Baker, Vampire Slayer."
"Slayer?" Amanda asked as the two women shook hands. "Council of Watchers?"
Elizabeth nodded. "At the moment. But I'm reconsidering in the light of tonight's events."
"So that was the 'something interesting' that happened. I'm sure it's a fascinating story, but right now, we've got more pressing matters to deal with." Amanda retrieved the fleks and inserted another one. "This should provide an answer to your question. It's not the full dataset, but that would be somewhat redundant."
Datavising a command to the desktop processor, she shifted the data display to one of the wallscreens. First to show was a screen full of text.
"Amanda," Alexander protested, "I know that both you and Will might understand this, but can you please explain it to the rest of us?"
"Sure," Amanda answered easily. "This is the message headers for a file I pulled from the station's AI along with the recording of tonight's battle." Highlighting a section, she continued, "These are the fields identifying who sent it. According to this, Govcentral sent this message, and it's a relay from Tranquillity. It's also been copied to the Confederation Assembly, which means we should see something from that direction before too long."
"That's interesting, Amanda," William observed, "but what was this file, exactly?"
"The data taken from a set of debrief nanonics. The memories of someone who has spent five years fighting vampires and associated nasties - even saved the world on a couple of occasions, at least."
"Great," Michael said. "Who was this information taken from, though?"
"Alexander Harris. Yes, that Alexander Harris."
The room erupted into noise and chaos. Through it all, Elizabeth sat quietly with a slightly confused expression. "I'm sorry, but that name doesn't mean a great deal to me."
Cat stopped swearing long enough to respond. "Remember what I told you about the history of the Slayerettes? About how the founder was someone named Alexander Harris? If the data is correct, it's the same person."
"That's impossible! You told me he lived during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries!"
"Yep."
"But this is the twenty-seventh century!"
"Yep."
"Then how did he get here?"
"Dunno. But I wanna know why the Lord of Ruin found it necessary to implant a set of debrief nanonics to him."
"Maybe we can send a message to the Lord of Ruin," Amanda suggested.
"Yeah, right," Alexander scoffed. "Send a message to a head of state, saying that we've seen the information she sent, that we already knew about vampires and such, and asking her to send us the founder of our little group. She'd be curious as to how we got the information, doubly so if we added a 'please explain' regarding the fact that the information was extracted via debrief nanonics."
"Before we do that, is it possible to ascertain if the source of the information is truly Alexander Harris?" William asked.
"I thought you'd ask that, Will," Amanda said with a smile, calling up another file to replace the header data. This was an image of someone's face, obviously seeing himself as he looked into a mirror.
It was undeniably Xander Harris.
"Dear Lord," William said weakly.
"It gets better," Amanda said with a smile, calling up another image. This time it was a first-person perspective of a group of people sitting around a table, obviously a captured frame from a video sequence.
All but one of the people present recognised them instantly.
"Elizabeth Summers. Willow Rosenburg. Dawn Summers. And last, but not least, Rupert Giles," William muttered to himself, while everyone else simply stared in stunned disbelief.
Shaking off the shock temporarily, he added, "I think a message is in order."
Captain Henderson finished up the report on last night's events and stood up wearily. He'd been awake all night writing this report, unwilling to dump it on somebody else, and the caffeine and stimulant programs required to keep him awake were taking their toll.
Submitting the finished report to the AI for a coherency check, he decided on one last cup of coffee before heading home for some well-deserved sleep.
That is, if he could sleep after seeing what he'd seen that night. The first shock had been finding out that vampires and other creatures from horror tales were real.
The second was being witness to a small war that had produced well over a thousand dead, including fifty AT officers. He didn't even know how many casualties the vampires had suffered, as they didn't leave bodies behind to count.
He'd finished the coffee by the time the check was finished - the AI proclaimed a clean bill of health for the report, which was gratifying. After all, he'd been only semi-conscious when finishing the report, particularly the concluding section, which recommended in the strongest possible language that assistance be sought from both the Govcentral Navy and the Confederation.
Well, the strongest language possible in an official report, Henderson mused to himself. I somehow doubt that saying something like 'Get the fucking Marines in here right fucking NOW' would be appreciated.
He sent the report off to the Mayor of the Sunnydale Dome before signing out and cadging a lift home, being in no fit state to drive himself, and probably not coherent enough to tell the governing processor of a taxi where he lived with any great accuracy.
This report is gonna detonate like a planetbuster, was his final thought as he left the building. I wonder where it's going to end up?
Henderson was exactly right about one thing - the report did detonate like a planetbuster, and he would have been mildly gratified to learn where it ended up.
The Mayor of the Sunnydale Dome passed the report on to the Mayor of Dome One - who acted as the mayor for the whole arcology - who passed it on to the Governor for the Govcentral State of North America.
From there it went to the President of Govcentral who, appalled by its contents, kicked it on to the Confederation Assembly.
As a courtesy, he sent copies to the Jovian Consensus and Ione Saldana, Lord of Ruin.
'I do not know which is more disturbing - the fact that a vicious underground war has been waged on Earth for thousands of years, or the fact that, up until now, no-one has noticed that it was being fought.'
- Samual Aleksandrovich, First Admiral of the Confederation Navy (2614)
From above the north or south poles of Jupiter, the view was spectacular.
The largest gas giant ever discovered, with its attendant moons and ring systems, Jupiter was also home to the largest industrial enterprise in human history, the Jovian Helium-3 mining operations.
The backbone of the Confederation economy and industry, the Edenist Helium-3 mining operations took pace in virtually every settled system - with the exception of the Kulu Kingdom - and gave Edenism political and economic clout that was previously unimaginable. Fortunately, the strong sense of ethics that was a part of Edenism meant that this power was not abused.
Ironically, the Jovian mining operations also contributed significantly to the destruction of Earth's environment, since as more and more Helium-3 powered fusion plants came on-stream, the amount of waste heat generated rose exponentially. Eventually, the situation became so dire that the population was forced to retreat into the arcologies.
Four thousand, two hundred and fifty habitats circled the giant, adding another ring to the already impressive ring system. But they were more than simple lumps of gene-tailored coral. They were alive.
Alive, and intelligent.
The heart of Edenism, the Jovian habitats were home to over nine billion people, and that didn't count the population of the three hundred habitats orbiting Saturn. When an Edenist died, his or her memories and personality were stored in a habitat's neural structure.
Sometimes, this was not possible, so voidhawks were able to store a limited number of personality patterns. In extremis, even neural nanonics were able to store a personality pattern.
But it was within a habitat's neural structure that the personality pattern showed its true worth. The combination of all the personality patterns stored within a habitat's neural structure gave rise to the habitat's multiplicity consciousness - its intelligence.
Habitats were entirely self-sustaining environments, utilising mass taken from ring particles and asteroids, and using organic induction cables extruded from the habitat shell to generate power from the magnetosphere of the gas giant they orbited to provide a viable biosphere and food for their inhabitants, although imported luxury items were always well-received in any habitat.
A habitat also governed itself, with the consciousness enforcing all laws operating within the habitat. A mayor was elected to serve five-year terms, although this was a holdover from the early days of Edenism, when it was uncertain as to how effective the consciousness would be at government. As it turned out, there was no need to worry, although tradition is very hard to get rid of.
Also, the inhabitants could use affinity to 'link' minds to create a giant debating forum - the Consensus - where all major decisions affecting either a single habitat or all of the habitats orbiting a gas giant could be discussed, approved, and implemented.
It was in Consensus that the dream of mankind had been realised - perfect participatory democracy.
Consensus wasn't limited to the human inhabitants, though. Consensus could also be called between the habitats themselves, although it was much, much rarer. The last time that the Jovian and Saturnian habitats had called Consensus amongst themselves had been during the possession crisis, during the debate on whether or not to aid the Mortonridge Liberation. Before that, it had been to marshal resources to hunt down Laton after he destroyed the Jantrit habitat, killing well over a million people and wiping half a million stored personality patterns.
The Harris File, as it was now being called, and Henderson's report were considered important enough to justify such an event.
Consensus happened extremely fast - no sooner was the thought generated than acted upon.
This is most disturbing. The fact that the creatures previously cast as legends actually do exist is bad enough, but the fact that they generally kill for amusement and have been known to attempt to bring about the end of human civilisation is infinitely worse.
True. In fact, it seems that humanity's only line of defence against these creatures has been a young girl known as the 'Slayer'.
Calling the exchange of information a discussion would not have been strictly correct, as all parties were essentially parts of the same personality. A more accurate description would have been 'an extremely sophisticated way of talking to yourself', but even that would not have been correct.
Who, it seems, has worked alone, with only one person, described as a 'Watcher' to provide guidance, support and training. This is unacceptable.
What is even more astonishing is the fact that, up until the end of the twentieth century, each Slayer has accepted these limitations. According to the Harris File, this has resulted in an extremely short lifespan for a Slayer.
Yes, the Slayer called Elizabeth Summers seems to have been the first to buck that tradition, and seems to have received some difficulties from the organisation that controls the Watchers and monitors the Slayers, this 'Council of Watchers'.
We accept that the Harris file is valid, then?
Yes. If it is a fabrication, it is a needlessly elaborate one. What is there to gain from such a thing?
Ione Saldana and Tranquillity did well to bring this to our attention, as well as that of Govcentral and the Confederation Assembly. The report from the Los Angeles law-enforcement officials is most disturbing, however.
It is the corroboratory evidence that proves the validity of the Harris File.
The implications of the report are disturbing in the extreme. Govcentral's resources may not be sufficient to deal with the threat posed by the vampires operating in the Sunnydale Dome.
Yes, the Hellmouth. We must commit resources to aid the Los Angeles authorities to deal with this threat.
Our ground-combat capabilities are minimal. Engineering warrior servitors in sufficient numbers would take too much time.
That is true. However, an alternative is available. One possibility is the Mortonridge possessed who acquired the bodies of Tranquillity serjeants. Another is petitioning Ione Saldana to supply sufficient numbers of serjeants.
Agreed, with the proviso that any ex-Mortonridge possessed who agree do so on a voluntary basis.
Of course.
The blackhawk that carried the original message from Tranquillity is about to leave Earth carrying a copy of the Henderson report to the Lord of Ruin, along with normal message traffic. It will be a simple matter to add our petition to the messages already carried.
And as simply as that, it was decided.
The blackhawk Kerisal emerged from the wormhole interstice near the centre of the emergence zone, and reconfigured its distortion field from the pattern required to open and sustain a wormhole to the pattern required for normal-space travel. Almost instantly, it felt the affinity hail from Tranquillity. After identifying itself, approach clearance was granted at once.
Welcome back, Kerisal. Was your voyage eventful? Tranquillity asked.
Thank you, Tranquillity. No, the trip was quite uneventful, although my captain seems to be quite bemused. On the trip to Earth, we carried a message from the Lord of Ruin. And now, on the return voyage, we find ourselves not only carrying a message from the President of Govcentral, but the Jovian Consensus has also availed itself of our services to send a message.
That is most unusual. The Jovian Consensus would normally use a voidhawk for courier duty.
Yes.
I have informed Ione Saldana of your messages, and she is most anxious to ascertain the contents.
We'll hand them over as soon as we dock.
Very well. Your docking pedestal is two-one-alpha. You will be met on arrival.
There were actually three messages for Ione in the blackhawk's cargo.
Two were on standard data fleks, while the third was stored on the type of bitek processor used to store affinity messages that were for people out of the thirty Astronomical Unit affinity range of a habitat. No prizes for guessing which one was from the Jovian Consensus, then.
Of the two that were on standard fleks, one bore the official seal of Govcentral, and the other was a basic commercially available flek. One official message and one non-official message, then.
Ione received a veritable deluge of messages on a daily basis, most from within the habitat itself, and it was only with Tranquillity's help that she was able to stay sufficiently ahead of the traffic to oversee the day-to-day running of the habitat's affairs.
I do most of that, anyway, Tranquillity said, slightly affronted.
I know, Ione replied. But people want the human touch every now and then. It reassures them.
Humans, Tranquillity said with a slightly piqued tone.
Hush, you. Just for that, you can help me decide which message to access first.
A quick scan of the message headers reveals that the two flek messages both come from Los Angeles, specifically the Sunnydale Dome.
Do you think there's a connection?
It is likely, Tranquillity admitted. I would suggest that you read the official message first, though.
Very well, Ione said, and slotted the flek into place, allowing Tranquillity to view the contents as well.
My God. She was somewhat shaken. The threat is still there, and as strong as ever.
Did you think that it would have gone away in the last six centuries, after being present for uncounted millennia?
No, but I could hope. Do you believe the final part, the bit where it says that outside help would be required?
Yes. Law-enforcement officers are ill-equipped to deal with something like this.
Sadly, that is more than likely. Do you think that the Slayer would be in a position to help?
This sort of thing does fall within a Slayer's area of responsibility. But it will be next to impossible to locate one person on Earth, especially when we do not even know her name.
Where's your optimism? Ione chided gently.
I prefer to remain realistic about our chances, Tranquillity replied.
Ione sighed. All right, then. Have it your way. I suppose I had better read the message from the Jovian Consensus next.
When she tried to access the bitek processor, though, she noticed that it was locked. Now why would they do that? she wondered, and used her identity trait - akin to a mental fingerprint - to unlock it, sharing the contents with Tranquillity.
Now, that is interesting. Tranquillity said, somewhat surprised.
You mean the fact that the Consensus agrees with the Henderson report and requests that we send assistance?
Yes. The Confederation will more than likely send help of its own. I can only assume that the Consensus is hedging its bets.
That sounds in character for Edenists, Ione agreed. Now, the mystery message.
This message, too, was shared with Tranquillity, which was just as well, for it allowed Ione to gloat. You see? Just when we decided that we needed a Slayer, we get a message from not one, but two Slayers!
It is interesting to note that the two-Slayer arrangement has survived until this day, Tranquillity noted. More to the point, how did they gain access to the information from Alexander's debrief nanonics?
Well, the message does mention that one of their group is a police officer.
That's true. Did you notice the name they gave themselves?
Yes, they called themselves Slayerettes. Isn't that what Xander called the group that he was a part of that helped Elizabeth Summers?
Yes. And it is more than likely that the current-day Slayerettes are an ideological extension of the original group. If the Council of Watchers can survive for millennia, it stands to reason that other groups can imitate their longevity. Tranquillity paused for a moment, as it knew that the next subject was likely to be delicate. Regarding Alexander, do you wish to inform him of these developments?
No. Ione's tone was flat, brooking no argument, but Tranquillity argued anyway.
May I enquire as to why? If it is to 'protect' him, may I point out that his compatriots' negative attitude towards him stemmed from a desire to 'protect' him?
It's not that, Ione replied. In five years of fighting vampires - a time span longer than that of most Slayers, I might add - he's had only one real vacation from it, and even then he couldn't completely get away from it. I just think he's due for a break. That and the fact that he hasn't yet fully adjusted himself to life in this century. I'm taking him to Norfolk tomorrow to meet Joshua, and to begin the process of adjusting to where and when he is.
Very well. But you do know that he will be less than happy when he does find out that you kept this from him.
I know. Hopefully I'll be able to explain it to him. And besides, given the amount of resources that will be concentrated on the Sunnydale Dome before too long, it won't be as if one person will be able to make a decisive difference now, will it?
'Due to the nature of the threat posed by the vampires active within the Sunnydale Dome, it is feared that the current equipment and tactics used by the Los Angeles Police Department may prove to be inadequate.
