Final Attempt Aside Buffy By Suika Roberts _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ isn't mine. _Sailor Moon_ isn't mine. _Super Dimentional Fortress Macross_ isn't mine. Digital Equipment Corporation is dead, so it isn't mine. "The Wombat" isn't mine, either. This story, unfortunately or not, is. I whirl, about to stake the vamp behind me, when he is yanked out of my reach. `Leggo!' the vamp yells, struggling to free himself from the small Japanese girl holding him. She seems to be staring through him, somehow. After a moment, she turns to me, `This is a vampire, isn't it?' `What else could it be?' I ask. `I wasn't sure. How many of these things are there in Sunnydale?' `If you give me a chance there'll be one less.' `Let me try a healing on him first, OK?' `Who are you?' `Leftenant Oosaka Naru, Dark Kingdom Special Police. That's,' she points with her chin, both hands full, `my wife, Ginga Natsumi. I'm looking for an area with a high magical density to place a factory.' She closes her eyes, and the vamp stops struggling, slumping in her grip. She frowns, her face twisting, and frowns a little deeper still. After a moment the vampire turns to dust in her hands. `It didn't want to be healed,' she tells the other woman, who is a little taller than she is. `What is it? It felt like a composite.' `It is, well, was. It reproduced by using the victim's death-energies to power spawning an offspring, and the victim's body and brain to provide the support structures. That allowed it to keep most of the energy for itself.' `Ick,' Natsumi says, then turns to me, `You are something special, ain'tcha.' - `I'm supposed to learn how to fly one of those?' I look at the plane dubiously. `It's recommended that a member of the Special Police be able to fly any of the Dark Kingdom's fighter craft. Makes gathering an intervention team easier,' the young man smiles, `Besides, it's fun.' `If you say so.' - `Today, we get to take you up for real. We're going to be flying a Julia trainer,' Jim smiles, all cheerful-like. I hide my groan, and follow him towards the dressing-room. - `No, you go in the front seat. The back has the override controls.' `OK,' and I lever myself into the cramped cockpit, `Now what?' `Now you taxi us out of the bay, then take off.' `What if I hit something?' `I'll witch at you, and it'll come out of your salary.' `That makes me feel so much better.' - `Now, we come to one of the more difficult ones to handle, the Wombat.' `Why is it called a wombat? It looks like a Cobra Mamba from G.I. Joe.' `There is a bit of doggerel: THE WOMBAT The wombat lives across the seas, Among the far Antipodes. He may exist on nuts and berries, Or then again, on missionaries; His distant habitat precludes Conclusive knowledge of his moods. But I would not engage the wombat In any form of mortal combat. Amusing, isn't it?' `I suppose,' and doesn't address the issue of its design. - `Hey, you've made it this far, time for your last new craft, the venerable P-71 Cownose,' the woman operating the sim lab today says cheerfully. I look at the flat little craft on the monitor, `It's an interceptor?' `Yep. Northrop designed them for stopping bombers by cutting off the tails, but they lost their prototype and test pilot, and were having financial problems at the time. Genom resurrected the design,' `Meaning Mizuno Ami.' `Yes. Anyway, the design was resurrected, updated, and built in the early summer of '93, making it the oldest Dark Kingdom fighter.' `Prone pilot?' `Yep, into the simulator, please.' `All right,' I groan, slipping into the little cockpit, and fastening the straps, with a little help from, I read the nametag, Mihoshi. She continues to chatter as the centerfuge spins up to operating speed. - `Sorry 'bout that,' the large girl says, the light gleaming for an instant off her badge, `But you should have asked for backup, Deputy.' I groan, still rather out of it, `What happened?' `You bought it, but we managed to work out a refund,' Naru says, looking at a pile of dust. `And the Master?' `He's not getting one.' - With a groan of stressed metal the Mandelbrot launches from the catapult, set for my remarkable G-tolerance, which is still barely 30 Gs before I start to grey out. A ful third of Mandelbrot pilots have higher tolerances, being Ctholon or Trifid. I've been told that my tolerance will increase with my skill in the Art. I shake such distracting thoughts from my head, and follow my wingleader though the gate. My target scope goes wild, and I drop six LRMs, as per SOP. They'll chose the six largest targets without a friendly IFF, and attempt to blow them into little bits. Most of the time this is nearly useless, since they are following several hundred others. SOP is useful this time -- one big ugly, probably a battleship by the debris. One AU, eight light minutes. Earth to the moon, six light seconds. Edge of the Sircam formation, three light seconds, and closing. I cut the throttle back to zero, and continue evasive maneuvers. In the formation. Fifteen seconds of select target, fire, repeat, and I'm out the other side. Finish swinging the ship around, throttle to three hundred and fifty percent. Fourty-five Gs make the world go grey. I count backwards from fifteen, lose it at eight, dither a few seconds, then jerk the throttle back. `Zero eight, zero seven,' I manage after a few moments. I start evasives again, run the throttle back up to two hundred percent, thirty Gs. Half a light-second to the enemy fleet. The fleet is much-reduced, too, approximately -- I hit the computer for a target count, nine hundred to start, four hundred now. Most of the losses were fighters or fighter-decoys. The number suddenly drops, the computer having removed the remaining decoys, to two hundred fifty one. Two fifty. My second pass through is slower, the fleet spreading out, diluting the massed firepower they'd brought, which was perfect for use on an early-atomic culture, but bad for survivabilty now. I only get a fighter this time. At the edge I shift the Mandelbrot to Gerwalk, jerking myself forward against the harness. I choose a battleship, tag it as mine, and dive in. Half an hour later they're down to a single battleship and a small herd of fighters, but the stupid things still won't talk, or surrender. I blow another fighter, and my scope goes wild. `That explains it,' I mutter into the open comm channel as another hundred large fighters or small capitol ships drop out of FTL. `Fuck,' someone else says softly. I nod in silent agreement, and wrench Audrey around, targetting a carrier. - Four hours later, hungry, queasy, tired, and low on reaction mass, I call for a gate out. The battle is winding down, the Sircam retreating, after losing thousands of ships, mostly fighters, but still. Audry gives that familiar shake as we gate into atmosphere, the gate spell taking care of the massive velocity difference. Clearance is called up, I land, and to my spot in hanger 457, and let the engines fall silent. The crew cheif gives me the thumbs up, saying that Audry is tied down. I extend the ladder, open the canopy, climb out, and barely have enough time to get my helmet visor up before I start to dry-heave. - `There is good news, and there is bad news,' the medic smiles just a bit. `Good news,' I tell her. `You aren't pregnant.' I fault, not having expected that answer at all, `And the bad?' I manage after a bit. `You have developed a sensitivity to the high powered rotary spells used in Dark Kingdom fighters.' I parse for a moment, `I'm alergic to my plane,' I pause, and she nods, `How bad is it, and how bad will it get?' `Can you feel the Mandelbrots outside?' I nod. `And the ones gating in?' I nod again. `Pretty bad, then. Do you get queasy when you fly?' `Yeah, but not in the simulator.' She nods, `This is the first time you threw up?' `Yep. Longest combat mission I've been on, though.' `That was the trigger, I'm fairly sure. Most of the people who got to this point kept flying. The nausea and vomiting became more severe, and within sixty-two hours to six months, they reached the point where just being within four kilometers of an operating Mandelbrot makes them sick.' `Most?' I ask hopefully. `We've had a dozen cases. The first six and three of the others are at that point. One of the last three shifted to piloting a corvette, and the other two to atmospheric fighters. My face, I'm sure, has fallen like a cake. I attempt to rally, `Can anything be done?' `Not now, nor anytime soon,' she takes my hand, `This isn't the end of the world, though.' `I know,' I cut her off before she can continue, `That was scheduled for last month.' `Can I get you any help?' `Yeah, I'd like to research my options for a bit.' `I'll have someone get in touch with you, Deputy Summers,' she squeezes my hand, then lets me go. - `Here you go,' the supply officer says, handing over three gold ten-pointed stars, a handful of silver five pointed ones, a gold three point, and a couple silver dots. `Thanks,' I tell her, and shake the bag speculatively a moment, wondering how many lives this set represents -- thirty three capitol ships, five fighters per dot, twenty-five per star. I shake that from my head. - `Just sign here,' she proffers a pen. A Cownose. Enough credit after my bonuses for a house in Tokyo. A nice house in Tokyo. A maintenance contract for five years. All mine, If I sign away Audry. I close my eyes, take the pen, open them, and sign quickly. `I'll go say goodby now,' I tell her. `Take all the time you need,' she says softly. `Thanks,' I say, my eyes misting up. She shakes her head, `It's no trouble.' - I lay my head against Audrey's flank, standing on the boarding ladder, feeling the tears leak down between us, wondering why it hurts so much -- she is, after all, only a machine, and not a very smart one at that. After a while I pry myself off, pat her gently, `Be safe. Don't think I'll see you again, but I'll never forget you,' I realize just how corny that that was, and laugh, `No matter how cliche that was, it's the truth. Have fun, too, OK?' I wipe my tears, hop off the ladder, and looking back only once, walk out of hanger 457. - `Hi,' Willow chirps, a happy smile on her pretty face, which falls when she gets a look at me, `What's wrong?' `Nothing, really,' I tell her. `Liar.' `Really, nothing that should be bothering me this much.' `But it is, so tell me,' she gets that look out, so I cave. `Dark Kingdom engines spells make me sick. Allergies of some sort,' I watch my fingers clench around each other, `The medic said that if I keep flying Mandelbrots being within kilometers of one will start making me lose my lunch.' Willow, having been subjected to hours of me talking up the joy of flying a fighter, understands, `That's awfull - what can they do?' `Right now, nothing. I'm the 13th case,' I drop my head to the table in front of me. `So they can't change the spells or devote too much effort towards finding a cure,' she pauses, `Are you grounded?' she asks, gathering me up into her arms. `No, they offered me a choice, a Cownose or Corvette pilot school.' `Corvette? Why would you need a class to dri-' she catches herself, `Sorry, wasn't thinking there. One of the thirty k-ton behemoths?' `Yeah. They can out-fly most fighters, but they're so _heavy_,' I tell her shoulder. `Not at all like a fifty-ton fighter plane,' she says, a little smile in her voice. `Not at all,' I smile, pulling myself gently free, `A fifteen-ton, wet, Cownose.' `Wet?' she asks, reaching out to stroke her fingers through my hair. `Full of fuel. Dry she masses barely a ton and a half.' `And her engine spells won't mess you up?' `No rotary magic to her at all. She can't operate outside an atmosphere, but . . . ' I shrug, just a bit. `It's better than not flying?' she finishes for me. `Egzactly,' I smile at her, `Sorry 'bout crying all over you like that.' `No, you needed to tell someone.' `Tell someone what?' Cordelia asks. - We gate into the canyon just far enough north of the bridge to glimpse it before we're under and gone. We follow the Rio Grande south, low and fast. The first two teams have already come through, headed further south, to Holloman and Cannon air force bases, have already gated in, twenty minutes earlier. The last team, for Los Alamos National Labs, will follow us in a little bit. Just minutes after we gate in, we're over Cochiti lake, a wide spot in the river, then pop up, over the dam, then back down to the river surface. My team slows a little from barely subsonic. The well-memorized bridge at Bernallio tells us we have a minute and a half to our turnoff. Up the shallow breadth of the northernmost end of the North Diversion Channel, then dropping to single-file as it narrows, under I-25, dodging pillars at almost every bridge. Bank hard, impossibly stiff wings flexing, right after the bridge for I-40. I bank the other way, rounding the other curve, then flash under then next bridge. Under the pipe, then up. One of the tail pilots starts cursing as her plane disolves into a ball of flaming kerosene. I follow the street up, just under the stoplight, across the University campus, students startling at our approach. The street reappears, and broadens. Seconds later, we come to a big street, and break into wings. I lead my two wings towards Sandia National Labs and the other interesting targets. The other three and a half wings head straight, one to take out the east-west runways and new control tower, one for the north-south runways and old control tower, and one and a half for Kirtland Air Force Base's aircraft. A ten-round burst from the lower two .50s strafes across the main buildings, the two-gigagram yield rounds rocking us in flight, a single uneven mushroom cloud forming. Sixty seconds later we regroup, heading south, and I call for a gate out. The centerfuges spin down with a whine, and everyone unstraps and climbs out for the AAR. `Miranda,' I ask, `You keep buying it right there.' `The currents are a little funny there,' the sim-tech says, `Particularly for the tail pilot. We'll run you through it a few times, so you can get it down, OK, Mira?' Miranda smiles back, `Please!' The sim-tech bats her eyes at her. - We