'Unless the Assault Tactical teams can be provided with the appropriate equipment (See Annex A for a detailed list of requested equipment), which would constitute a radical shift in focus, it is requested that aid from either Govcentral or the Confederation - preferably both - be requested.
'Until such aid is forthcoming, another possible line of assistance is the "Slayer" mentioned in the Harris File.
'Unfortunately, finding her would seem to be next to impossible, given the population base that a search would entail.'
- 'Report on the events in the Downtown districts of Dome Thirteen of the Los Angeles arcology on the night of June 2nd 2614' (2614)
Captain Matthew Henderson, LAPD
Samual Aleksandrovich, First Admiral of the Confederation Navy, took his seat at the table at which the Policy Council of the Confederation gathered and formally logged in to the desktop processor at his station.
As the commander-in-chief of the Confederation's military, he was granted an automatic and permanent membership of the Policy Council. The other four permanent positions were filled by the President of the Confederation, the ambassador from Earth - given Earth's sheer population and the fact that it was the cradle of humanity - the Edenist ambassador - reflecting the fact that Edenist-supplied Helium-3 was the backbone of the Confederation's economy and industry - and a representative from one of the two xenoc races that held observer status in the Confederation.
Given that the Tyrathca had abruptly broken off relations during the possession crisis, this seat was taken by the Kiint ambassador, Roulor, whose eight-metre length required special equipment to take her place. There was even talk of making the Kiint's seat a permanent one, in gratitude for the massive medical and material aid extended after the possession crisis.
The other seven seats on the Policy Council were filled by random selection from the ambassadors from the other inhabited systems. Currently, they were occupied by the ambassadors from the Kulu Kingdom, New California, New Washington, Oshanko, Petersburg, Nova Barcelona and Guyana.
All around them, in tiers of seating that resembled a sporting arena, sat the ambassadors from the other member systems of the Confederation. Each location was lavishly equipped with AV equipment, so the actual location of each ambassador didn't really matter, but since all of those present were politicians - with the exception of the First Admiral and his staff - seating arrangements were considered to be a barometer of each ambassador's influence within the Assembly, not to mention an indication of which informal alliance he or she was a member of.
Once the First Admiral was ready, the President rose to his feet. Formerly the ambassador from Kulu, Sir Maurice Hall had been elected to the post after the previous incumbent, Olton Haaker, had been toppled in a no-confidence motion following the possession crisis.
Even Sir Maurice had not escaped unscathed, after Kulu's suggestion to other industrialised worlds to form a 'core-Confederation' - essentially withdrawing and starting their own pseudo-Confederation - near the end of the possession crisis. Since a large part of the plan was essentially abandoning all asteroid settlements and any colony world below stage three, it was hardly surprising that there had been a devastating backlash within the Assembly, as witnessed by the fact that the motion of no confidence against Haaker had been passed unanimously.
However, with some fancy political footwork, Sir Maurice had managed to cast off blame for the idea, landing on his feet in the President's position. To his credit, though, he was tireless in pressing for ways to advance the colony worlds to the point where they were not only self-sufficient, but trading with other worlds. Given the fact that the entire Confederation now formed its own stellar cluster thousands of light-years from the galaxy that was originally its home, he really had no choice.
Once Aleksandrovich was ready, Sir Maurice rose to his feet. "This is a special sitting of the Assembly," he said, "called by the ambassador from Earth in response to what he calls 'dangerous circumstances'. I now invite Earth's ambassador to take the floor to present his case."
Michael Benton, a thin, distinguished-looking man from the Govcentral State of Australia, rose to his feet. "Thank you, Mister President.
"Fellow ambassadors, I come before you bringing the gravest of news, news of events that may prove to be as troubling, if not more so, than the possession crisis that gripped the entire Confederation three years ago." He paused to scan the room, noting expressions that ran from worried to extreme interest to scepticism. He couldn't be sure ass to how much of the emotion he saw was genuine, however, since all present were seasoned diplomats, skilled at showing only the emotion they wanted to, even without the aid of neural nanonics.
"I have entered a file into the storage systems of the Assembly that will provide evidence for what I say. If you would care to access it..."
It was a slightly edited version of the Harris File, comprising mainly of the fights against vampires and demons - particularly the battles against the Judge and the Mayor - and the meetings of the Slayerettes in between. More than one gasp indicated that there were ambassadors who had been sceptical and now believed. After all, the information taken from debrief nanonics were the memories of the subject, and generally true, being more effort than it was worth to fake.
As long as the source was accepted, that is...
Aleksandrovich was the first to shake off the shock. "Where did this information come from?" he asked, somewhat shaken.
"This information was obtained from Tranquillity and Ione Saldana," Benton said. "Tranquillity assures me that the information is genuine." That seemed to convince the last of the holdouts, since it was well-known that habitats could not lie. The closest they could manage was simply not to tell something.
"I also have a report from the Los Angeles Police Department on the same subject," he continued. "I should warm you, though, that it does not make for pleasant viewing. You may wish to have either nausea-suppression or tranquiliser programs in primary mode when you access this file."
The next file was the Henderson Report, complete with the AV footage of the battle that had taken place in the Sunnydale Dome.
Roulor was the first to break the silence. The processor block next to her sparkled, then spoke in a neutral tone. "This is disturbing information, Ambassador Benton. Not even we have encountered anything like this. You are correct in saying that the creatures mentioned here are possibly worse than the possessed."
This was a startling revelation, since the Kiint had been a civilised species for far longer than humanity. Two hundred thousand years was the time span agreed on by most xenohistorians, since the Kiint were notoriously reticent about details from their past. The fact that their technology base was considerably more advanced than humanity's was evidenced by the reports of the two people - Joshua Calvert and Jay Hilton - who had been to Riynine, the true homeworld of the Kiint. Industrial-level molecular replicators, a ring of planets around their primary, flying cities, aircraft capable of accelerating at seventy gravities and travelling at speeds of Mach thirty-five plus, and a personal teleport ability were among the areas they left humanity in the dust.
It was not only in the technical arts that the Kiint surpassed humanity, though. They were also a very spiritual species, having faced and survived their own possession crisis thousands of years ago. Given that all of their material needs were supplied by 'providers' - machines capable of creating just about anything from virtually any available molecules - most of their time was spent on philosophical pursuits and the search for pure knowledge.
It was generally assumed within the Confederation that the Kiint knew everything that was worth knowing, and to hear a Kiint admit ignorance on any subject was deeply jarring.
"I request leave to pass this knowledge on to Corpus," Roulor continued. "Perhaps some more light can be shed on the subject." Corpus was the Kiint version of the Edenist Consensus, if more advanced, and possessed of an almost frightening intelligence. Corpus was also more than Consensus, also being the information storage of the Kiint species. Given the length of existence of the Kiint civilisation, there should be something relevant to deal with vampires and demons.
"Feel free, Ambassador," Benton said with a nod of his head that was almost a bow. "The more minds bent towards a solution of this problem, the sooner it is solved." Unspoken was a gentle criticism. During the possession crisis, the Kiint had revealed the fact that they had had to deal with their own possession crisis. Despite near-desperate requests - almost pleading, in fact - from human governments, they had refused to share the information, claiming that the solution that had worked for the Kiint would not work for humanity, and that humanity had to face it on their own.
In the end, the Kiint had proven to be right. That fact, combined with the massive amounts of aid provided when the crisis was resolved, had meant that the diplomatic strain had been minimised. Even so, there was still a small amount of lingering resentment remaining towards the Kiint. If they even noticed, they did not let on.
Roulor was proof of that. "We will do what we can, Ambassador," he said. "But we make no promises." With that, Roulor's processor block gave one last sparkle before falling silent.
No-one knew exactly how the Kiint communicated, although Edenists who had dealings with them reported detecting something similar to affinity between individual Kiint. Like everything else to do with the Kiint, it was considerably more advanced, capable of interfacing with neural nanonics, something which Edenist affinity was not capable of.
Sir Maurice spoke up, and it was evident that even his diplomatic aplomb had been badly shaken by the information that Benton had revealed. "Ambassador Benton, I presume that the reason you called this session of the Assembly was to request aid in dealing with this threat. Surely Earth's resources are adequate in themselves?"
"I am afraid not, Mister President," Benton said regretfully. "Los Angeles is not the only arcology that has a vampire population. Now that arcology law-enforcement officials know what to look for, they had discovered vampire populations in every arcology. Even my home arcology of Sydney is not exempted.
"As a result, law-enforcement officials are finding their resources barely adequate to deal with their own vampire problems. In fact, I suspect that they may prove to be inadequate.
"Given that the majority of Earth's defences are oriented on dealing with threats coming from outside the planet, comprising of Strategic Defence platforms and Govcentral Navy starships patrolling the Earth/Luna/O'Neill Halo area, it may even be that Earth's ground military may not be capable of dealing with the situation.
"Hereby, I formally request in the name of Govcentral that member states of the Confederation provide what support they can to assist," he concluded.
Cayeaux, the Edenist ambassador, spoke up for the first time since the session was called. "Copies of these files have been passed to the Jovian Consensus, and I am instructed to inform the Assembly that we will be providing what aid we can. A request has also been made to the Lord of Ruin for her support."
The sound of hushed conversations rippled around the assembly. The last time Ione Saldana had been asked to provide aid was during the possession crisis, when the law-enforcement servitors - serjeants - had been deployed to the Kulu Principality of Ombey to provide the bulk of the ground troops in the Mortonridge Liberation. They had proven effective in dealing with the situation there - barring a couple of surprises sprung by the possessed - and it was expected that they would do the same on Earth.
One of the ambassadors spoke up. "Assuming that the Lord of Ruin looks favourably on our request, it's my understanding that the serjeants require a human personality to operate independently. Will there be sufficient numbers of personalities forthcoming?"
"Volunteers will be sought from the Jovian and Saturnian habitats," Cayeaux replied. "However, Earth-based religions have still maintained their hostility towards affinity and bitek in general. If they persist with this attitude when our help arrives, problems may result."
Cayeaux's voice remained perfectly neutral, displaying no emotion whatsoever. After the transfer of Wing-Tsit Chong's memories and personality pattern to the habitat Eden's neural array in the late twenty-first century - the first, proving that it was possible - every major religion had denounced the act as 'an attempt to evade divine judgement', virtually as a chorus. Furthermore, they had also denounced all affinity, even the link with servitors, as an abomination.
Eden had recently acquired independence, and those who refused to give up affinity and bitek relocated there, and the newly germinated habitats Arrarat and Pallas. Forming their own society, they had taken control of the Helium-3 mining operations and become immensely wealthy. Although officially, all Adamist - humans without the affinity gene - governments had good relations with Edenism, religions still maintained official hostility towards affinity and bitek, even after over five centuries.
"I can make no promises, Ambassador Cayeaux, but I shall see what can be done," Benton said gravely.
"That is all I can ask, Ambassador Benton," Cayeaux replied formally.
A quick voice vote was taken, and it was formally decided to send military aid to Earth.
With that decided, the ball was in Aleksandrovich's court. He had used the preceding time to determine movement routes and timetables for the deployment of Marine units to Earth.
"Depending on the level of commitment from each member state, and assuming optimal deployment times, the first brigades should be arriving at the O'Neill Halo within a week from receipt of orders. There, the problem seems to be one of equipping the troops to deal with vampires," he said.
"According to the Harris File, a wooden stake through the heart, decapitation, fire and sunlight will prove fatal to a vampire. Holy water and religious symbols also prove damaging to a vampire, though not necessarily fatal. Research is under way on the design of a suitable weapon to fire wooden stakes - although this may be as simple as the provision of correct ammunition for weapons such as gaussguns and projectile weapons," Benton said. "And the production of incendiary rounds for gaussguns has also been stepped up. There is also speculation that sustained fire from small-arms grade energy weapons should prove sufficient to immolate a vampire, perhaps even to decapitate it.
"Efforts are also underway to lay in a supply of holy water and religious symbols. Given that a vampire's strength is far greater than a normal human's, it seems to be inadvisable to get into close-quarters combat with one."
Aleksandrovich nodded, accepting the information. "Orders will be cut to transport troops to Earth as soon as practical."
Another night, another patrol.
That was the attitude of the Slayerettes as they returned to their home base, although the fact that there was obviously something building up put a slight damper on their normal post-patrol activities.
After their equipment was checked, cleaned and packed away, and showers taken to remove the sweat of several hours in chameleon suits, it was time to relax with a drink and talk about the just-completed patrol.
"An average night," Cat commented, to nods from everyone else, including Elizabeth, who was still coming to terms with the fact that her Watcher had seemingly abandoned her.
And it had been an average night, by Slayerette standards. Thirty vampires and two Polgara demons had been found and eliminated. Normally, this would be counted as good work, but the fact that Jonsson was up to something left everyone wondering what that could be.
"I think I'd better check for messages," Alex said, datavising a command to the desktop processor. Patrols were conducted with neural nanonics instructed to ignore messages, as the distraction of the neuroiconic symbol announcing a new message could prove fatal.
"Let's see... one for Will, and one for me. Mine's an official one from the Navy," he continued, opening his message and scanning the contents.
"That is interesting," Will commented as he accessed his message. "It seems that my efforts have paid off."
"What do you mean, William?" Elizabeth asked.
"Well, despite our estrangement from the Council of Watchers, informal avenues of communication exist. After all, we are working towards the same goal. To that end, I sent a message explaining your status to my contacts on the Council, asking for a meeting. It seems to have been accepted."
"WHAT?" Cat exploded. "Will, how could you?"
"Please rein your temper in, Catherine," Will said with a patience that came from much practice. "I do not intend to simply hand Elizabeth over to them and walk away. But they do deserve an opportunity to explain themselves."
"Fine," Catherine grumped. "But we're going along with her. Right, guys?"
Everyone except Alex nodded. "It's going to have to be without me," he announced. "My leave's been cut short, and I'm to report back to base as soon as possible, if not sooner."
"Did the message give any indication as to why, Alexander?" Will asked, ignoring the almost-reflexive wince from Alex.
"Nope, but I'm willing to bet that it's got something to do with the Harris file and the police report that Amanda rascalled for us."
"That is more than likely," Will conceded.
"Yep. I've got packing to do."
"Back to the main subject," Cat interrupted, turning to Elizabeth. "What do you think, 'Liz? Does Watcher-boy deserve a chance to explain himself, or do we just show up to give him a good kick in the nuts?"
All of the males in the room winced at that, but Elizabeth smiled. "Give him a chance to explain himself. If I don't like what he says, the groin kick is still an option."
"This is going to be a war unlike any in history. Not even the Mortonridge Liberation, and the possessed, can be compared to the things we'll be fighting. But this is a fight that has been going on for uncounted millennia, and only now has it been brought out into the open.
"We owe it to those who went before us, those who fought in secret, not only to preserve our way of life, but our very existence. The warriors who, if their fight had been made public then, would have been ridiculed as insane instead of being lauded as the heroes that they were.
"The Slayers, in particular.
"Young women, ripped from normal life, and tossed straight into the front lines of a war waged in the shadows. For too long, they fought alone, with a minimum amount of support, against creatures that were trying to bring about the extinction of the human species.
"Well, I say, 'NO MORE!'
"If a war is going to be waged for our survival as a species, then I DEMAND a place in that battle, for I would consider myself to be far less than a man if I did otherwise.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let's show these things what it means to be a Marine!"
"HOO-RAH!"
- Address to the troops, 7th June, 2614 (2614) Colonel James Anderson, Commanding Officer, 2nd Marine Brigade
The building that had been selected as a fallback base of operations was now operational, though significantly less 'bustling' than the previous lair.
Not that that was any great surprise, given the losses they'd taken in the battle that had forced the move. Like all alternate sites for any enterprise throughout history, it was less well-equipped than the primary site had been, probably because while Jonsson had been thorough enough to have backup sites, he hadn't been quite paranoid enough to really believe that one of them would be used.
Can it be called paranoia when there really is someone out to get you? Jonsson mused thoughtfully, perched on his 'throne' in the main chamber of the new lair.
He wasn't exactly brooding on his failures - and none of his minions was suicidal enough to suggest that to him - but he was giving some heavy thought to the circumstances that had brought him here. The sects.
The Light Bringers had struck harder than he had thought possible, and to compound matters, the LAPD had reacted faster than he had anticipated as well. The one less-dark point - it couldn't be called bright, exactly - had been that 'only' four squads had responded initially - obviously, the LAPD had been caught off-guard - and they had been ill-equipped for what they had faced.
Jonsson knew that that would change quickly, however, and that the AT teams would be back, looking to seek vengeance on those who had inflicted such losses on them.
And the military couldn't be too far behind them, either.
It is more than possible that they will be suitably equipped, Jonsson thought. And even if they are not, the sheer amount of firepower they will possess will be troubling.
And then there were the Slayers to take into consideration as well. Even if they didn't know about the losses he had taken, they would now be actively hunting him - even if they hadn't been before - and the reports coming in from the surveillance on them were troubling in the extreme, especially the numbers of vampires and demons they were eliminating each night.
Granted, the Slayerettes had been taking out individuals and small groups operating independently, but the fact that they were able to find individuals and small groups so effectively was disturbing, as it meant that it was possible that they would be able to cut out small groups of his minions and thereby whittle down his forces piecemeal.
Suddenly, he came to a decision. If he was to achieve his goals, he would need to either unite the undead population of Los Angeles under his leadership, or to massively increase his numbers rapidly.
Either course of action posed dangerous risks. Sending out messages or messengers posed the risk of revealing his location to either the Slayerettes or the authorities, and that didn't take into consideration the inherent risks of the face-to-face meeting or meetings that would be required. It was all too possible that word of the meeting would reach the wrong ears, and attending such a meeting would be like sticking one's head into an antimatter drive tube.
The second course of action was more immediately dangerous, but if he could pull it off, the rewards were at least as great. The trouble - the immediate trouble, he corrected himself - was the fact that a pissed-off LAPD had massively increased their patrol schedules for the Downtown disctricts.
But that created an opportunity elsewhere. If the police patrols here had increased dramatically, that meant that patrols elsewhere had been reduced...
Jonsson's brewing plans were cut short by a chime from his neural nanonics.
It had come as a surprise when he had discovered that vampires could use neural nanonics, given the fact that the hosts that vampires inhabited were technically corpses and that neural nanonics were powered by the electrical currents that operated the brain.
At first, it had taken incredible concentration to operate neural nanonics, but practice had made it easier with time. Of course, getting the neural nanonics in the first place was tricky. It was either necessary to trust an illegal medical clinic, using bootlegged neural nanonics - with the threat of extreme violence if anything went wrong - or trust that someone they turned already had them implanted. That was an unreliable method, given the fact that few people in the Downtown areas could afford even the cheapest model.
It was impossible for vocal inflections to be transmitted over a datavise carrier wave, but Jonsson knew that if it was possible, the voice would have been a dead, dry hiss.
We are the Order of Teraka. Why do you require our services, vampire?
It didn't surprise Jonsson at all that the Order knew who - and what - he was. He wouldn't have been particularly surprised if one of the Order had simply shown up in the middle of his lair and asked for him by name. The Order had a way of getting to wherever they wanted, no mater what.
Which, of course, made them such valuable and useful assassins.
He didn't even think of trying to trace the datavise. According to well-founded rumour, the last person who tried it had found their neural nanonics melting inside their head. And since neural nanonics were so intimately connected to the brain, the person had died a quick but painful death as a large part of their brain tissue had simply been vaporised.
I wish to make use of your talents to remove an... impediment.
We require names and descriptions, vampire.
Jonsson datavised the names and image files of both Slayers and the Slayerettes that he had acquired from careful reconnaissance.
Two Slayers, and their assistants, he added. They may prove troublesome to eliminate.
That is none of your concern, vampire. The only thing you have to trouble yourself with is our fee. Five million fuseodollars.
Jonsson knew that the quoted fee was non-negotiable. But as the ancient saying went, 'You get what you pay for'. And he knew that he was paying for the best.
The transfer of funds took but seconds, and used up a large amount of his available funds. That did not concern him, so long as the Slayerettes were eliminated.
The next time we communicate, vampire, will be to inform you that your... impediments... have been removed.
As Alex started transferring his clothes and other belongings that he had taken with him when he went on leave from his duffle bag to his locker, his squad sergeant stuck her head through the door. "Glad I ran into you, Alex," she said. "The Boss has been calling in all platoon commanders and company NCO's into his office one at a time, and you're the last one on the list."
"I only just got back, sarge," Alex replied, stating the obvious.
"Oh, you're not in trouble," she replied. "He's got something important to pass on, and before you ask, yes, it does have something to do with why all leaves were cut short."
"Fair enough," Alex commented as he stripped down to shorts and a T-shirt and grabbed an olive-drab fatigue jumpsuit from his locker. As he shrugged it on, he continued. "Can you tell me more, or do I have to wait until I see the captain?"
The sergeant shivered slightly. "You've got to wait. But I can tell you that it isn't pretty."
By this time, the two of them were headed down the base's corridors towards the company commander's office, dodging Marines who were bustling from the armoury to the supply rooms to the loading docks in the spaceport. All were carrying weapons, equipment and stores for an extended campaign.
"I guess all this," Alex waved a hand at the activity all around them, "has got something to do with it, too?"
The sergeant nodded. "You'll have to wait until you see the Boss for that, as well."
By this time, they had arrived at the Commanding Officer's door. Alex knocked and announced, "Corporal Matthews reporting as ordered, sir."
"Enter, corporal."
Alex opened the door and marched to stand in front of the captain's desk, where he assumed the position of attention. "Stand easy, corporal," Captain Luke Edgar said, and Alex shifted to the parade rest position. "I guess you're wondering why you're here," he continued.
"The thought had crossed my mind," Alex confessed.
"I'm sorry to have to cut your leave short," Edgar said, seemingly changing the subject. "I know we've only just come off a three-month deployment, but something important has cropped up. Here's something you should see."
Alex accepted the datavised files - they were the Harris File and the Henderson report. Since he'd already seen them both, they didn't disturb him too greatly, but he used his neural nanonics to paste an appropriate expression on his face. "Dear God..."
"Yes, it does make for grim viewing," Edgar agreed gravely. "But we're going to do something about it."
"So that's why everyone's rushing about the way they are," Alex said, and pretended to think for a moment. "I take it the 'something' that we're going to do is to fight them, right?" At Edgar's confirming nod, Alex continued, "But will we have the right equipment to do the job properly, sir?"
Edgar nodded grimly. "As I'm sure you've noticed from the file, wooden stakes and incendiary rounds should prove effective, and I've been assured that sufficient amounts of the appropriate ammunition will be made available."
"I guess that just leaves one more question, then, sir. When do we leave?"
'Meeting with the Watcher who had abandoned me was one of the hardest things that I had done for quite some time. Of course, Cat wasn't making it any easier, with her muttered promises of gruesome violence, and egging me on to do the same.
'When I found out about the Cruiciamentum, it was all I could do not to kick him in the crotch so hard that he ended up with a new set of tonsils.'
- Slayer Elizabeth Baker (2614)
From the windows of a nearby building, the shadowy figure surveyed the building that was the base of operations for the Slayerettes with an omniband viewer, utilising the low-light and magnification functions to provide the best view.
Of his target, that is.
An assassin of the Order of Teraka, he had accepted a contract to eliminate the Slayers and their assistants. The reasons for the contract did not concern him in the slightest - like all profession assassins dating back to the Hashishim of the medieval Middle East, his only concern was the successful completion of the job and pocketing the hefty fee the Order had charged for their services.
The Slayerettes were not present at the moment, which was both good news and bad news. Good news, as it allowed him to plant the charges without the possibility of a confrontation, as the Slayerettes had set up a reasonably elaborate security system around their building.
Bad news, as his contract required confirmation that the contract had been carried out. The visual files from his neural nanonics, combined with what physical proof he could acquire, would prove sufficient for that. To get that evidence, however, required him to wait until they returned before activating the timers and retiring to a safe distance to watch the fireworks.
Deciding that it was safe to move, he made his way to the ground floor of the building he had used as a vantage point. Pulling a processor block from one of the pouches he had clipped to his belt, he activated a customised program. More than a mere codebuster, it wormed its way into the security programs guarding the Slayerette headquarters - which took longer than expected - and nestled into the governing processors of the security systems.
Raising an eyebrow in some surprise, the Terakan noted that fact. They've got someone good writing their security programs, he thought as he dashed across the road to the nearest wall. Once there, he reached into another pouch and pulled out a large rectangular block, which he fixed to the wall at ground level. One down, two to go.
The other two were planted just as easily, and the Terakan withdrew to the observation point that he had selected previously, which was both a safe distance away - it would be sloppy and unprofessional to be killed along with the target - and commanded line-of-sight to the building. Once there, he commanded the codebusting program to disengage, which it did, erasing all trace of its presence as it went.
"Are you sure this is the place?" Amanda asked as the Slayerettes made their way into the bar. The real name of the establishment had been forgotten long ago, and the regulars had been calling it 'The Bar' for so long that the name had become official and permanent.
"Quite sure, Amanda," Will answered as he deftly sidestepped a rowdy group of drunken Downtowners. "After all, who would expect the person we're meeting to come to a place like this?" His wave took in the generally poor-condition surroundings.
"Yeah," Cat muttered. "No-one would expect a stuck-up prick Watcher to actually rub elbows with real people, after all."
"I used to be a Watcher," Will said with a raised eyebrow.
"Emphasis on 'used to be', Will," Cat replied with a small grin. "I like to think that we've corrupted you."
"'Corrupted' is exactly the right word to use," Will said. "Not that I'm complaining, of course... ah, there's our man. Michael, could you do me a favour and acquire drinks for us? Wholly for the purposes of blending in, of course."
"I don't think they'll have Norfolk Tears here," Michael muttered as he took drink orders and made his way to the bar.
"Well, I didn't expect to see you here, Alistair," Will commented as they reached the table where the Watcher - Alistair - was sitting.
"The meeting place wasn't my idea, William," Alistair grumbled as the Slayerettes took seats at the table.
Ignoring the smirk that flitted across Cat's face, William got straight to business. "I'm going to skip the formalities - blame it on association with American teenagers if you wish - and cut straight to the heart of the matter. Why did you abandon your charge?"
"She reported that she was under attack from a group of thirty vampires," Alastair replied. "No Slayer - not even Slayer Summers - ever survived an encounter with that many vampires single-handedly. Filtering communications from her neural nanonics was a routine precaution in case she was captured and interrogated - if not worse."
"That still doesn't change the fact that you ignored her when she tried to reach you after we rescued her," Cat interrupted angrily, her expression challenging the Watcher to find a way out of this one.
"Young lady," Alistair replied icily. "This is a discussion between myself and... your Watcher, I suppose he could be called. Kindly do not involve yourself."
"I would be careful about speaking to Catherine in that tone of voice Alistair," William commented with a smile. "The young lady has quite a temper and, of course, a mean left hook, which comes with the Slayer abilities."
"And I suppose that trying to instil some discipline in her would have been too much to ask?" Alistair said snidely.
"The most successful Slayers in history have been the ones whose Watchers complained endlessly about their 'indiscipline'," William returned. "The complaints ended when those Slayers entered their third year as the Slayer. And, of course, there is the example of Slayer Summers."
"An aberration!"
"Really?" William enquired with a raised eyebrow. "A career of nearly sixty years as the Slayer - due mostly to the efforts of the friends who willingly fought alongside her - and you write it off as not indicative, not to mention an indictment of the Council's methods?"
"Are we here to discuss ancient history," Alistair ground out, "or to discuss the status of Slayer Baker?"
"You're the one who started the history talk," William pointed out. "But we shall put that aside for now."
"Very well. It's simple - I require that Slayer Baker return with me to resume her duties as the Slayer."
"Wait just one moment!" Cat had been gritting her teeth and holding on to her temper ever since the Watcher's casual put-down, but she found impossible to keep her calm now. "Doesn't Liz get a say in this? What do you think she is - property? I'm gonna..."
"Calm yourself, Catherine," William put in, placing a hand on her shoulder. Cat started slightly, surprised that she'd started to rise from her chair, with the obvious intent of reaching across the table and slapping some sense into Watcher-boy.
"However, she does raise a valid point," he continued, turning to Alistair. "I find your treatment of Elizabeth reprehensible in the extreme which, combined with the fact that you are not willing to allow her to express an opinion in her own future, brings out the full force of my somewhat cynical despair for the Council and forcibly reminds me why I left in the first place."
"Personally, I thought that it was because your ego was bruised when the Council refused to allow you to aid in the training of the Slayer," Alistair commented.
"I will admit that that played some small part," William admitted, "but that was not the whole of the reason. The main part was disgust at the Council's refusal to even consider new methods that became available with the advent of new technologies. But we digress again."
"Yes," Alistair admitted. "There are indications of something troubling happening within the Sunnydale Dome. The Council has been unable to determine the nature or cause of these events, but..."
"Oh, you mean Jonsson," Cat put in airily. "He's up to something big, all right. We don't know what, either, but ever since he got a spanking from the LAPD, he's been trying to bring the vampire and demon population of the Sunnydale Dome under his control. We don't know why, either, but it can't be good."
"Catherine," Will said gently, and Cat fell silent, but not before shooting a triumphant smirk at Alistair, who sat stunned be the fact that the group that that Council treated with such contempt had ferreted out more information than the Council had managed.
"Be that as it may," he managed. "There is still a crucial ritual that Slayer Baker has to undertake before too long. I cannot divulge the details, but..."
"Ritual?" Will interrupted. He turned to Elizabeth and asked, "Elizabeth, if you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"
"I turn eighteen next week," she replied. "Is that important?"
Expressions of utter rage crossed the faces of the Slayerettes, before deciding to return for a prolonged stay. "The Cruciamentum?" Will asked, his voice containing a promise of violence that would have done 'the Ripper' proud. "You BASTARD!"
"I'm gonna smack him down," Cat muttered in a similar tone of voice. "Introduce him to the wonders of electricity running through certain sensitive part of his body and..."
"No, Catherine," William said, causing Cat's head to snap around. "I think Elizabeth should be the one to inflict punishment on this waste of oxygen."
"Good idea," Cat said in a much more thoughtful tone of voice which was no less dangerous. "Well, Liz, what do you say?"
"What's this 'Cruciamentum' that has you so worked up?" Liz asked, looking from Slayerette to Slayerette and seeing near-identical expressions of rage.
"It is nothing that you need concern yourself with overly," Alistair said hurriedly, trying to avoid a future in which he was used as a punching bag by two very pissed-off Slayers. "It is a simple..."
"Your Slayer abilities are taken away from you with a combination of drugs, spells and hypnosis, and then you are locked in a room with the most hostile vampire that can be located in the immediate area," Will stated, glaring at the Watcher. "It is a barbaric ritual that all Slayers up to Slayer Summers endured on their eighteenth birthday. Since then, and the split of the Council of Watchers, only those Slayers taken in by the Council have been subjected to it."