run the course a few more times, getting it perfect -- all targets destroyed, no losses -- three times in a row. One of those was in a blizzard, and the other a thunderstorm. All this practice on a single target is making me wonder. - We fly it for real, today. We launch at five, getting there at just past seven, when everyone is relaxed . . . The first two teams are taxiing into place at the catapults while I check what I've been loaded with. The lower two guns have the bright cases and dull reasuring feeling of paint, not the heavy feel of plasma, or the sharpness of high explosive. Five hundred rounds each. The upper guns are loaded with 1-2-1-1, one plasma, two high velocity anti-tank, one high explosive, and one tracer. Thousand rounds each. I close the access panels, the last thing on my checklist, and climb in. My crew chief checks my belts, and gives me a thumbs up. I push the throttle a little forward, and the engines spin up to taxi me out. - The catapults are hooked up, and we wait, one minute, three, five. The launch order comes through, and I slam the throttle forward as the catapult surges, blood trying to pool in my toes under the accelleration. Off the runway, throttle back to cruise, and gate through. Everything goes according to the sim, modulo the use of paint rounds rather than HE. Down the canyon, along the river, over the dam, through the city, barely subsonic, seven great blue-painted ray-shapes behind me. We've splattered all of our targets with green paint before they start to react, despite our flying with reflectors out and only minor attempts at stealth. We gate out as ATC starts to yell for air cover to be launched. On the other side, the radios are full of `Mission successful' `Horned Lizard,' that's my team, `What's your fuel situation?' `Half-full.' `We're gating you back. Sixteen nations launched or are launching ICBMs. You're going to be intercepting on launch. `The marines will be on station in another thirty seconds, so we shouldn't have too many incomers, but,' ATC trails off, `Good luck,' the girl on the mic says, slightly harried. We'd practiced this, too, but not as much. I run the throttle forward just past cruise, and we gate through. We split, separating into wings, and look for targets. Doors are opening in the grass below us, fat cigar shapes rising on columns of smoke. They look like Pershing IIIs, so we're probably over America somewhere. Gentle caress of triggers, short two and three round bursts from the upper guns, and the first dozen disolve into clouds of shattered metal and flaming solid propellant. I pull an Immelman -- a half-loop, putting me upside down and facing the way I came, followed by a half-roll, putting me right side up again -- and streak back across this missle field. Three more launch, and I get one. `Gate at XP357628. Hurry,' the FC's voice is urgent. The single coordinate means the opening faces the gate we came in from. The flight computer traces a path across the HUD, the blue line shifting to deep red at the point of the curve, 60Gs, near my tolerance with the prone pilot's position in a Cownose. I don't take it, tracing a tighter line, with more of it at high G. The rest of my team follows, barely five hundred meters from me to the tail pilot as we go through. Gathering dusk and a quick glance towards the location indicator tell me we're over the Ukraine. My scope's alive with rapidly escaping blips, and I roll the throttle on to chase them. `Alpha, with me, Bravo, stop further launches!' `Ryoukai,' the flight choruses, and I put them from my mind, concentrating on the blips that are no longer escaping, but aren't closing fast enough. A few quick taps on the aux board tell me what I expected -- Thor is busy with other things. I flip up the blue cover, and press the button under it. G forces disappear, and I hold the button down, airframe shuddering, the blips closing, closing, *CRACK* Sounds from behind the cockpit, G forces slam me forward against my harness, and I belatedly release the button, turning to catch the missles as they pass. Curving yellow traces show where the low-velocity rounds will hit, and straighter green the HV rounds. I fire a burst, catching one of the missiles, the HV rounds cutting through, then the HE's proximity fuse blowing it to pieces. The safety interlock kicks, preventing me from firing for an instant, until one of my team gets out of line. The HE seem to be working best, so only one round out of five seems to be effective, but we catch all but one of them. I priority-tag it for Thor, and a few seconds later its blip turns into a little red star, then vanishes. `Horned Lizard, status?' I ask. `One, fuel low, ammo low.' `Two, fuel one third, ammo low.' Everyone replies. I toggle the freq, `Flight Control, this is Horned Lizard, we need refuel and rearm,' Refueling can be accomplished in-flight, using miniature gates. Ammo resupply still takes hands-on access, on the second-line fighters anyway. `Horned Lizard, this is Flight Control, situation has stabilized, return to base for debrief.' `Roger, Flight Control. Get us a gate.' `VR256547. Flight Control out. `Horned Lizard, out.' - That was really rather scary. I stare at the wall, thinking about what I just did, what we just did. We counted coup on the world, and then destroyed hundreds of nuclear weapons when they launched in panic after that. This isn't just some game, but real end-of-the-world stuff, and I helped cause it. We'll be picking up little bits of nuclear material for years after this. I pull my knees up to my chest, and rest my head on them. - My Cownose slips easily out of her hanger, and I climb in, checking my helmet straps again, before calling for permission to take off. The tower quickly grants it, a privalege of flying out of a small airport, and I taxi to the end of the runway. The blood pools familiarly in my feet as the afterburners hurl me even faster down the runway. - `So, you were called when Buffy here died?' Natsumi asks. `Yes,' Kendra tells her. `Hmmm,' and Natsumi moves with surprising speed, suddenly holding something red and drippy, as Kendra sags, `ten one thousand, eleven one thousand, twelve one thousand, thirteen one thousand--' `Anne! Put it back!' Naru yells, and I suddenly realize just what the woman holds in her hand. `fourteen one thousand, fifteen one thousand,' and then, other than the large puddle of blood, there is no sign the other slayer had ever been hurt. `What?' Kendra mutters. `My wife pulled your heart out in a rather rude experiment,' Naru turns towards Natsumi, `So, what did that tell you?' `She's not a slayer anymore,' Natsumi shrugs, `So maybe there is only enough of that to run two slayers at once.' - `What are you doing?' I ask Kendra. `Training,' she tells me, continuing to balance on the tips of her index fingers. `Is it working?' `Maybe.' - I turn, forced by something, as I hear the door open. Walking in, accompanied by an older woman, is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I blink at the thought, wondering where it came from. `Hey,' she says, walking up to