He paused, and added, "It is also yet another reason why I left."
"That's horrible," Liz said with an expression of horror. "Many Slayers wouldn't survive the experience."
"That's right," Cat said grimly. "If the records I've seen are correct, three out of four Slayers were killed by the vampire."
"And he wants me to go through it?"
"Yep," Cat replied, still riding an anger high. "Want me to hold him for you while you hit him?"
"Y-you wouldn't dare assault me in a public place," Alistair stammered. "Someone would be bound to inform to authorities, and..."
"You really do have no clue about this place," Cat interrupted with a bitter laugh. "We could draw weapons, boil you to pink mist, and as long as we gave the owner some money to cover clean-up costs, no-one would say a damn thing."
Alistair had now gone extremely pale, which was no surprise, since Liz had risen from her seat and walked around to the Watcher's side of the table. Draping an arm across his shoulders, she mock-cooed, "I don't like you any more. Come to think of it, I never really liked you anyway. So this won't cause me any trouble whatsoever."
Before Alistair could ask what she meant, she'd shifted her hand to grasp the back of his head, and shoved forward hard.
CRUNCH!
Keeping the Watcher's face firmly planted on the table, Liz snarled, "If you, or anyone else from your poxy Council come anywhere near me again, I'll get nasty. And I'm sure Cat will express severe displeasure as well." Releasing his head, she took a step back.
Alistair prised his face from the table. Blood was streaming from an obviously broken nose and from the corners of his mouth. Spitting out a mouthful of blood and a couple of broken teeth, he spluttered, "By dode! You brode by dode!"
"Consider that a friendly warning," Cat said as the Slayerettes - now including Elizabeth in their number - rose and headed for the door. "You don't want to know what'll get broken if we ever see you again."
The Terakan had dropped off into a light doze, trusting his neural nanonics monitor programs to wake him up when the Slayerettes returned. Now, a steady chiming informed him that his targets had, indeed, returned from wherever they had been for the last two hours.
About time, he thought as they entered their base.
"Well, that went well," Amanda muttered as they slumped into chairs and on couches.
"I admit it could have gone better," Will confessed. "But once Alistair mentioned the Cruciamentum, I simply could not control my temper any longer."
"Me neither," Cat said. "So, you two were Watchers together, huh?"
"Oh, yes," William grimaced. "It was not an enjoyable experience, either. Even before he was selected to be a Field Watcher, his arrogance..."
"Hold it, Will," Amanda said suddenly. "We've got a problem."
As soon as they had returned from their meeting with the Watcher, the security systems designed by Amanda had been datavising warnings to her. The Terakan may have disabled the first layer, but that had merely activated the secondary systems, which were completely independent from the other systems.
Activating a hi-res wallscreen, she brought up the images captured by the security systems. They showed a shadowy figure attaching bulky packages to three of the walls, before withdrawing.
"Somehow, I don't think he's leaving birthday presents," Cat commented.
"Yeah, he probably doesn't know when our birthdays are," Amanda said absently, as the security systems poured more data into her mind via her neural nanonics.
"We'd better check it out," Michael announced as he, Matthew and Judy grabbed harnesses and headed outside. Containing EOD - Explosive Ordinance Disposal - kits lifted a piece at a time from the police by Amanda, they, along with the didactic courses provided by both Amanda and Alex, were a large part of the reason why the Slayerettes had been much more successful than the Council of Watchers.
"Good thinking," Cat said as she ripped open an equipment locker and started grabbing chameleon suits - including a spare which had been configured for use by Elizabeth - and weapons. "The rest of us will check out our mystery visitor."
A little over a minute later, they had exited through the rear entrance and were outside and hunting. "That way," Amanda said, pointing back towards the building they had just exited. "The AI says there was a signal from that direction. It's still analysing it, but it couldn't have been for anything good."
"Lead the way, Amanda, but keep us out of sight of the source of the signal," Will said, and they headed off.
The Terakan watched as three of his targets began examining the devices he had left. However they had discovered the devices in the first place - he suspected a layer of security that he had missed - he wasn't too worried, as it was nearly impossible to deactivate them in the time they had left. And even if they did look like successfully disarming the devices, he could still detonate them manually.
So he decided to sit back and record their efforts for posterity.
The first hint of trouble came a few seconds later, and it was a datavise from Michael.
Okay, I've opened the package and, surprise, surprise, it's a bomb. From the looks of it, it's an electron-compressed deuterium-tritium core, with a yield of about point-oh-five kilotons. Sexy - and impossible to get a hold of if you're not a government.
Got one here, Matthew added.
Here too, Judy chimed in.
Any other good news? Cat asked.
It's on a timer, so we're not completely fucked yet, Michael replied. The timers are nifty as well. Molecular-decay timers, and four of them. Someone sure believes in multiple redundancy.
Same here, as well, Matthew put in. And pulling them ain't an option, 'coz the bomb's rigged to blow if that happens.
Fucking wonderful, Cat commented.
Guys? Judy interrupted. I've found a fifth detonator... a remote detonator.
Shit. You know what that means, don't you? Michael asked.
WHAT? Elizabeth put in.
That if whoever planted these bundles of joy has hung around to watch and see us fiddling with them, then our lifespans are shortened to however long it takes to datavise...
The datavise was cut off with an abruptness that sent hearts plummeting. A fraction of a second later, their worst fears were realised when the world lit up behind them, along with a stupendous roar.
"NOOOOOOO!!!"
The Terakan watched with satisfaction as the equivalent of a hundred and fifty tons of explosives flattened the target building, taking with it all the inhabitants. Easiest money I ever made, he thought with satisfaction, as he began making his way to the ground floor prior to making his getaway.
The grief had become rage as the realisation sank in that their friends had been murdered. And it wasn't too hard to work out who had ordered it. Jonsson was the only likely candidate, which made detective work redundant.
It carried them into the entrance of the building they were headed to, where they encountered a familiar figure.
The person who had planted the bombs in the first place.
"YOU!" Cat roared, as she levelled her gaussgun, deciding that the best payback would be to laminate him to the nearest wall.
The figure wasn't defenceless, though, and drew a pair of maser carbines with a speed that would have impressed even a Slayer. Both Cat an Elizabeth were forced to twist violently aside as targeting lasers sought them out, with the actual maser shots not far behind.
The other surviving Slayerettes scattered, following the recommendation of linked tactical programs running in primary mode, and drew their own weapons. A tracery of targeting lasers criss-crossed the intervening space - managing to avoid both Elizabeth and Cat - and a torrent of thermal pulses and maser shots hit the assassin, removing both arms at the elbow and one foot.
The assassin howled briefly in pain - before neural nanonics erected axon blocks on the relevant nerves - and slammed into the ground.
Cat stalked over to the fallen assassin. "I'm gonna kill him. Slowly,"
"I'm gonna kill him. Slowly."
The Terakan considered his position as he heard the voice, laden with pain and anger, snarl from directly above where he was lying. How had they left the building without him noticing? Obviously, there had been another entrance that he hadn't noticed. He had been too greedy and ambitious in taking on this contract by himself, unwilling to share either the money or the prestige.
And now he was going to pay for it with his death.
The amount of pain-suppressing programs he was forced to run meant that he was unable to send the kamikaze code stored in his neural nanonics, which would have detonated the small quantity of antimatter stored in his abdomen, allowing him to complete the contract, even if it was posthumously.
"I think it would be prudent to ask some questions first, Catherine," he heard a cultured voice say.
"Why? We know everything we need to know about him," the first voice - Catherine - replied angrily. "He was sent by the Order of Teraka, on the orders of Jonsson, to kill us all. And he got Michael, Matthew and Judy. I'm gonna take payback from his miserable hide, Will."
"Never underestimate the value of questions, Catherine," Will replied. "Besides, you can still exact your revenge after we ask any questions we deem necessary."
There was a sigh, and then Catherine spoke up again. "Alright, Will. You've talked me into it. But you'd better not take too long with the questions."
The Terakan felt seomthing hit his jaw and the world went away.
'When Jonsson sent those assassins after us - and killed three of my friends - we stopped fighting him because it was part of the job.
'It was personal now.'
- Slayer Catherine Piper (2614)
Henderson was running a comparison between police patrols and reported vampire attacks, hoping to find out the locations of vampire lairs within the dome, so that he could send in the AT teams - ready to strike and out for blood - to wipe them off the map.
Sighing, he cancelled the link with the AI - knowing full well that it would alert him if anything cropped up - and stood up, stretching his back as he did so. I wish Matthews was here. She's got a real talent for this sort of thing, he thought as he went for yet another coffee. Stimulant programs did the job of keeping you awake and functional, but after a while, your mouth started to feel like the bottom of a bird cage whose inhabitants were suffering from incontinence.
As Henderson watched, the current shift's chief computer jockey was entering new data taken from local patrols and orbital surveillance. Despite the fact that the arcology dome made observing from orbit difficult to say the least, he was willing to take whatever he was given.
The computer jockey was good - a person didn't get to his position without displaying a considerable degree of skill - but Henderson again wished Matthews was there instead. She seemed to have a knack for coaxing the AI into delivering exactly what she wanted from it, almost is if she knew the AI personally and was convincing it to divulge secrets to a friend.
His musings were cut short, however, when he heard a loud rumble, almost like not-so-distant thunder. Ever since Earth's environment had been miraculously repaired, thunderstorms - as opposed to armada storms - were a near-daily occurrence. When the building shook gently, however, Henderson decided that this was no thunderstorm. Accessing the security sensors surrounding the station, he checked the visual sensors for anything unusual.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
A small mushroom cloud, which rose all the way to the top of the dome and was splashing off the armour crystal. Someone had set off a sub-nuclear device in the dome. He sent a report to Dome Maintenance to have the area affected tested for structural integrity - the dome may have been rendered redundant, but until the Second Dispersal to the former stage-one colony worlds now sharing Earth's orbit was complete, it was necessary to maintain the domes' condition. After all, bad things would happen to the population of a dome that was allowed to collapse...
But where had the bomb been detonated? And who was the target? Henderson wondered. More to the point, where did the person or persons responsible manage to acquire sub-nuclear devices? I though they were restricted to governments only.
His questions were answered half an hour later, with the arrival of Matthews and some of her friends, all but one of which he had met at the last LAPD Christmas party. Wondering as to why she was present could wait, however, since her expression spoke of someone deep within their own personal hell.
"Matthews? Amanda?" Henderson asked. "What's the matter?"
"Someone blew up our home, sir," Matthews replied in a voice devoid of all expression. "Used sub-nuclear devices - deturium-tritium, to be exact, with a yield of fifty tons each. Three in total."
Someone used three sub-nuclear devices to destroy a single building? Talk about overkill - or someone wanting to make extra sure of it. And something tells me that there's more to this story. He waited, however, suspecting that Matthews would tell more in her own time.
She did. "We weren't there when the devices were planted," she continued, "but thanks to the security systems I had installed, we had imagery - and warning - of what had happened. So while three of us went to attempt to neutralise the devices, the rest - including myself - started to look for the person who had planted them."
Henderson nodded to signal his acceptance of that. He'd already known that both Matthews and her brother were qualified EOD technicians - Matthews had gained her 'powder monkey ticket' through the LAPD, while her brother had gained his qualification through the Govcentral military - but this was the first he'd heard of the rest of her friends holding similar qualifications. He wasn't particularly surprised, however. With laser didactic education, anyone could be qualified in just about anything. The only thing Henderson was curious about was what sort of EOD equipment they had had available.
"The three of us," Matthews continued, "who were working on the devices identified four detonators as molecular-decay timers, and a fifth as a manual remote detonator."
Henderson was forced to resort to a neural nanonics program to prevent a surprised gasp. That was something that Matthews did not need to hear at this present time. Judging by the way her voice had wavered, things had gone horribly pear-shaped, and he suspected that that had had something to do with the manual detonator.
"We-" Matthews gestured to include the group of people with her, "-were looking for whoever had planted the devices at this point, and were some distance away. Michael - one of those who were trying to neutralise the devices - had just warned us about the manual detonators, when his datavise was cut off suddenly, and..." Emotions overwhelming the neural nanonics program that she had been using to allow her to make a coherent report, she sank into a nearby chair and began sobbing softly. Henderson wasn't surprised. When three of your friends are killed, it tends to have a bad effect on you.
The thread of the tale was picked up by one of the other women in the group, who Henderson identified after a little thought - and some digging through neural nanonics files - as Catherine. She wasn't grieving. On the contrary, she looked ready to rip an assault mechanoid apart with her bare hands and use the bits to beat any bystanders to death with. What really scared Henderson, however, was the suspicion that she could do exactly that.
"We'd managed to backtrack the origin of the datavise, and we'd reached the building it had originated from. Just as we were entering, the person who had planted the devices was leaving." Holding up a hand to prevent Henderson from asking the obvious question, she added, "We know it was the right person, since we got a pretty picture of him planting the devices from our security systems.
"Anyway, once he spotted us, he drew a couple of maser carbines and opened fire. Luckily for us, we weren't unarmed ourselves - all legal and aboveboard, I assure you - and we returned fire."
Henderson didn't know what to think about that. Strictly speaking, he should at least ask a few questions and run some checks. Even if their weapons were legally owned, the law tended to frown on firing them in public places.
Self-defence, on the other hand, was allowed. The trouble was proving that it had been self-defence in the first place. Exercising discretion and letting it slide seemed to be the best option available. "Did you hit him?" he asked.
Catherine gave him a look that clearly stated, 'Quit asking stupid questions' and remained silent.
Shaking his head, Henderson asked the obvious follow-up question. "Is he alive, at least?"
The only man in the group spoke up. "Yes, but he was quite badly injured in the exchange of fire, and we left him at the main desk. I also would suggest that he undergo quite a detailed body scan. I suspect that he possesses some sort of nasty implant." Some more careful thought identified him as William.
"Thanks for the suggestion, William," Henderson replied. It was standard procedure, and should already be under way, but shock did strange things to the human mind.
Just then, an extremely agitated police officer burst into the room. "Chief!" he gasped. "Something weird here. That guy that Matthews and her friends brought in? We scanned him, and he seems to have a kamikaze implant in his abdomen. Judging by the strength of the containment field... it's antimatter."
The temperature of the room seemed to plummet abruptly. The ultimate horror, antimatter made thermonuclear weapons seem like firecrackers in comparison. Unlike nuclear weapons, which needed a fairly precise set of circumstances to detonate, antimatter simply had to come into contact with particles of conventional matter. It could be anything - even something as simple as an oxygen molecule would be sufficient to unleash its fury, according to Einstein's ancient mass-energy formula, with one hundred and eighty megatons of explosive force generated for every kilogram of antimatter.
The black cartels' antimatter production stations had been left behind when the Confederation had moved to its new location, but that just meant that large-scale commercial production of antimatter was now impossible. Henderson was willing to be that there were small-scale antimatter production stations dotted across the Confederation, especially on Earth. There were just too many places to hide a small facility in an arcology.
"Study the containment field," Henderson said, mouth moving on automatic while he tried to work out what to do. "Try to determine if it's a deadman trigger. If not, jam his neural nanonics. If so, isolate the signal preventing the antimatter detonation and transmit it." That should prevent the precinct house - and everything in the immediate area - from disappearing in a blinding flash. "Inform the local Govcentral representative and request specialist support, highest priority."
The officer nodded before leaving the room just as fast as he'd entered. Henderson turned to the group and asked. "Do you have any idea who might want to do this?"
They exchanged brief glances, which set off alarm bells in Henderson's head. Finally, it was William who spoke up. "This is going to sound unbelievable, Captain Henderson... well, do you believe in vampires?"