me, `I'm looking for a Buffy Summers,' and she smiles at me. `That's me,' I tell her, and glance up as someone else walks in, a young man who moves with the almost inhuman grace of one of the Special Police. He nods to me, and I almost bristle as he smiles at her, but fight it down. She smiles at him, and a tightness grips my chest, then she turns the smile back to me, `I'm Faith, the new Slayer. This,' she nods to the boy, `Is Hikaru. He's a bodyguard or something,' `Backup,' the young man says, `King's orders. Captain Hikaru Sulu, at your service,' he bows low, gesturing like he has a big, floppy-brimmed hat. `And,' Faith smirks a little at him, `Queer as a two dollar bill, sorta like me.' `Oh?' I ask archly, surprised by the way the tension in my chest melts, `Two dollar bills aren't terribly queer.' `Neither's being gay,' she replies, and I suddenly realise she's settled herself next to me, almost in my lap. I gulp, `I don't suppose so,' and pull back, suddenly realizing just how close to her I was. She pulls back as well, and the older woman makes a soft noise. `Oh, and this is my Watcher, Elizabeth.' - `So,' Kendra growls, `You're the new Slayer,' she steps in closer, pressing into Faith's personal space. I step closer, then stop myself. `You don't seem so hot,' and she strokes a hand through Faith's lovely brown hair, hair that I've not touched yet, a move not at all appreciative, `Care to spar a little?' `Yeah, I think that would be fun,' and Faith smirks, a smirk that looks almost like it was copied from Saotome Ranma, confident to the point of arrogance. - `So, did that knock you back a couple notches?' Kendra gasps, flat on her back, instants after they called it a draw. `Yeah. You?' Faith is still upright, but probably only because she is leaning back against a post. `One or two.' - `Ahh,' Faith whines, as I peel her shirt off, and out of the shallow fabric burns that the shirt caused. I trace the outline of one of the rubbed spots, which is as big around as a basketball, `This was from when you went sliding across the park, and almost killed that poor little ash tree,' and then another, `And this was when she slammed you into the ground from the top of the swing-set,' and the final one on her back, `and this was when she drove you back against the fire-hydrant,' unable to stop myself, I let my hands trace their way to her belly, and my nose presses to her undamaged shoulder. `What happened there?' she asks, softly, her hands covering mine softly. `Nothing.' `Oh. That's good,' and I can hear the smile I can't see. - `Oww,' she moans, stiffly shifting against me. `You should know better than to go up against skilled martial artists for six rounds at your level,' I tell her, rubbing at the tense muscles I can sense, bundled tight from strain. `I'm competent,' she mutters, emitting soft noises of pleasure as my hands continue to rub her back. `Barely. I'm almost skilled, and I wouldn't go up against her with her ticked off like that.' `Why's she so,' she pauses, `Ruffled?' `She was called when I died going up against the Master,' I pause, to work on a particularly difficult knot of muscle, `and, after training her entire life to be the Slayer, gets her heart pulled out less than three weeks later.' `She looks pretty good for having had her heart ripped out.' `Natsumi put it back, but the damage was done.' `So she isn't a Slayer? I was sure she was, from the way she hit.' `Nope, she's just been training really hard.' `That's too bad, it would be nice to have more of us.' `True, but the Special Police help has been really helpful.' `I don't get that,' she turns, presenting her mostly bare chest for my inspection. Probably that isn't the intention, but it is the effect. `What?' `That the Thought Police of a place with a name like that are such goody-goodies.' `They're not thought police.' `Then they didn't read your mind during your "evaluation"?' `Naru-chan did. I trust her to keep my secrets.' `Why? I kinda trust Hikaru, but, still, it gave me the creeps.' `Because I understand why they do it. Do you trust me?' I look into her eyes, trying to figure out just what shade they are. `Yes.' `Why?' `You're the Slayer. The other one, at least.' `And?' `Everyone else around here, at least everyone worth considering, does.' `Do you trust Naru-chan?' `Yeah, I do.' `Why?' `I just do. She's Special Police, and you trust her.' `Precisely. King Serenity led the final raid on the Dark Kingdom, in the early spring of 1993, attempting to rescue one of her friends, as well as put an end to the threat that the Dark Kingdom represented,' `Threat? The Dark Kingdom? Policeman of the world, savior of Africa, fireman errant?' `Yeah, but that's after King Serenity took over. Anyway, Beryl, the old king, had allied with an alien, mystical force known as Queen Metallia. Half of the raiding party took out Metallia's focus,' `Focus?' `A lump of rock that provided her bond to this world. Anyway, half the party destroyed the focus, and the other half went to rescue the friend, who'd been brainwashed. Naru-chan was part of the force who destroyed the focus, and when they got to Beryl's throne room Serenity had just managed to break the conditioning on her friend. `Beryl didn't react well, and fired some sort of crystal at him. Three people tried to block it, but it splattered the friend all over. He was dead,' `What's this thing about death anyway? Dark Kingdom healers say they can't bring back the dead, but they seem to do it all the time on the news.' `There is a difference between dead and dead, y'know?' Blank look, slight squirming under me, `"Only the Dead May Bring Back the Dead", but you're not really dead unless your brains have been splattered all over the room, your heart has been stopped at room temperature or higher for over twenty minutes, you've been cooked, or frozen solid.' `So those people in "cryo" are dead?' `I suppose so. `As that may be, Serenity's friend was dead, all splattered, and she just got upset, and took Beryl's head off with the King's Sword,' She makes an inquisitive noise. `It's a Nodachi, a giant Katana, about three meters long. The king of the Moon Kingdom can call it at will. I shrug, `Under the laws of the Dark Kingdom, to succeed to the throne of the Dark Kingdom one killed the previous king in public, open, acknowledged combat. The king of the Dark Kingdom was an absolute monarch, who's whim was, literally, law. `So Serenity stood on the dias before Beryl's throne, Beryl's body cooling at her feet, and abolished the old laws, and imposed the Rules,' `That sheet I got from Hikaru?' `You shouldn't hit people without permission, and all that?' `Yep.' `Yep.' `Kinda short, ain't they?' `That's the point. The police only enforce the Rules, and everything else is at worst a Recommendation, which is enforced through social pressure, boycotts and ostracism.' `Hows that work? I mean, they've preasured the US into decriminalization, and we've adopted their drug recommendations.' `They trust their citizens. We trust their tax numbers, near as I can tell.' `And the fact that the hundreds of