"Yes," Henderson replied firmly, which got him surprised looks. "A few days ago, we received a message from the Lord of Ruin, which contained the data taken from a set of debrief nanonics. The subject was... vampires, actually, and how they've tried to end the world on more than one occasion. And last night, there was a major firefight between a group of vampires and a local cult, which also involved LAPD AT teams.
"So I'm more than willing to believe in vampires. Why, do you know something about them?"
"We've all seen and survived vampire attacks," William said, indicating the people with him. "We decided to fight back, rather than to simply accept it. I can only image that we've been enough of a thorn in their side over the past few years that the local vampire leader - a four hundred-pus year old Master Vampire by the name of Jonsson - decided to do something about it."
Pulling a ring from his pocket, he continued. "This is the symbol of a group known as the Order of Teraka. They are an ancient order of assassins whose origins are unknown, but thought to be at least two thousand years ago. We must have really annoyed Jonsson, since one of the few things that are known about the Order is that they charge steeply for their services."
Henderson was impressed to say the least. These people had access to an impressive collection of information. For some reason, that made him think of the Harris file. Why did I think that? he wondered. Could it be because William sounds suspiciously like Rupert Giles, the Watcher that Harris knew, when he was lecturing?
Almost every police officer knows to trust their instincts, and Henderson was no exception. Launching a shot in the dark, he asked William, "Are you a Watcher?"
It was their reactions - or more accurately, their lack of reactions - that told him that he'd scored.
"Are you a Watcher?"
That question, totally unexpected, caused William to shunt a facial-expression program into primary mode to stop himself from flinching. It was only after the program was activated that he realised that he'd made a mistake. A total lack of expression can tell someone just as much as the expression itself.
Resigning himself to the inevitable, William nodded. "Yes. I do happen to be a Field Watcher. May I ask how you know about Watchers?"
Ignoring William's question, Henderson asked. "Field Watcher? Is that some sort of specialisation?"
William thought fast. Henderson knew much more than most people - starting with the fact that vampires were real. That information might have come from a set of debrief nanonics, but he wanted to be sure.
"I'll make an offer, Captain. I'll answer your questions about Watchers if you answer one of mine."
Henderson didn't hesitate. "Done," he said.
William nodded. "A Field Watcher is a Watcher assigned to train and guide an Active Slayer. A Training Watcher's duties revolve around training a Potential Slayer - which I'll explain shortly," he added, seeing the question forming.
"A Research Watcher, as the name suggests, spends most of his or her time carrying out research.
"The organisation that controls the activities of most Watchers is the Council of Watchers. The reason I say 'most' rather than 'all' is that the Council split in the early twenty-first century, mainly over whether or not an Active Slayer should have help in her fight. The traditionalists believe that the Slayer should work alone, with only her Watcher providing assistance.
"The break-away group - which I belong to, by the way - believe that the Slayer should accept any and all aid that is offered. History shows that most Slayers who work alone tend to have distressingly short careers as Sayers. The first Slayer to buck this tradition was Elizabeth Summers, at the end of the twentieth century. She had friends who helped her in her fight against the darkness.
"The Council was reluctant to accept this, and matters came to a head after the group - called 'Slayerettes', incidentally - won their greatest victory, against a hell goddess named Glorificus. The 'New Men' tried to change the way the Council operated, to allow the Slayer to have aid, but the traditionalists refused, and the 'New Men' quit to set up their own operation."
Henderson nodded. That had answered quite a few of the questions that he had - except one. "Potential Slayers?" he prompted.
"Oh, yes, Potential Slayers. Up until the time of Slayer Summers, there was only one Active Slayer at a time. That changed when she died at the hands of a Master Vampire whose name is unknown to us. Fortunately, one of her friends - Alexander Harris - managed to revive her with CPR. However, she had been clinically dead for long enough to call the next Slayer, Kendra McPherson. Since then, there have been two Active Slayers.
"You see, when a Slayer dies, the next one is called. A girl who can become a Slayer is called a Potential Slayer. There are ways to detect a Potential Slayer - which I won't go in to at the moment - and when one is found, she is trained so that she may begin her role as soon as possible after she is called. This is not a foolproof method - Slayer Summers wasn't detected until after she was called, which may have influenced her way of thinking. Unlike most previous Slayers, Slayer Summers tried to integrate Slaying into her normal life, rather than allow Slaying to take over her life completely.
"I hope that clears things up for you, Captain."
William watched as Henderson nodded, obviously deep in thought. "Yes, it does. There are still some things that I'd like cleared up, but they can wait for another time. Now, I assume you have a question?"
"Yes, and it is this: who is your source of information on the subject of Watchers?"
Henderson grinned. "You may want to sit down for this." He waited until William played along and found a seat. He had a good idea who Henderson was referring to, having seen the data in question, but he thought it would be best not to reveal that fact, since it was probably breaking quite a few laws.
Henderson waited until William had found a seat before dropping what he thought was a bombshell. "Alexander Harris. In fact, the same Alexander Harris that was friends with Elizabeth Summers."
Henderson didn't know what sort of reaction he had been expecting, but he felt vaguely disappointed when all he did was blink and say, "Oh, my," in a slightly subdued voice.
"You seem to be taking this rather well," Henderson commented in a non-committal tone of voice.
"Well, given that in the last few years, we saw the souls of the dead return in an attempt to take over the living, and the entire Confederation transported thousands of light-years through a number of wormholes, not to mention the other things we've seen, someone travelling through time suddenly doesn't seem all that impressive."
When Henderson thought about it in that light, William's reaction made sense. "But surely you're curious as to how he got here?"
William shrugged. "I'm fairly confident that I'll get the chance to talk to him before too long. I can ask him then."
Changing the subject, Henderson asked, "Have you sent a message to Amanda's brother about what happened tonight?"
William looked mournful for a moment. "Yes, I have. His reaction will probably be terrible to see."
'It is the finding of this Tribunal that Field Watcher Rupert Giles has fragrantly disregarded the laws and traditions of our Council, by involving outsiders in the fight against darkness. Previously, this had been tolerated because he kept the numbers of outsiders involved to a minimum. But when he and Slayer Summers recruited and trained the graduating class of 1999 at Sunnydale High School, he abused our tolerance for the last time.
'Accordingly, Rupert Giles and the so-called "Slayerettes" are declared excommunicatus perpetuia [trans: "forever banished"]. Rupert Giles is to be stripped all of ranks, titles and positions within the Council. He is to be barred from access to our libraries and sources of supply.
'We acknowledge the views of those among us who favour a more permanent solution, but Slayer Summers' track record in averting the End of Days has so far been beyond any other Slayer in history. She will return to us in time.
'This finding will take effect as of today, the second day of October, in the year nineteen-ninety-nine.
'[Personal note: I would have preferred that bitch Summers killed, but this is almost as good. Either she gets killed by a vampire or demon, or she comes crawling back to us, in which case I will enjoy making her suffer. No matter what happens, we come out ahead. QT.]'
- Council of Watcher Archives (1999)
Stalking through the corridors of the ancient building near the heart of London, Alistair Travers was incensed. How dare that bitch treat him like that? Especially after all he'd done for her, too - given her a home, provided for her, guided her training... only to turn her back on him on the word of a group of renegades!
Her over-reaction to the Cruciamentum clearly showed her lack of maturity. Granted, the Cruciamentum was dangerous, but it was also a vital test of a Slayer's abilities. A good Slayer should be able to perform even when she was at a disadvantage. The fact that Slayer Baker had run headlong into a situation that nearly cost her her life was another indication that she still needed to be guided.
And now she was in the hands of the so-called 'Slayerettes' - Alistair snorted at that - which meant that she would now be hopelessly corrupted. Which was a pity, since she'd shown some potential.
Dammit, didn't those fools realise that the reason the Council stuck with tried-and-tested methods wasn't because they were 'hidebound' as the 'Slayerettes' claimed. No, the reason the Council stayed with their methods was simply that they worked. Using new methods simply because they were new was the height of folly. What if they didn't work? Death would be the best result if that happened.
Granted, energy weapons had proven effective, and were making their way onto the approved equipment list, along with neural nanonics, but these things had to be accepted carefully, and integrated into already-existing tactics. Discarding everything that had been used previously simply because it didn't exactly fit in with new equipment ran the risk of discarding order for chaos.
And order was needed now, more than ever.
Up until now, vampires and demons had been only found on Earth. However, given the disruption of the Second Dispersal, it was more than possible that they could spread to the other planets which now shared Earth's orbit, or worse, to the other planets of the Confederation. Given that there were only two Active Slayers at any one time, such an event could prove catastrophic.
The idea that conventional military forces could be equipped to deal with vampires and demons simply never occurred to him.
The Council of Watchers was mankind's protection against the forces of darkness, and he was part of it.
Like all those who suffered from delusions of grandeur - if Cat had been present, she would have said "Delusions of adequacy, more like" - the contradictions inherent in his thinking didn't faze him for a second. How could they? He never considered them.
The fact that the traditional attitude of the Council towards the Slayers was more like property than concern for the young women that had been placed in their care didn't concern him either. Like all who thought as he did, he was convinced it was "for their own good".
Alistair paused at the set of doors, fighting the temptation to scratch his nose. The medical nanonic was doing an admirable job of repairing the bone a cartilage that had been smashed when Slayer Baker had rammed his head into that table face-first, but it itched like blazes. The sickening CRUNCH of impact still rang in his mind when he allowed himself to think about it, along with the derision he'd received from her, as well as 'Slayer' Piper - some quick research before the meeting had acquainted him with the names of the 'Slayerettes' - and 'Watcher' Goldsmith.
He snorted again. Goldsmith might have shown potential as a Research Watcher, and his name had been on the list for Potential Watcher, with the possibility of becoming a Field Watcher if the Potential Slayer assigned to him had been Called, but he had thrown it all away, because of his feeling put-out that his proposals for training new Watchers and Slayers had been rejected for being 'hasty, ill thought-out, and unlikely to work'.
That, and his weakness regarding the Cruciamentum. Alistair snorted for the third time. Didn't the man understand that they were fighting a war for humanity's very survival? Comparisons to the possession crisis didn't occur to him, and if they did, he would have dismissed them. The cause championed by the Council of Watchers had divine blessing, and as such, was far more important. Not to mention the fact that the possessed had been defeated, even Capone, who had badly frightened the Confederation.
He knocked, and was answered with a deep, sonorous, "Identify yourself to the Inner Council of Directors of the Council of Watchers."
Straightening with pride, he responded, "I am Alistair Travers, Field Watcher, and I have been summoned to give testimony regarding the events in the Sunnydale Dome of the Los Angeles arcology since the thirty-first of May."
"Enter, Field Watcher Travers, and present yourself to the Inner Council of Directors of the Council of Watchers."
The doors swung open - seemingly under their own power - and Alistair stepped into the room where the true power of the Council of Watchers resided. He felt a small thrill run through him as he stepped forward to the designated place for those giving testimony. As a descendant of one of the greatest Watchers in the recorded history of the Council, he was almost guaranteed a place at the table that filled the other end of the room. Barring disaster, that was.
Owen Michelson, the current Director-General of the Council of Watchers pressed a couple of buttons on the panel at his place. "This room is now warded against eavesdropping, both mystical and technological," he said with an almost audible sneer at the word 'technological'. "The Inner Council of the Council of Watchers is now in session. We are here to discuss the events in the Sunnydale Dome of the Los Angeles arcology since the thirty-first of May."
He paused before continuing. "Whatever passes within these four walls is to remain secret until the end of time, unless approved by a two-thirds majority."
That was more a formality than an actual warning. Everyone present in the room knew their power and privileges rested on what was decided here remaining secret. Even Alistair knew this, although he currently had fewer privileges than anyone else present.
Michelson's gaze turned to Alistair. "For millennia, the duty of leading the fight against darkness has rested on us, and through us, the Slayer. Even when the rest of humanity fell aside from that task, we remained true, continuing to fight on in secret. As the years passed, and humanity in general forgot about what was lurking in the darkness, ready to consume them, we remained true.
"It was decided then to ensure that the fight against the darkness remained secret, to avoid the mass hysteria that would ensue if the fight ever became public knowledge.
"And now you report that not only have you lost your Slayer to the renegades, but the secret war is no longer secret? Explain yourself, Watcher Travers."
Alistair tried to hide a grimace. The exposure of the fight against darkness was due to events well beyond his control, but the defection of Slayer Baker to the renegades could be blamed on him.
"On the thirty-first of May, Slayer Baker reported that she had engaged a group of vampires, approximately thirty in number. She also reported that the engagement was accidental and that she was attempting to break contact.
"Given that all Slayers who have encountered a group of vampires numbering more than twenty have been either killed or turned, I instructed my neural nanonics to ignore any further communications from her as a precaution. To my surprise, two days later, I received a message stating that Slayer Baker had survived the encounter, and been rescued by the renegades, along with instructions for a meeting at which 'her future would be discussed'.
"I sought instructions from my Regional Co-ordinator and was granted permission to attend, with the date set at the seventh of June. However, on the second, a brisk three-way street battle broke out between a large group of vampires led by Master Vampire Jonsson, the local coven of Light Bringer cultists and the Los Angeles Police Department, with heavy casualties on all sides.
"I attempted to discover more, but was only able to ascertain that Jonsson was planning something momentous. With no other alternative, I attended the meeting with the renegades, and was met with nothing but rudeness.
"Attempting to retrieve Slayer Baker, I was threatened quite graphically and when the renegades informed Slayer Baker of the Cruciamentum, I was assaulted and threatened again, once more quite graphically." Alistair somehow resisted the urge to scratch his nose once again as he recounted the tale of how he came to be injured.
"What evidence do you have to support your story?" he was asked by the Director of the Research Directorate.
"Neural nanonic files, recorded in sensevise format, of the events in question." Alistair opened a channel to the room's dedicated processor and datavised the files across. Although the Council's attitude towards technology could be best described as 'disdainful', they were forced to admit that neural nanonics could be useful tools.
Taking a step back, he awaited judgement, as the Inner Council accessed the recordings he had made.
The Director of the Training/Watcher sub-directorate spoke up. "Field Watcher Travers, although you have made errors of judgement, these can be attributed to your relative inexperience. You have performed adequately, under trying circumstances." When none of the other Inner Councillors spoke up, Alistair had to hide a sigh of relief. What happened to Watchers who had been judged to have failed in their duties was unknown, but the subject of nasty rumour. But that would never happen to him - he was a Travers, dammit!
"You could not know the reason behind why the secret war is no longer secret. We will now rectify that lack of knowledge, so that you may continue to play your part.
"According to our sources within the Los Angeles Police Department, the information came from Tranquillity - more specifically, the Lord of Ruin. Not only that, the information was passed on to the Confederation Assembly."
Forgetting himself, Alistair gasped. "But, that would mean..."
"Yes, that would mean that, unless individual governments acted to suppress this information, it will become common knowledge across the Confederation. Our sources have also revealed that not only are the Los Angeles Police Department is now actively hunting for vampires, but other law enforcement agencies are doing the same. It remains to be seen how effective this is.
"Not only that, but both the Govcentral military and the Edenists are committing military resources, along with the Confederation and the Lord of Ruin."
Once again, Alistair's shock was greater than his ability to overcome. "Bitek constructs? Serjeants? Here?" Alistair wasn't particularly religious, but he agreed with the Church's proscription of bitek. Humans were humans, dammit, and while refining via geneering was permissible, affinity was creating a 'master race' of telepathic humans who were trying to become immortal in body, not in soul. When people died, they should go on to whatever faced them, not try to linger.