thousands of people that the Special Police have "rehabilitated" are still keeping their noses clean doesn't hurt, I'd guess.' `Probably. But the Special Police are chosen because they are highly skilled, generally calm, fully trained in healing, and more trusted than the general run of citizens.' `So why are you a Deputy?' `'Cause I'm pitiful at healing. I can barely set a broken bone, let alone heal a papercut.' - `How did they manage that?' Willow asks, looking at our Social Studies teacher, who'd just mentioned the exception for DK/US citizenship. `King Serenity stopped the Shnell, remember, last year? That was one of the concessions she asked for after saving Washington DC. They granted that, but haven't ratified the EDT yet.' `EDT?' Xander asks, and Willow looks concerned at his ignorance. `Earth Defence Treaty, establishing a United Nations Space Navy, to protect . . . ' - `When was the first documented alien invasion?' `1912,' Faith drawls, `But if you mean space alien,' `Pancho Villa doesn't count.' `The Trifid scouting party in 1938, followed by the Fifty-Sixers.' `Can anyone elaborate on that,' she pauses, `Other than miss Spencer?' `The Fifty-sixers are called that because they were the invasion force that arrived in July of 1956, trashed a lot of places, and went into a healing trance to try and fight off the opportunistic bacteria. In much of the world they were gathered and burned, but in the US they were packed into barrels, marked with biohazard signs, and stored. `In 1988 radioactive sludge sterilized several of them, killing the bacteria and allowing them to awaken. They proceeded to disinfect several hundred of the other Fifty-Sixers, and attempted to take over the US. `They infiltrated high levels of government, contacted the rest of the Trifid force, and got a little too cocky. `At that point the Ctholon found out what was going on, and Bedem bioweapons took out the upper Trifid echelons. When the main force arrived the Ctholon were waiting with their full force, at that time consisting of thirty one powered armors, fifteen giant robots, and two dozen fighters, against a fleet of six hundred ships, eighty combat vessels and the rest transports. `When presented with the option of either facing destruction or assimilating, they chose assimilation, and have been, on the whole, very productive citizens.' `Thank you, miss Summers. You brushed upon the next documented space alien invasion, the Cthulu . . .' - `What do the rules say about that,' Faith presses my shoulder, and points at the gaudily dressed girl loitering on the corner with her chin. `What one does with ones own body is ones own business, but the Rules mean that pimps and madams have to walk a narrow line, and the Recomendations on sex-work makes that line even narrower, as well as putting some limits on what one can do as a normal sex-worker.' `And what about those people who do this because it's the only work they can find?' `King Serenity would rather have them on the dole than doing sex-work.' `How many people does she have on the dole?' `Last check of the role was sixty thousand.' `Out of?' `Almost a billion Citizens and Provs.' `Provisionals?' `'Zactly.' - `That's kinda queer,' I mutter, as Amy walks in on Kendra's arm. `What?' `Of my circle of nominally straight friends only three are still nominally straight.' `You only had six nominally straight friends,' Faith tells me. `I only had ten friends, total.' She gives me a tight hug. - `I got it,' Faith tells me triumphantly, dropping something on the table in front of me. `What?' I ask, picking up the item, `Your driver's license?' `My motorcycle endorsement,' and there is something under the happiness. I cup her shoulder in my hand, `What is it?' `Papa used to take me riding,' her eyes shine, just a little. I cradle her head against my shoulder, and don't mention how wet it is getting. - `Hey,' Angel says, appearing, as usual, apparently from nowhere. `Hey,' Faith tells him, giving tall dark and brooding a quick hug. I slug him in the shoulder, softly, `What's up?' `Trouble.' - `So,' Giles says, as Naru, Natsumi, and a short girl with her hair buzz-cut, listen from the sides, `We have a wannabe demon who's been mayor of this town since its founding, who's seeking to become a god. And he's invulnerable.' `No one,' says the short-haired girl, `Is invulnerable. It is just a matter of how hard it to kill someone. He recovered instantly? Or after a moment? Where did you cut him?' `Slashed him across the chest, no blood, and the slash healed within thirty seconds.' `Cut his head off, put his body in a box, and interrogate him. If he breaks, good, if he doesn't, we can always just drop him into the Sun, and that'll take care of him, most likely.' `Sounds good to me, Usagi. You?' Naru turns to me. `Me and Faith can't take him on our own,' Although with Hikaru and a couple others we should be . . . `I can help,' the short-haired girl, Usagi, stands, and I recognize her, and the way she moves. Usagi Tsukino, Olympic Bronze Medalist, one of Saotome Ranma's "better students", `Rei-chan'll be here tomorrow, and she'd prefer if I waited 'til she could watch my back.' I look at Faith, who nods, `That'd be fine.' - Rei is also Japanese, also even shorter than me, also fairly cute, and also recognisable. She was with Usagi at the '94 Olympics, gave her a hug and kiss after her performance. She's also nice, wrapping each of us in a hug as Naru introduces us. `And this is Faith Spencer, the other Slayer, who's saved several of my workers from hassling, as well as helping deal with the local invaders.' Faith accepts her hug with remarkable grace, and an almost panicked look to her eyes. `Hey,' I touch Rei's shoulder, `So you are a martial artist, too?' `No, I'm a Shinto priest,' she lets Faith go, `But I've trained a good bit in the Art.' `Wow,' Faith says, and there's actual intrest in her face, `Doesn't that intefere with you and,' she pauses, glances at Usagi, and actually blushes. Rei laughs, `Nope. No vows of chastity for me, but I do have prohibitions on edged weapons and intentionally spilling people's blood.' `So, what does a Shinto priest do?' - `How many?' Usagi asks the Sailor, Mercury, I think, who's watching the town hall through some sort of visor. `Twelve, eight vampires, two something else, the Mayor, and a human. Or at least I think he's human,' she mutters under her breath, `I don't like this. I don't like you going in like this,' she looks hard at Usagi. `I'll be fine. Rescue code is "Joan Crawford".' `Gotcha. We've got a full party on standby.' `Good,' she turns back to us, `Layout, Mercury-chan?' `Here,' and a fully 3D map of the buiding appears in the air before us, the vamps a reddish shade, the Mayor black, the human a pale pink, and the two something else in purple. `Everyone grok your com sets?' `I do.' `Yep.' `Got them.' `Good. The flash suppresor might also be useful, so leave it on.' `Gotcha,' I tell her, flipping the contraption, which looks a lot like an older set of Oakleys, down over my eyes. `We can just stake the vamps, right?' `Yeah, I think so,' Rei tells us, `I don't sense enough of the original person in any of them to be worth the attempt,' she frowns slightly, then shakes her head. `So, in the front door, knock pink on the head, stake the vamps as we go, then confront the Mayor and the purples when we get to his office?' Faith nods towards the ornate front door. `Yep,' Naru, dressed like something out of a bad SF movie, answers, the large gun hanging in the air over her left shoulder twitching to follow her gaze. - `Chikusho!' Usagi cusses, dodging the Mayor's sword-blow. I kick him in the head, then duck under an attack by the left-hand lackey. I'm not sure what they are, they look mostly human, but aren't. `Down!' Naru yells, and I drop, touching my hand to the ground. My hair lifts over my head, drawn up by the hot air of the blast. The lackey I was going after disappears, along with a fair spot of the back wall. Quick chanting from Rei draws my attention, and a strip of paper with strange characters on it is pasted to the other lackey's forehead, and he drops, moaning, to the ground. The Mayor, suddenly realizing he's badly outclassed, as well as outnumbered, grabs Faith by the neck, lifting her a little off the ground. She kicks and claws at his wrist with her hands, to no avail. I freeze, paralyzed with indecision. Usagi cuts his hand off at the elbow, a giant sword that I hadn't seen in her hands, her clothes changed to a grey uniform with black piping, and takes his head off on the return stroke, Faith having fallen to her knees and out of the way of her swing. I blink, and suddenly I can see what, now that I know, was obvious all the time. `My liege,' I start, and she turns on me. `None of that. Let's get that hand off her throat,' and she grabs the head, which was trying to wiggle back to the body, greatly hampered by the fact that it only had two vertebra and its mandable to attempt to move with. I gasp, and wrap my fingers around the mayor's hand, and then Rei is there, a serrated-edge knife in hand, cutting his tendons across the front and back of his wrist. `I thought,' Faith gasps a moment later, `You had prohibitions against edged weapons.' `This is a tool,' she says, `and, if you notice, there's no blood spilled.' `Nice loophole, then.' `Sometimes,' she smiles. `Mercury, mission successful. Come take posession of the body.' `Gotcha.' - `To Richard Wilkins, may he rot,' Giles raises a toast. `I hope not. I hope he never manages to get all of his atoms back together again, though,' Naru rubs her head, `If I'd known he was a murderer and thief it woulda made setting up the plant so much easier.' `But then we wouldn't have met Buffy that night,' Natsumi says, softly touching Naru's face, `most likely, anyway.' `To us,' Faith offers, raising her glass. `To us,' comes the ragged echo, and eight glasses clink together. - `Why are we here?' `To buy a Guzzi,' Faith tells me, walking around the dingy, dimly-lit shop, filled with gleaming machines. `Why do you want a Guzzi?' not that I can tell the difference between motorcycles. `This,' and she fishes a yellowed envalope out of her jacket pocket. I take it, and read the careful block-printing, obviously not Faith's, "Papa's Guzzi money, don't let Mama find it" `Papa,' she continues, `Always talked about how he wanted a Guzzi. Whenever he'd see one, he'd stop to admire it, and when I was with him he'd tell me about what made that one special. Papa had been saving for years, when he died, he had $800 in there.' I blink, shocked at how vulnerable that makes me feel, the tight feeling in my chest, and hug her tightly. After a moment I calm, `So, which one do you want?' `I want a V11 Sport. I've got eleven thou of my own money, and Papa's $800, and they have one 1996 model left. She's the green one, over there,' she points. She looks like a motorcycle. Two cylinders, set at 90 degrees from each other, perpendicular to the direction of travel. Shaft drive, fairly flat across the top, un-comfy looking pillion seat. I don't tell any of this to Faith, however. - `So your roommate was a demon?' `Yep. A fairly nice one, but still a little hard to deal with. Much too Orderly.' `Toldja you should have roomed with me, or at least Will.' `Yeah, but Will wanted a room to herself, in the same hall as Amy, so they could do magic stuff together. Then Amy and Kendra got back together, and Amy's hardly been seen since. So Will's willing to move, if you dont' want to . . .' `I'd be happy to,' she smiles, hugging me tightly. `Cool.' - She looks miserable. She acts guilty, and just isn't the girl I thought I knew. I walk up, thumping a little to be sure not to surprise her, and wrap my arms firmly about her, not letting her go when she tries to pull away this time. `Tell me what's wrong.' `You'll hate me too,' she sound so . . . `Too? Who hates you?' `Me.' `Why?' `While you were off training, last week?' Oh, if that . . . `Yeah?' `I met this girl,' she pauses. `Mmmhmm?' I prompt, relaxing a little. `and she was just so,' `Mmm?' I hug her a little tighter. `I kinda,' `It's OK,' I rub my face against the back of her neck. `seduced her.' I let out a relieved sigh, `She didn't hurt you, did she?' `No,' she says, her voice strange. `Did you hurt her?' `No,' and I recognize the strangeness as amazement. `Then why are you so worried?' `I didn't want to lose you.' `You told me, even if it took a little prompting. It's cool, but don't do it again,' I hug her tightly, `Not without permission,' she turns and looks at me, eyes wide, `and preferably not without my participation, OK?' `What? Why? How?' `That way I can watch out for you, keep you safe.' `Why are you doing this?' `What was she like?' `Blonde, taller than you, taller than Will, actually, curvy, rather soft.' `And why did you?' `She seemed so,' she pauses, `So needy. So we talked for a little, she invited me back to her room, we sat on her bed, she kissed me, felt me up a little, and I felt her back, and after a while she fell asleep in my arms.' `See, that's why,' and I smile at her, snuggle closer, kiss her on the lips, secure in her love. - `You wouldn't believe,' she whispers in my ear, her arms wrapped firmly about my waist. `What?' `Tara, the girl we talked about,' I nod, `Is quite touchy-feely with Will. They were doing the whole look at each other and blush thing over breakfast this morning.' `Uh-oh,' I mutter. `What's wrong?' concern colors her voice, `I thought you'd be happy to see her getting things together again.' `Yeah, but that means I'm down to two nominally straight friends.' `Giles and Xander?' `Yep. Even if Elizabeth is pretending she and Jenny don't fall into bed with each other every night they are both in town.' `Hmm. It's kinda sad that they got stuck with reconstructing the Watcher's Council.' `They're the only Citizens on the council, other than Giles, and with the mess the research teams left . . . ' `Yeah, someone has to clean up the mess, but it'd be nice if they had a little more time together, then maybe they wouldn't be so furtive about this.' - `So, you now have a third nominally straight friend!' Faith whispers