Director-General Michelson nodded. "Correct, Field Watcher. But that is not the worst of it. According to our informant, the source of the information was Alexander Harris."
Alistair thought he recognised the name. All Watchers studied the history of their organisation as a matter of course, but Alistair took a special interest in the events of the late twentieth century. After all, his ancestor had been involved in those events.
"You mean the Alexander Harris who was involved with Slayer Summers? But that's..." He cut himself off before saying 'impossible', since after the possession crisis and the transportation of the Confederation, 'impossible' had taken on a whole new meaning.
"Our main point of concern is not the potential impact of Harris' actions - although reports from the time indicate that, at times, his contributions were decisive - but his potential as a rallying point. He might be presented as an example of what an 'ordinary' person can contribute to the fight against darkness, even without enhancements such as Artificial Tissue muscular augmentation and weapons implants."
Alistair fought a sneer. That was one of the things Goldsmith had suggested - more like demanded - that the Council adopt, arguing that if the Slayer Gift enhanced normal human strength and reflexes, AT implants could only increase that. Those suggestions had been rejected because of the unpredictability of mixing technological and mystical enhancements.
Not that he'd seen it that way, of course.
Another potential point of concern had been if a boosted human had been turned by a vampire. Vampires were far faster and stronger than a human, even when the human who had been turned hadn't been boosted. How strong would a vampire inhabiting a boosted human be?
Michelson continued, "This concerns us because of the potential for disaster. It is likely that the troops committed by the military will be ill-equipped for the enemies they will face, and their equipment may fall into the hands of our enemies. That would be a disaster, as you can imagine."
Alistair tried not to shudder as he imagined the results of vampires and demons equipped with modern weaponry. It wasn't easy.
"Unfortunately, we do not know Harris' location," the Director of the Research/Intelligence sub-directorate said. "The file containing the data taken from the debrief nanonics implanted in him indicates that his last known location was Tranquillity, but it cannot be assumed that he remains there. It is the opinion of the Intelligence sub-directorate that it is likely that he will arrive on Earth before this crisis is resolved, however."
Michelson nodded agreement. "Our actions on Harris' arrival will be decided in another session," he stated, and the other members of the Inner Council nodded agreement.
"There is one point of consolation, though," the Director of the Research/Intelligence sub-directorate said. "According to our sources, the vampire and demon populations remain fragmented and un-coordinated, particularly within the Sunnydale Dome of the Los Angeles arcology. If they were to start co-ordinating their activities, I fear to think of the possible results."
"Let me sum up your proposal," the Master Vampire of the largest vampire group in the Hollywood Dome said. "I ally myself with your Master, and in return, share in the spoils of whatever he's cooking up - you won't tell me what it is, other than that it'll result in good things - and our two groups will co-ordinate our activities.
"I also agree to a mutual-defence pact, meaning that he can call on my strength in times of need, and that I can call on his strength when I need it."
The minion that Jonsson had sent to the Hollywood Dome nodded. "I am not permitted by my instructions to reveal my Master's plans. And a mutual-defence pact makes sense, given that the Los Angeles police are now starting to actively hunt our kind."
"Yes... you haven't said why the police are now hunting us." That has more than a minor annoyance. In order to remain undetected, he had been forced to relocate on no less than three occasions in the last week, more times than he'd moved in the last century.
Jonsson's minion shrugged expressively. "My Master does not know, but he suspects that it is the result of the attack launched on his headquarters by members of the Light Bringer cults, which drew a response from the LAPD."
The Master of the Hollywood Dome nodded thoughtfully. The Light Bringer cults had been a minor annoyance to him as well, but that had remained on the level of the occasional skirmish, which the LAPD had thought was part of the usual pattern of behaviour for criminal gangs. Their attitude had been along the lines of 'Criminal killing criminals? Great! We'll just make sure that no civilians get involved or caught in the cross-fire.'
It seemed that things were quite different in the Sunnydale Dome, however. Either Jonsson had fallen foul of a more aggressive Magus, or he had drawn the Magus' ire by turning cult members, the Master Vampire mused.
"I won't commit myself until I speak to your Master, but your proposal has merit," the Master Vampire stated.
Jonsson's minion nodded agreement. "My authority does not extend to signing treaties in my Master's name. I am only authorised to obtain expressions of interest and extend an invitation to open negotiations."
What Jonsson's minion did not say - did not know, in fact - was that envoys had been sent to almost every major vampire group that Jonsson knew of in the arcology. Extreme care had had to be taken to ensure that word of the meetings did not reach the ears of either the LAPD or the Slayers.
Also not revealed was the second part of Jonsson's plan - a drive to increase his numbers with people taken from the upper levels of the Sunnydale Dome, based on the assumption that police patrols in those areas had been reduced in order to increase numbers the Downtown sections.
So far, it seemed to be working.
Even though it was late at night, the shopping area bustled with activity.
With a population of fifteen million, and people working shifts twenty-four hours a day, there was always a steady stream of shoppers to ensure that the stores remained open around the clock.
But now there were patrons with darker purposes in mind.
Jonsson had dispatched tis group with strict orders - grab people from crowded areas, where it would be easier to select the appropriate victims, render them unconscious, and return them to the lair to be turned. And avoid police patrols at all costs.
Jonsson knew that the surge of people being abducted would raise a large red flag in the LAPD AI, and the cause would be fairly obvious to the authorities. He was fairly confident, however, that this would present them with a dilemma - there would be pressure placed on them to increase patrols in the affected areas, which would mean that resources would have to be deployed from other areas, possibly even from other domes.
If police resources were redeployed from other areas of the Sunnydale dome, he would simply send his snatch-and-grab teams into those areas. And so far, his diplomatic overtures to other vampire groups seemed to be going well, as his envoys were returning with expressions of cautious interest in his proposals.
For a species that was as naturally paranoid and suspicious - particularly of each other - as vampires, getting them to even consider an alliance was a good sign. At least none of his envoys had been returned as dust in a jar.
All this meant that, if police resources were redeployed from other domes, that would create a window of opportunity for the vampire groups in those domes to act.
Of course, there was military intervention to consider. Jonsson was mildly surprised that the Govcentral and Confederation armed forces hadn't already been deployed to the Los Angeles arcology in force. Then again, there was the fact that re-equipping and some training would be required before they could be truly effective. That was another window of opportunity.
Which was why he was dispatching eight-strong groups of vampires on these snatch-and-grab missions.
This particular group had had success tonight. Six of the eight had unconscious men and women draped over their shoulders, and the alarm had yet to be raised. The leader of the group scanned the bustling crowd, searching for suitable victims.
There.
A young couple, both in their late teens, strolling casually along, while all around them people studiously ignored the pair, following Earth's obsessive culture of privacy. As they approached the service corridor where the vampires were lurking, the leader nodded to the vampire standing next to him, the only other vampire in the group who had not selected a victim for the night.
As they passed the corridor opening, two pairs of arms blurred out, grabbed the couple, and dragged them into the corridor. Before they could shout - either in protest or to raise the alarm - infuser patches had been slapped on their necks, and the powerful sedatives had been infused into their bloodstreams, resulting in unconsciousness.
Satisfied with the results from the night's work, the leader led the group deeper into the labyrinth of service corridors and maintenance areas that wormed their way through the building, the first stage in their journey back to the lair.
Back in the public concourse area, from the high ceiling, the lens of a security sensor glinted as it kept its never-ceasing vigil. It could not respond to events, could not even raise an alarm.
All it could do was send the information it recorded back to its human overseers. It was up to them to respond to the images they saw.
'At the time, I was sort-of unimpressed that one of my officers had been leaking information to an outside group. However, when I found out what sort of information Matthews had been leaking, it was a different matter. She'd been sharing information that, at the time, we'd thought we had no real use for, but, in light of the Harris file, turned out to be suspected vampire attacks.
'I was also kind of embarrassed that she'd been a Slayerette for four years... which I'd never noticed. I thought it was my jobto figure that sort of thing out.'
- Captain Matthew Henderson, LAPD (2614)
The Marine squad was in deep trouble, and everyone knew it.
The initial assault on the vampire nest had gone well, with entry simply being a matter of blasting several large holes in the building's walls with electon-explosive charges. Assault mechanoids had gone in first, and had started eliminating every vampire they encountered, and even when the vampires had managed to close to close quarters, the mechanoids had managed to hold their own.
Even though the vampires had managed to reduce the mechanoids' numbers by half, by the time the Marines had arrived on the scene - having mopped up behind the mechanoids - all of the attacking vampires had been dusted.
Then the vampires had revealed their secret weapon. The first - and last - sign of trouble had been a barely-auible whine, before a maser cannon nearly as powerful as those found on armed starships had opened up on the mechanoids, destroying them all in a matter of seconds.
The Marine squad had ducked behind whatever cover they could, although two hadn't been quick enough, and had been vaporised when the maser cannon was turned on them. With no clear targets, the maser cannon gunner ceased fire, not wanting to burn the building down around them. The thermal dissipation circuits built into the Marines' combat armour would have protected them from the effects of the flames, denying the vampires even that sort of victory.
Having found cover, the Marines waited for the inevitable assault. Roaring, the first assault wave of three dozen vampires charged the hunkered-down Marines who, with the threat of the maser cannon countered by the fact that the gunner would have to shoot through friendlies - and even if the gunner had been willing to kill allies, there was no clear line of sight to the Marines - popped up and began co-ordinated fire, guided by linked tactical and fire-control programs.
Alex trained his gaussgun on a knot of vampires and sent half-a-dozen EE and fragmentation rounds their way. The eight vampires vanished in a cloud of rampaging electrons and razor-edged carbotanium fragments, and when the smoke cleared, only dust remained. The other six Marines in the squad - including another gaussgunner - added their own maser fire, EE grenades and incendiary rounds to the firestorm.
None of the vampires reached the Marine position, and the Marines ducked behind cover once more just in time to avoid receiving more maser fire. Another roar indicated that another group of vampires was attacking, and once again the Marines popped up to open fire. The attacking group was larger this time, and a handful survived to reach the Marines.
Dropping the gaussgun, Alex drew a fission blade and a stake. With two smooth motions, he decapitated one vampire and rammed the stake into the other's chest. As the dust of the two vampires that had attacked him settled to the ground, he cast a quick glance at the rest of his squad.
What he saw made him grimace. Although all of the vampires had been dusted, two more Marines were down, both with broken necks. Note to self: the neck guards on our combat suits protect us from bites and having our throats torn out, but don't prevent broken necks, Alex thought as he recovered the gaussgun and resumed his position in cover.
We really need to take out that bloody maser cannon, he added silently. But now that we're down to five against God-alone-knows-how-many vampires, our chances aren't good.
Yet another roar announced a third assault wave, larger than the first two combined. The five surviving Marines poured a veritable storm of fire into the charging vampires, but over half survived to reach the Marines, and a bloody melee erupted once more.
With boosted musculature and unarmed-combat programs in primary mode, the Marines didn't go down easily, but down they went, nonetheless. As it happened, Alex was the last one on his feet.
As he staked a vampire and decapitated another, he felt a pair of hands clamp onto his shell helmet and twist violently. The valency generators built into the combat suit meant that his neck wasn't broken instantly, but the amount of force they were being subjected to was well beyond their design tolerances. As they burned out with a pop, Alex twisted in the same direction that his head was being turned in and staked the vampire that was attempting to break his neck.
But that meant that Alex was now badly off-balance, and not even his unarmed-combat program could restore that balance in time. Another vampire grabbed his head and twisted violently, and this time, his combat suit wasn't able to help.
As Alex's neck broke with a loud SNAP, the vampire dropped him to join in the victory howl that was now resounding throughout the building.
Fuck, Alex thought as the world went black around him...
The technician stepped forward as Alex began to stir, unplugging the cables that connected the virtual reality taksuit to the training base's AI that was running the simulation.
Once all the cables had been unplugged, Alex started to peel the suit off, changing into an olive-drab jumpsuit handed to him, which he accepted with a nod and word of thanks. "Okay," he said disgustedly, "which demented bastard came up with that little scenario?"
"I did, Corporal," Captain Edgar said from where he was standing near the console, observing each squad being put through its paces.
"In that case," Alex said sourly as he fastened the jumpsuit's seal, "let me say just one thing: you're a demented bastard, sir."
Edgar grinned and replied, "Why, thank you, Corporal. Your approval means a lot to me." Turning serious, he continued. "That was one of a number of worst-case scenarios I had designed, although at least there weren't any demons involved. What did you think?"
"I'm sure my next-of-kin will appreciate that, sir," Alex said sourly. "What did I think? Lemme see, screaming hordes of vampires - just how many were there, anyway? - crap intel... and let's not forget the starship-grade maser cannon providing fire support and which had us pinned down and unable to move in about fifteen seconds. All in all, an display of applied sadism that would make an inquisitor proud. You sure you weren't one in a past life, sir?"
There were chuckles from everyone present. Even Edgar grinned before replying, "That last group that attacked you was the last of them, Alex. In fact, your squad did much better than anyone else."
"We still died, Boss," Alex pointed out.
"True," Edgar replied. "But I designed that scenario to be unwinnable, and your squad came fairly close to winning it."
"Does that mean we win a prize, sir?"
"Well, since it's the end of the training day, I think someone might buy you a couple of beers."
Alex brightened slightly at that. "Free beers are always welcome, sir. I just never thought I'd have to die to get them."
Once the company had returned to the asteroid that served as the barracks and equipment store for their brigade, and cleaned and stored all equipment, it was time to relax and discuss the day's training.
The nine squad commanders in Edgar's company were clustered around a table in a semi-quiet corner of the boozer, comparing their experiences over a pint or two, while the rest of the enlisted soldiers did the same all around them.
"How's it feel to be dead, Alex?" one of the squad commanders asked.
"Strangely loud, Lucy," Alex replied with a grin. "'Here lies Alexander Matthews'," he said as though quoting an epitath - which, in a way, he was. "'And here... and over here, as well.' We got ripped apart in the tank today. I hope we don't run into something like that when we deploy into LA."
"You did better than I did," the squad commander, Lucy Matheson, responded. "At least you managed to actually get into the building."
"Yeah, I heard about that. What happened?"
"Let me put it this way," Lucy replied. "You got the screaming hordes. I got the heavily armed ones."
"Ouch," Alex said with a wince, draining his pint before refilling it from one of the jugs sitting in the center of the table. "All of a sudden, what happened to me doesn't sound too bad."
"Fuck you, Matthews," Lucy said, giving him the finger.
"Why, Corporal Matheson. Is that a proposition?" Alex asked with a grin-slash-leer.
"You wish, boyo," Lucy said, laughing. "I'd rather take a gaussgun to bed."
Alex and Lucy got along like a house on fire, and Lucy could only be described as 'attractive', even with her hair cropped almost to her scalp to allow her shell helmet to fit more snugly. There were no hard and fast rules regarding relationships between Marines - particularly Marines of equal rank - but there were semi-official guildelines. Anyway, Alex and Lucy preferred the level of friendship they had, and weren't too keen to go any further.
"Let me guess," Alex riposted. "It lasts as long as you want it to, doesn't roll over and start snoring as soon as it's finished, doesn't hog the covers, and doesn't make you sleep in the wet spot."
"Hey!" Lucy protested, while the other squad commanders at the table snickered. "Stop stealing my lines!"
"Sorry, Lucy," Alex said, not meaning it in the slightest.
Any reply Lucy might have made was pre-empted by the arrival of the Duty NCO. "Hey, Alex," he said, brandishing a flek. "Message for you."