in my ear. `More like nominally have a third,' I mutter, and she pokes me in the ribs with a finger. `She's not that bad. Naru even likes her.' `At least a little, but still, something rubs me wrong about her.' - `Hey?' Willow asks, stepping close to me. `Yeah?' Willow looks to Tara, who nods, a slightly forced smile on her face, then Faith, who looks as confused as I feel. Then she steps even closer, takes my face between her hands, and kisses me on the lips. - `Argh,' I manage, `What happened?' `You fainted,' Faith tells me, a little bit of amusement in her voice. Something about that bothers me. If Faith is in front of me, who's chest am I pillowed against? - `You really should stop fainting like that,' Tara says, a little to my right, fingers the right size to be hers rubbing my hand. `What the fuck is going on?' I ask, pulling myself forward, away from the remarkable softness of. I blink, and focus on Faith, who's smiling, and holding my left hand, and rubbing my side. `Willow was trying to tell you that she loves you in a way you wouldn't misunderstand,' Faith smiles, a little crooked. `You weren't supposed to faint,' Willow says, wrapping her arms around my belly, and pulling herself close to my back. - `So,' Kino Makoto, Olympic Gold medalist who'd signed an autograph for Tara, says, `You told this girl that she'd turn into a demon when she turned twenty, treated her badly, and did your level best to ruin her life.' `I wouldn't put it like that,' the man, apparently Tara's father, equivocates. `How would you put it?' Makoto's partner, a tall pale woman, probably Ctholon, named Ifurita, inquires. `He was just trying to do what was right!' Donny answers for him. Ifurita rocks her head to the side, a strange smile on her face, `You shouldn't lie to the Special Police, especially about violations of the Rules.' - `Hey,' I join the others in holding Tara, and press my face to her neck. `Thanks,' she says, and brushes a few strands of my hair back. `I didn't do much, I just passed a request for someone with demon experience up the line.' `For Makoto's signature as well,' and she cups my cheek in her hand. - I rub my face against the gear door of _my_ new F-23B. `What,' Willow asks, `Is this?' `This,' Tara says, keeping her hands linked behind her back, even though I can feel her desire to touch my beautiful fighter, `is a Northrop/McDonnel Douglas/Genom F-23B Black Widow II. Seven tons dry, twenty tons on a full load, supercruises at mach 1.6, and can reach mach 2.5 with afterburners.' `And that means?' Willow asks. `That means, she's the most wonderful fighter on the face of the earth,' I stroke her belly, `Unlike the mainline Dark Kingdom fighters, she's only magically built, as oppossed to magically powered, so she is much more stealthy. Any magically sensative person can feel a Mandelbrot operating within five miles, a Sierpenski in a mile and a half, or a Julia within three. With a Black Widow, the only magical signature is that of the hekero,' `Hekero?' Willow interupts. `Hemp based kerosene. Cheaper than real kerosene, chemically almost identical, but with a bit of a magical signature, because the hemp is grown on Wonderland, and processed there. Where have you been?' Tara asks, poking Willow lightly in the side. `When did you become a mecha freak?' `I've always been one, I just never had cause to show it to you before.' `Oh,' and Willow kisses her. `Anyway, the large magical signature of the mainline fighters means, for me, that I can't fly a Mandelbrot, and even a Sierpenski will make me sick within a few hours of flying.' `So that's why you fly a Cownose?' Faith rubs my shoulder. `Well, that and the fact that I find them kinda cute,' I smile up at her, and she gives me a kiss. After we break it off, I point at my F-23B, `She wants a kiss, too.' Faith laughs a little, but stretches up on her toes to give her a little kiss under the chin. - `How much do you take in, anyway?' Tara asks, noticing my pay stub. `Enough to keep Heliconia fed, but just barely. If I didn't do most of my own maintenance, I wouldn't have enough.' `Wow. Are all of you paid so little?' `That's after the garnish for Heliconia, and Ms. Beaky won't be paid off for a few more months. I'll have more discretionary funds after that.' I smile, an almost rueful expression, `Besides, you know how much fuel Heliconia burns. Even with the discount, that's still a large chunk of change.' `True,' she smiles, and wraps me in a light hug before kissing me. - `Can I hang this up?' Tara asks, brandishing a poster. `Sure, just don't move any of Faith's Guzzi pictures without asking her.' `Thanks,' and she is just so happy. I follow to see what she's hanging up. She wanders the whole of the house, pausing occasionally to contemplate bare spots on the walls, before finally chosing one. She unrolls her poster, which is of some great big jet. `Hold this corner so I can get it straight.' `OK,' I press it to the wall, `What is it?' `XB-70 Valkyrie. Mach three bomber prototype, built in the late sixties, originally to use some strange boron fuel, which they couldn't make work, so they canceled that bit. They also couldn't manage a bomb bay, so they were just research craft. They stopped flying the remaining prototype after one of the escorts bumped the other one and knocked it out of the sky.' `Wow. What's with the wing tips?' `It used compressive lift to ride its own shock wave. Very cool, apparently not as usefull as it could have been.' `Why do you know all this?' `I've always thought most fighters and bombers are just pretty. My dad and brother thought it was "inappropriate", so I lost a couple prize pictures, cut from old National Geographics. That kept me from hiding any of the pictures of cute girls I'd thought of saving, so I suppose it was a good thing.' `How awful,' I give her a one-armed hug, still holding my corner of the poster. She hugs me back, then impales her poster with a thumbtack, `Kinda. Mizuno-san said she'd look into building me a B-39, though, and that would make up for quite a lot.' `B-39?' I must sound like such a doofus. `Flying wing bomber, just barely post world war two, never actually produced in quantity. Northrop.' `Oh! It was to have four big turboprops, with counterotating propellers, but they couldn't get the turboprop to work well enough, so it had problems. Those are kinda pretty.' She gives me a wonderful gooey look. - `Ick,' Tara says, washing her hands again. Faith laughs, holding her own oily black hands out of the way, `You did volunteer.' `Yeah, but I didn't realize how much greel could come off of such a small machine.' `She does look a lot better now, though, doesn't she?' `Yeah, I suppose,' Tara rinses her hands, then steps back, snagging a towel to wipe them on. Faith pumps hand cleaner onto her hands, then asks, `Regretting it?' `No, just wondering when we can go for a ride with this new toy you've found me.' `Just as soon as we dress out,' she turns to look at me, `You coming, Buff?' `Gotta finish this physics homework,' I scowl, `Next time, perhaps?' `OK,' Tara tells me sternly, `But