While on-duty, Marines were forbidden to receive messages from external sources, or send messages, for that matter. Any messages intended were instead received by the orderly room and stored on a flek until the recipient went off-duty.
"Thanks, mate," Alex said with a grin. "I'll be sure to have a beer for you."
The DNCO glared at Alex for a moment before turning on his heel and leaving. "Quit picking on the poor schmucks who have to work while we have fun, Alex," Lucy said with a grin.
"I can't help it, Lucy," Alex protested. "It's just too much fun."
"Yeah, yeah. Who's the message from?" Lucy asked. "Is it a red-hot sensevise from your girlfriend?"
"Is that a note of jealousy I detect in your voice?" Alex teased before picking up the flek from where the DNCO had dumped it on the table, and taking it over to one of the message reading stations lined up along one wall.
When he returned to the table, his expression was that of someone who wished to inflict a long, drawn-out death on someone. Slumping into a chair, he grabbed his nearly-full pint and emptied it in a series of convulsive swallows before grabbing a jug with the obvious intent of drinking himself into oblivion, and relying on a medical nanonic and detox programs to ensure that he would be fit for duty - if not polite company - in the morning.
These plans were short-circuited, however, when Lucy grabbed his wrist. "What's wrong, Alex?" she asked, totally serious.
"Some bastard tried to kill my sister," he snarled. "Killed three of my friends when the buildng they lived in was blown up with sub-nuclear devices."
"Jesus, Alex, I'm sorry," Lucy said with an expression of horror, a sentiment that was echoed around the table.
"Where'd they get sub-nuclear devices from?" someone else wondered. "And plural?"
"Three of them, to be exact," Alex muttered, still fuming. A sudden crunch caused everyone's glance to Alex's hand. Without noticing, he'd crushed the flek.
"Jesus," Lucy muttered. They'd met Amanda at various functions hosted by the company, and to hear that someone had tried to reduce her to her component atoms with sub-nuclear devices came as something of a shock. Who'd want to kill her? was a common thought.
"I don't know who'd be responsible," Alex growled. "But he'd better hope that I never find him."
"Same here, Alex," Lucy said, with the others at the table backing her up.
"Thanks, guys," Alex said. "That means a lot to me."
"Hey, what are friends for?"
At that moment, Captain Edgar appeared in the doorway, and the room fell silent as the Marines inside turned to look at him. "If I can have your attention for a moment," he said. "I've just received a report from the Los Angeles arcology. Apparently, someone's detonated a number of sub-nuclear devices within the Sunnydale Dome. The target seems to have been the Slayers and their support group, the Slayerettes."
When Edgar made that announcement, the squad commanders found themselves staring at Alex. "Alex," Lucy said slowly. "I'm probably jumping to a conclusion here, but I've got to know... since your sister is a Slayerette, does that mean you are, too?"
The question was asked quietly, but it was loud enough for Edgar to hear. Walking over to the table and taking a seat next to Alex, he asked quietly, "Is that true, Corporal?"
Alex briefly toyed with the idea of lying, but immediately discarded it at useless. Not trusting himself to speak, he simply nodded.
"Why didn't you say something?" Edgar asked, somewhat incredulous.
"Up until you accessed the Harris File, would you have believed me, sir?" Alex asked in response.
Edgar couldn't deny that point, but it still came as something of a surprise. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he said, "Well, along with the report came orders. It seems that the LAPD is starting to have trouble with the vampire population within the arcology, particularly the Sunnydale Dome.
"At the moment, there's enough equipment ready for one company to be deployed, and we've been picked." He raised his voice so that everyone in the room could hear him. "We leave in ninety minutes, so get yourselves sobered up and ready to go."
As the room erupted in a flurry of activity as Marines finished their drinks and headed off to use medical nanonics to filter the alcohol from their bloodstreams. The NCOs, however, remained behind briefly at Edgar's signal.
Once they had the room to themselves, Edgar turned to Alex and asked, "Well, you've had experience at this sort of thing. Any suggestions?"
Alex thought for a moment before replying, "What we did in training should work pretty well, unless we actually run into one of the situations in the scenarios you devised, sir. Patrolling as platoons might be a good idea as well." He paused and shrugged. "It all depends on the situation on the ground," he added.
Edgar nodded. "That sounds reasonable," he said. "Now, I think we'd better get moving ourselves."
The trip down from the O'Neill Halo had been a quick one. Govcentral override authorisation codes had allowed the Marines to commandeer as many lift capsules on the Supra-Brazil orbital tower as they had needed, and a vac-train to Los Angeles had been waiting for them when they'd reached Earth's surface.
Six hours after they left the O'Neill Halo, the trucks carrying the Marine company and their equipment were pulling up outside the Sunnydale Dome Precinct Headquarters. Wait here, Edgar ordered. Matthews, you come with me, he added, as he climbed out of the lead truck's cabin and headed up the steps leading to the main doors, with Alex falling into step beside him.
A couple of questions later, they were entering the operations room, and caught sight of Captain Henderson standing in the middle of the room, watching the main screen as more and more suspected vampire attacks were plotted. Henderson saw them and advance to greet them with an outsretched hand. "Captain Henderson?" Edgar asked, more out of formality that anything else. "Luke Edgar, Govcentral Marines," he introduced himself, shaking Henderson's hand. "This is Alex Matthews, same," he added as Alex and Henderson shook hands.
"Matthew Henderson. Good to meet you," Henderson said. "We could really use some help around here right about now," he added, indicating the main board.
"What's going on?" Edgar asked.
"There's a rash of abductions going on throughout the dome," Henderson replied. "It seems that the local vampire leader wants to build his numbers up after last week's battle. We're trying to respond, but because the abductions are taking place at pretty much random locations, and at all levels, we're having some difficulty."
"We'll do what we can," Edgar said. "But, at the moment, there's only my company available. The rest of the brigade should be ready before too long, though."
Henderson nodded, accepting that. "I'd call in help from the other domes, but vampire activity seems to be picking up there as well. And from what I've heard, police forces in other arcologies have their hands full, as well." With the important preliminaries out of the way, he was able to turn his attention to Alex. "Matthews, huh?" he asked. "Any relation to Amanda Matthews?"
Alex nodded. "She's my sister," he replied. "How is she?"
Henderson's face was grim. "To be honest, not good," he answered. "The last time I saw her, she was in the cafeteria," he added.
Glancing at Edgar, and receiving permission with a nod, Alex excused himself and set off in search of his sister.
Once he'd left, Henderson turned to Edgar and said, "If I had to guess, I'd say he's a Slayerette, too."
"Good use of those police instincts," Edgar said with a smile. "He is, indeed, which came as a bit of a surprise."
Henderson snorted. "You shouldn't feel too bad about not noticing," he said. "I, on the other hand, should be ashamed of myself for not noticing anything about his sister being a Slayerette. After all, that sort of thing, is my job."
Edgar grinned. "Maybe she thinks she'll get your job once you get fired for incompetence," he said.
"Perish the thought," Henderson replied, before gesturing at the main screen. "Shall we get to work?"
"Yes, let's."
Amanda was clutching a cup of coffee in both hands, as if it was a lifeline, while behind her eyes, the events of the last twelve hours replayed themselves. She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice when someone sat down next to her. "Hey, sis," she heard a quiet voice say.
That got her attention. "Alex?" she said in a near whisper, whirling around on her seat. Sitting next to her was...
"Alex!" she exclaimed, hurling herself at him while, unnoticed, the coffee cup went flying.
"Oof!" he grunted as he caught her and wrapped his arms around her in a huge hug as Amanda sobbed quietly.
"Hey..." Alex said, trailing off, not knowing how to continue.
"It was horrible, Alex," Amanda sobbed. "He destroyed our home and he killed Judy and Michael and Matthew and he nearly killed the rest of us and..." she was forced to stop when she ran out of air.
"We'll get the bastard," Alex said softly.
Amanda made no reply, insteading continuing to weep while he just held her. A voice from the door got his attention. "'Manda? What's goi-" Turning his head, he saw Cat standing in the doorway, an expression of surprise on her face. "Alex?" she asked quietly.
"Last time I checked, anyway."
A fraction of a second later - using her Slayer speed - she was sitting on the other side of him, hugging him firmly. "It's good to see you again, even if the circumstances suck," she said quiety.
"Hey, I was only gone a day," he protested.
"Yeah, but it's been a bad day."
Alex could only nod at that. "True," he said. "But look on the not-so-dark side. We've got professional help now, which might make things a little easier."
"Why do I get the feeling that we're really, really going to need it, though?"
"I suppose the main point of difference between my ex-Watcher and the Slayerettes was that, where Travers had tried to get me to adhere to the letter of the Slayer Handbook, the Slayerettes were a lot more flexible.
"Sure, they had their own version - what they tongue-in-cheek called the 'Slayerette Handbook' - but they tended to treat that more as a guide than a hard-and-fast way to do things, which was fortunate, otherwise the shift in Jonsson's tactics probably would have caught them - us, I should say - off-guard, with potentially disastrous results."
- Slayer Elizabeth Baker (2614)
The central parklands which were a feature of all habitats were an extremely popular area of the habitat for everyone who wasn't currently engaged in some other task. Eden was no exception, although things were slightly different.
Unlike other habitats, where the population was housed in starscrapers arrayed around the habitat's equator, the two million people who called Eden 'home' actually lived in the habitat's interior, as Eden had been the very first habitat, and there had been no provision for starscrapers in the first-generation habitats such as Eden, Pallas and Ararat. Later habitats, of course, had their genome modified to allow for starscrapers to be installed, but there was no way to retro-engineer the modifications into the original habitats.
Not that anyone was complaining, of course.
Apart from a handful of worlds such as Tropicana, Kulu or New California, it would be difficult to find a better place to live.
At any given time, somewhere between one-third and one-half of the population of Eden would be using the parkland, but given the sheer size of the habitat, overcrowding was never a problem, and it was always possible to find a semi-private area for somewhat sensitive discussions.
The trio of people strolling through a semi-secluded area was taking full advantage of that fact.
>From a distance, they appeared normal, although somewhat bulked-up and even taller than the average Edenist - who tended to be taller than most Adamists anyway, which was a by-product of their extensive geneering. Closer inspection, however, would reveal that their features were somewhat more angular than a normal person's. In fact, it would be hard to avoid comparisons with Tranquillity serjeants - which would be one hundred percent correct, for they were Tranquillity serjeants.
Veterans of the Mortonridge Liberation, in fact, albeit from different sides.
"Have you come to a decision?" one was asking the other two.
"Yes we have," the serjeant in the middle said. Although Tranquillity serjeants were identical, the features of these three - and thousands more who had taken up residence in Eden after the conclusion of the possession crisis - had been moulded by cosmetic adaptation packages to more closely resemble their appearances while they'd been alive. In this particular instance, a woman in her late twenties.
"We've decided that we will take part," the serjeant - Stephanie Ash - continued. "If the reports are any indication, the situation on Earth now makes anything that happened during the possession crisis pale by comparison." Stephanie had to repress a shudder at that, for she'd been speaking from experience.
She'd been one of the possessed on the Mortonridge peninsular, and after the removal of the town of Ketton to another dimension, she'd accepted to offer of a serjeant body along with twelve thousand other possessed. After seeing the misery of the Liberation first-hand, she had trouble accepting that there was a situation that could be worse, but the reports sent to the Jovian Consensus by Govcentral made it clear that it was possible.
The third serjeant - a man in his mid-thirties by the name of Moyo - wrapped his arm around Stephanie's shoulders and gave an encouraging squeeze. "All of us agreed, even Cochrane," he added.
The serjeant who'd started the discussion - a former Edenist named Sinon, who was, coincidentally, Syrinx's father - nodded gravely. "Of course, you do realise that there is no obligation for you to take part in this campaign; that participation is entirely voluntary?"
Stephanie nodded. "We do, Sinon," she said. "It's just that... it's hard to explain why, but I can't just ignore it. If an ordinary teenager can step forward and fight these sort of things, then how can I not?" she added, and Moyo nodded beside her.
"I understand," Sinon replied.
Alistair Saldana, King of the Kulu Kingdom and its Principalities, opened his eyes as he cancelled the link to the processor. "So, Ione is sending serjeants to help with the situation on Earth," he said. "Even though the Jovian Consensus will be able to produce far more in a far shorter time. The question remains, though; why isn't she sending them to Kulu?"
The other person in his office, the Duke of Sailon, who also acted as the Kingdom's Security Minister shrugged. "I'm not sure, Your Majesty, but I would suspect that it's because she has faith in the Kulu military to handle the situation for ourselves."
Alistair nodded. That sounded reasonable. "Do we?"
It was the Duke's turn to nod, although his expression was slightly uncertain. "Probably, Your Majesty, although between checking the Kingdom for a demonic population and the rebuilding of Ombey, that does mean that our forces are stretched awfully thin."
"Do you think that there are vampires loose in the Kingdom?"
The Duke shrugged again. "Probably not, Your Majesty, but we can't afford to assume that that is the case. The Harris File provided us with a point of reference as to what to look for, and AIs are monitoring crime reports. Currently, there have been no matches, but the watch must be maintained - possibly indefinitely."
"Have you sent a message to Ione to confirm this?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. However, it was Tranquillity itself that responded, claiming that she was 'unavailable'."
"Probably sleeping off a hangover," Alistair commented with a smile. Like everyone else, members of the Saldana family enjoyed the opportunity to enjoy a night on the town. The fact that barely a week went by without at least one of the young royals having to be bailed out from a police holding cell for being 'drunk and disorderly' was probably a small price to pay. After all, it showed that the rulers-to-be of the Kingdom were just as human as the people they ruled over.
And it actually served to make the Saldanas more popular, so long as they didn't disgrace themselves too badly.
Bringing the conversation back on-topic, Alistair continued, "Have law-enforcement agencies been given the necessary equipment to deal with any vampires that might be present in the Kingdom?"
The Duke nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty, along with ISA. Hopefully they won't be required." The ISA - Internal Security Agency - was a combination of secret police and Kingdom-wide law-enforcement agency, and was the subject of nasty rumours. The fact that about two-thirds of the rumours had been started by the ISA themselves to act as a deterrent was probably one of the Agency's more closely held secrets.
"I agree with the sentiment, but it would be a rather large failure in my responsibility to protect the population of the Kingdom not to be prepared for the worst."
"I understand, Your Majesty."
"Is it just me, or have things started to get quiet of late?"
That was a question that all of the Slayerettes had been pondering for the past couple of days, but which Alex had been the first to actually ask.
"No, Alex, it isn't just you," William replied. "I wish I knew the reasons behind the decline in the numbers of vampires and demons encountered by the patrols, but it's a mystery to me."
"The level of activity on the vampire and demon front is picking up, though," Amanda put in. "Jonsson's still abducting people and turning them. He's got to be keeping his new minions wherever he's holed up, though, and it can't be for any good reason."
"A competent Big Bad," Alex muttered. "Great. That's all we need. Why can't this guy have flaws just like everything else we've defeated?" he asked, somewhat plaintively.
There were some chuckles in reply to his last comment, but they were strained. Even though it had been five days since the bombing of Slayerette Headquarters - and the deaths of their friends - the emotional wounds were still gaping and raw. The surviving Slayerettes had thrown themselves into their work with a grim enthusiasm that both impressed and alarmed the police and newly-arriving military elements.
Impressed, because when the Slayerettes accompanied a patrol, that meant that no vampire or demon that was encountered survived the experience.
Alarmed, because the Slayerettes were riding emotions that made them throw themselves into a fight, regardless of the odds. They'd had a number of close calls where only the presence of backup had ensured that they'd survived at all, let alone without serious injury. Both Edgar and Henderson had spoken with William regarding this disturbing tendency - as he seemed to have more control over his emotions, and wasn't actively patrolling, instead co-ordinating the research efforts - and he'd said, "Yes, I know. But, surely, you've both been in similar circumstances yourselves?"
They'd both been forced to agree, and William had gone on to say, "What were your reactions in those cases?"
"Not all that different to theirs," Henderson had said, realisation dawning. "But, I was taken off active duty for a couple of weeks, so that I wouldn't get myself killed. In fact, I wasn't given a choice in the matter."
William had nodded at that. "Perhaps something similar can be done in this case, but their stubbornness might prove to be somewhat problematical. If Xander Harris comes to Earth, then that might give them an opportunity to take a short rest. Do you know if that is what is going to happen?"
Both Henderson and Edgar had shrugged. "We've been assuming that something like that will happen, but we can't say for certain one way or another," Edgar had replied.
"Going by the information in the Harris File, I'd say that he'd want to help out however he can," Henderson had said. "And if he does come to Earth, he'll be made more than welcome to provide whatever assistance possible - it'd be stupid not to, given his experience in that area. But like Luke said, we haven't been told if he's coming to Earth or not. In fact, we don't even know where he is at the moment."
William had nodded again. "That is true," he'd replied. "I suppose the only thing we can do is to wait and see what happens."
Dragging his thoughts back to the present situation, William heard Cat say, "Just what the hell is Jonsson up to?"
The patrol was moving through the run-down - even by the standards of Downtown - area, weapons ready and enhances senses working in concert with neural nanonic analysis programs to try to ensure that no-one ambushed them. Even though the squad of Marines and an almost equal number of police AT officers were mainly on the lookout for vampires, there were also Light Bringer sect members to watch out for, as well.
Frustration had been the order of the day, as the abduction operations carried out by Jonsson's minions had been entirely at random. The only consistent fact had been that they'd been carried out in areas where there had been a large number of people, both to maximise the chances of successful selection of victims and to cover their escape after taking their victims. Both the LAPD and Govcentral Navy had been run ragged trying to stop the abductions, although the newly-arriving Confederation Marines were proving to be invaluable, both to increase the number of patrols that could be made, and to allow brief periods of rest for the forces already present.
The patrol roster - drawn up with the assistance of the Slayerettes - was simple. Those personnel who had patrolled with the Slayerettes were split up and assigned to different patrols on subsequent days, to pass on what they had learned. This had the effect of hampering the building of teamwork among the patrols, but that was accepted as a necessary side-effect of spreading vampire-hunting knowledge as rapidly as possible.
Encounters, however, had been few and far between of late. Apart from the Slayerettes - whose reactions to the attack on their home base was beginning to worry even the soldiers - the only patrols that had actually ran across any vampires had been the ones lucky enough to be in the immediate vicinity of an abduction operation, and even then, they'd had to react incredibly quickly - almost to the point of being headed in the right direction almost before it happened - to stand any chance of making a successful interception.
And even in those rare cases, their response had been hampered by the necessity to attempt a rescue of the civilians that had been abducted. The vampires, of course, had been under no such restriction, with the smarter ones inflicting serious injury, rather than killing, the abductees, forcing the police and Marines to render assistance, rather than pursue the now-fleeing vampires. Since the survival rate of the vampires who chose this course of action was nearly one hundred percent, this tactic was becoming more common as more and more of the abduction teams adopted it.
The situation was, indeed, precariously poised.
And starting to slip in Jonsson's favour.
Jonsson studied the reports from his minions with some satisfaction. Apart from the setback suffered when the sects had attacked his previous headquarters, his plans were proceeding... well, as planned. He had to fight back a grin at that last thought. It wouldn't suit his image to start grinning in what could be seen as an inane manner, as Master Vampires simply did not indulge in that sort of thing. Gleeful and slightly maniacal laughter - possibly shading to near-demonic cackling - yes, but grinning would only serve to unsettle his minions. Sometimes that was a good thing, and served to keep them on their toes.
Wondering if their Master had lost his grip on his sanity, however, was not, as it might encourage some to consider the benefits of, say, sticking something sharp and wooden into his back one night, or possibly separating his head from the rest of his body.
Such plans would be doomed to fail, of course, but dealing with the situation would be... distracting, not to mention annoying, at a time when he could least afford to be distracted.
Returning his attention to the reports, he saw that his numbers were building up nicely, despite the sudden increase in patrols being run by the police and military. A detail attracted his attention - it appeared that some of his abduction teams, when confronted by the authorities, instead of futilely trying to stand and fight, had simply injured the people they'd abducted and broken contact.
Jonsson was forced to admire the initiative shown by the team leaders who'd first thought of it, and the detail of injuring, rather than killing the civilians they'd abducted. As they noted in their reports, the police and soldiers had broken off their pursuit to help the injured civilians. The loss of new additions to his forces was probably balanced out by the fact that losses among his forces had dropped.
The final item in the report impressed him greatly, though. As he'd been giving all of his attention to the strategic details of his campaign, he'd been unable to keep track of smaller details - such as the exact number of vampires he had under his command or part of other groups that had allied themselves to his cause, no doubt hoping for a share of the spoils, but half-expecting to be betrayed.
Jonsson smothered a snort at that though. Although betrayal and double-crossing was the precedent set in the past, he planned to honour the terms of the agreements he'd struck with the Masters of the other domes to the letter. If - when - his plans came to fruition, there would be more than enough power to share between them. Even though he planned on being the Master of the entire arcology - to start with, anyway - the Masters underneath him would have pretty much a free hand to run their domes as they wished, so long as they didn't come into conflict with him, of course.
But that was just to start with, of course. Later on, who knew?
Jonsson had to repress another snort. These mental side-trips were enjoyable, but in the end, they distracted him. Speculation regarding the future was all well and good, but there was no sense in getting ahead of himself.
According to the report, counting the groups that had allied themselves to him, he was now in command of over thirty thousand vampires. An impressive number to be sure, but any feelings of invincibility were sharply tempered by the knowledge that the LAPD alone outnumbered him by better than three-to-one, and were more heavily armed as well. And that was even before assistance from both the Govcentral and Confederation was factored in. In a stand-up pitched battle, he was sure to lose.
But he didn't intend to fight a pitched battle.
The tactics he was using now were guerrilla tactics - which shifted the advantage to him. Despite being grossly outnumbered and outgunned, the authorities had to cover everywhere his forces might strike, where he was able to concentrate on the places he really meant to be. To confuse matters further, he sent groups out on decoy missions, to gauge the likely reactions of his enemies to his provocations.
After four days of this, he felt he had enough information to move to the next phase of his plans. Looking up from the reports, he gestured in Damien's direction.
"Begin Phase Two," he ordered.
The leader of the vampire ambush group studied the Marine/LAPD patrol he'd been tasked with ambushing. They were alert, on the lookout for anyone - or anything trying to attack them, but a well-planned and -executed ambush always came as a surprise for the ambushees.
His orders - not that he would even dream of questioning them - seemed a little odd. Capture, if possible, rather than kill. That indicated to him that any prisoners taken would be either turned or interrogated... or possibly both, which explained why they'd been issued with cortical jammers and sense-overload ordnance in addition to maser carbines, TIP pistols and Bradfield chemical-projectile rifles.
The patrol was entering the kill-zone of the ambush. Just a few more seconds...
NOW!
He raised his maser carbine, took aim at the lead Marine and squeezed off a shot. As expected, it had no effect, but it did serve its purpose as a signal.
The first notice of the ambush the patrol received was that shot, as the vampires had managed to evade detection.
That shot was quickly followed up by a rain of sense-overload ordnance. Military-grade neural nanonic filter programs provided some protection, but the sheer volume meant that none of the police or soldiers escaped the effects. Disoriented, dazed and with the patrol commander unable to issue timely and effective orders, what happened next was inevitable.
The follow-up to the sense-overload ordnance came in the form of solid projectiles fired from Bradfield rifles. Valency generators in the combat armour prevented serious injury, but the kinetic energy imparted by the projectiles was still enough to send their targets sprawling. With the level of confusion now at its maximum, the vampires followed up with their assault.
Swarming from the buildings they'd launched their ambush from, the vampires overran the confused police and soldiers, giving them no time to recover. Although each member of the patrol fought back as best as he or she could, the resistance was sporadic and uncoordinated, and one by one, they were clubbed into submission, with the vampires fighting to subdue rather than kill.
The fighting wasn't one-sided... but it came close. By the time the last Marine had been clubbed to the ground, five of the patrol were dead - three killed in the opening barrage, and two more in the swift, brutal melee - and seventeen vampires had been reduced to dust. <Not too bad, all things considered,> the ambush commander thought.
What happened next would have confused any hypothetical observer. The vampires not only hauled off their prisoners to whatever fate awaited them, but they also carried off the bodies of the dead soldiers and police, and even the remains of their own casualties.
That was part of Jonsson's plan, however. Instead of leaving undeniable evidence of what had happened at each ambush site, the intention was to create uncertainty as to the exact fates of the soldiers and police who had been captured.
Up until the point where they started appearing alongside vampires, of course.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Colonel James Anderson, recently arrived in Los Angeles with the remainder of his brigade, bellowed the question, causing people to stop what they were doing and stare at him in amazement. Seeing that he was the centre of attention, Anderson glared at them, defying them to make a comment. No one took him up on the unspoken offer, returning to whatever it was they had been doing.
Getting no reaction from the staff in the room that had been converted to a field headquarters, he turned towards the Slayerettes, who were present to offer advice. "Matthews," he growled, "you and your mob are the ones with experience with this sort of situation. What the hell is Jonsson up to now?"
Alex assumed that the question was intended for him, rather than Amanda. "Impossible to say, sir," he replied, causing Anderson to start spluttering. "Before this, every other Big Bad we've run into has been powerful, but bloody stupid. That isn't to say that they didn't give us some fairly nasty moments, but their plans tended to self-destruct, which made it easier to stop them."
"And that is relevant to the current situation, how, exactly?" Anderson ground out.
"Because Jonsson seems to be about as smart as everything else we've faced put together, sir," Alex replied. "As his sudden shift in tactics - to something like guerrilla tactics - shows. But I get the feeling that ambushing patrols is only the start, sir," he added.
"Shit," Anderson muttered. "That's all we bloody well need; a smart enemy who knows guerilla tactics. What's known about him?"
William stepped forward to field this question, as it covered an area that was his field of expertise. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot to cover. "Not a lot, unfortunately, Colonel. All that is known for sure about him is his name. We think that he is approximately four hundred years old, and has killed Slayers in the past. Apart from that, nothing else is known, not even when he first arrived in Los Angeles, or which vampire was responsible for turning him."
Anderson was appalled by the lack of solid information. "So, to sum up, he's smart and powerful," he said, and then snorted. "I could have figured that out for myself."
The reason for Anderson's mounting fury was the fact that over the last four days, over two hundred patrols had been ambushed and, apart from a handful of patrols that had enjoyed far more luck than they had deserved, simply vanished without a trace. Follow-up patrols to the same area had found nothing to indicate what had happened to them - not even vampire dust, which meant that either the vampires were taking it with them, or no vampires were being eliminated.
Both possibilities were alarming. The first, because it indicated a level of thoroughness of planning that rivalled the Marines', and the second because it meant that the patrols were being swarmed by such weight of numbers that fighting back was impossible.
Anderson couldn't let that put him off, however. Historically, in a guerrilla conflict, the advantages had been with the guerrilla forces, with their flexibility and holding the initiative overcoming the fact that they were nearly always outnumbered. And reinforcements were on the way, with another battalion due to arrive the day after tomorrow, and a brigade a day after that. Sure, it'd mean that more senior officers would arrive to take command, but that was fine by him.
And then there were the soon-to-arrive Confederation and Edenist forces as well, which should make things interesting enough that he was kind of relieved that someone else was going to take over this nightmare. He wasn't looking forward to the public reaction to the arrival of the first serjeants, which was supposed to happen in some time today.
His musings were interrupted when he noticed that the Slayerettes were being handed a message flek. If their surprised reactions were anything to go by, it was interesting news. He briefly pondered whether or not to ask, but the decision was made for him when he announced, "It seems that Xander Harris has arrived at the O'Neill Halo and will be reaching the surface tomorrow."
The name seemed familiar to Anderson, and then it clicked. The Harris File... he must be talking about the person who provided the information for that. "I assume you'll be meeting him when he arrives, then."
"Of course, Colonel."
The train drew to a halt, airlocks at the end of each carriage mating with the airlocks on the platform, and a synthesised voice announced, "This train has now arrived in Los Angeles, where it is terminating. All passengers are required to disembark."
In the lead carriage, Xander got to his feet and stretched, more out of habit than anything else. The trip had been much quicker than he had expected for a voyage of almost five thousand kilometres, and the seats had been extremely comfortable. Suddenly, he was nearly overcome by nervousness.
"You alright, Xander?" one of the officers he'd shared the carriage asked him.
"Yeah," he replied. The officer obviously didn't believe him, but didn't pry. As he made his way to the nearest airlock, Xander couldn't help but wonder how well he'd adjusted to his new environment. Sure, Joshua and Louise had done their best to help him, but the amount of help they'd been able to give was limited by the fact that neither had spent much time on Earth, and that Norfolk was light-years - literally and metaphorically - away. <Best take it as it comes,> he thought.
As he stepped from the carriage, the first thing he noticed was how... stark... the station was, with only the occasional potted tree and concession stand providing splashes of colour. Then he noticed the black spheres buzzing around like insane hummingbirds. On closer inspection, he saw the text scrolling across their surfaces.
"Transit informatives," a voice said from next to him. At Xander's quizzical expression, the officer clarified, "They tell people when the next train is due in, where it's going - that kind of thing."
"Got it," Xander replied. It made sense. Then he noticed the birds flying around near the roof, but before he could comment, he saw the people waiting in a group.
<For me?> he thought dully. <Nah, can't be. They must be here to meet the newly-arrived troops.>
That assumption was proved to be wrong, when a man who appeared to be in his mid-to-late twenties stepped forward. "Xander Harris?" he asked, and when Xander nodded, added, "My name is William Goldsmith. Welcome to Earth."
The young man stepping from the first carriage could only be Xander Harris. The fact that he was the only one not wearing military uniform was a mere detail compared to the fact that he matched the image stored in William's neural nanonics.
William stepped forward. "Xander Harris?" he asked, more out of politeness than anything else. When Xander nodded dumbly, looking more than a little overwhelmed at the situation, he added, "My name is William Goldsmith. Welcome to Earth."
He had to suppress a small wince at the way that sounded more than a little melodramatic, but it was said, and nothing could be done about it. Forging on, he continued, "Allow me to introduce my companions. To my left are Catherine Piper and Elizabeth Baker, the two Active Slayers, and to my right are Alexander Matthews, Govcentral Marines, and Amanda Matthews, Los Angeles Police Department."
"And I thought we'd been a mixed bunch before," Xander muttered, before snapping out of his dazed state. "What's the situation? I got told some of the details on the way down - and that was a fun trip, by the way - but not a lot."
"Grim," Cat replied, taking his arm and leading him towards the vehicles that would take them to the Sunnydale Dome. On the way she explained the situation, helped by Alex, Amanda and Liz. Xander's expression changed several times, before settling on amazement mixed with horror.
"You have got to be kidding me!" he managed eventually.