you have to come out and admire my newly-clean Guzzi.' `If you insist.' `I do.' `Have you named her yet?' `No, I keep discarding names,' she looks at me, `What's the V11's name?' `Faith told me it is a secret.' Tara glances up at Faith, an amused look on her face. - Tara's Guzzi, somehow smaller than Faith's, and older, if my guess is right, looks much better for having been washed and her faded paint polished. The pale green paint looks almost nice. `I keep coming back to Sarah, though, so maybe, if she's bitchy enough, that's what I'll call her,' Tara smiles, the skin around her eyes crinkling cutely. `Why's that?' Willow asks, touching her shoulder. `Ex,' Tara says, then points at Faith with the chin of her helmet. `What? Faith?' she pauses a moment, then, `Oh, you want me to ride with Faith.' `Yep, I still feel a little nervous, so I'll worry less that way.' `OK,' she gives me a hug, `Do your homework.' `Yes Willow,' At least Faith's Guzzi's pillion seat isn't as uncomfortable as it looks. - `Sarah it is,' Tara says as she walks in, setting her helmet and gloves on the table next to my text. `Oh?' I turn to look at her, glad to escape the last problem for a moment. `Yep. Not only is she kinda high maintanence, she's cranky, too.' `Hey, that's not quite fair,' Faith says, `She's a good ten years older than you are,' `So was my ex,' Tara fairly glows, `but I like this one much better. Thanks,' and she gives Faith a hug and grope that leaves the slightly shorter girl blushing. `Hey,' Willow says, then gives them each a pinch. - `Shh,' I murmor into her hair, `What's wrong?' `Nothing,' she whimpers, still crying. `If you don't tell me, I can't fix it.' `You can't,' she presses her face harder to my neck, `even if I did.' `Maybe not, but it might help to tell someone,' `I, I, I,' she pauses, `Willow, she doesn't have any t, time,' she starts crying again, `Shh,' I breathe into her hair, rocking the taller girl gently. `For me, anymore. We're never to, together, just the t, two of us.' `Have you told her?' I squeeze her a little tighter, then relax. `Yes.' `What did you say?' `That I missed her, that I wanted to spend more time with her.' `That seems like it should be blunt enough. How'd she react?' `She, she gave me a kiss, and then ran off,' she sobs a little, rubbing her face up and down, clutching me harder. `That's kinda rude,' I press my cheek against the top of her head, `Probably you weren't blunt enough. How about we both talk to her, would that be OK?' `Yeah,' her tear-stained face reappears, and she leans in for a kiss. - `Look, Will, yes, Tara loves me, and Faith, but she loves you more,' Tara makes a protesting noise. `It isn't anything to be ashamed of, it's the way people are, but it is something to be acknowledged, rather than glossed over,' I pause, taking a breath. Willow cuts in, `I haven't been,' `Will, you've spent more time with Hikaru recently than you have with Tara.' `I have not!' `Yes, you ha, have,' Tara sounds miserable as she says it. `I love you too, Will, but you can be terrible about time.' `I'm sorry,' Willow looks miserable now, and she gathers both of us into her arms, `This last month has been horrible, and I let it out on you,' she pulls back a little, focuses on Tara, `come to dinner with me?' `Sure,' Tara smiles a tremulous, tear-streaked smile. `Buffy,' `Yeah?' `Thanks.' - A pole-arm is swung towards my head, and I grab it in the palm of one hand. Its wielder lets go, and I stagger for a moment, getting my balance back as the heavy shaft tries to pull me off my feet. I swirl around to face the person who swung it, and block a rapid strike, an identical weapon in my opponent's hands. She strikes again, nearly knocking me off my feet, `Pretty good,' she smiles, reddish brown streaking her black hair, startling blue eyes sparkling up at me. `Saotome Ranma, right?' `Got it in one. These are for you and your friend Faith, Ami-chan thought they'd be useful.' I take this as a sign that I'm supposed to examine the one in my hands. One end is a black, wood grained material, the other silver. From the weight, the shaft is Duranium, the military spec stuff with Neutronium mixed in, inlaid into that are three panels with the distinctive crosshatched pattern and the queer magical feel of cold-worked old asteroidal iron. `Blessed silver-plate Duranium, inlaid cold iron, jet maple stake on one end?' `Got it in one. The jet maple is first growth, from the new enriched plantations on Tempest, and tougher than a steel blade.' `Wow. It still has the magical feel of wood, though,' I murmor, stroking it. `Yep. This should work on most of the nasties you run into, and it'll do a real number on any mundane threat as well. You both do know enough hidden weapons to stash these, right?' `Think so,' I pocket the thing, stuffing the whole two meters and hundred and fifty kilograms of spear into nowhere, `Kinda barely,' I admit, shaking a little. `Practice makes it easier,' and she smiles that smile, the one on all of the recruiting posters. I pull out a single autograph board, and hold it out with both hands, `Could you sign this?' She laughs, a black marker in her hand. - `You're listening to another no repeat workweek on DKM,' the VJ calls, and then the next video starts on the TV. `Watching videos again?' Willow asks. `Yep. They say MTV used to be like this,' I wave at the TV. `Probably not, it takes a real strange person to run all of the Godzilla videos one after another.' `Hey, I like it when they do that!' I protest as, on the TV, they finish playing the early '80s live concert footage version, and the Generic Metal Band version from the '98 movie starts. - `What's with the commandos?' Faith slips up behind me. `I don't know, they're hassling the local demons and vampires, but they've kept their mitts off the youkai, so I don't have a real excuse until someone asks for help.' `Hmm, hassling how?' she drops her chin onto my shoulder. `Most of the time, just zapping them with tazers and chasing them around. I haven't seen Spike in a while, though, so I wonder if they've dusted him or something.' `Why do you keep the blighter around, anyway?' I can feel the smirk in her voice at the intentional Britishism. `Several scientist-types are studying him, off and on, to see what can be done about 'im.' `Oh. I thought you just found him pitiful or something.' `That too.' - `Spike's back!' Giles actually sounds excited. `What's wrong?' `He's in my house, cowering on my floor, and whimpering about how he can't bite anyone.' `That's odd.' - `So the commando guys caught you, did experiments on you without anesthetic, and then you escaped,' Tara asks, hovering in her concerned way. `Yes!' he says, exasperated. `As a Dark Kindom provisional citizen, you could file a complaint, and we could go after them,' I tell him. I'm not so worried about the vampires, but some of the demons are OK people, and even the ones who aren't don't deserve this sort of treatment. `Or, since some of the demons you mentioned sound a lot like a couple of the ones missing, that's enough probible cause,' Faith mentions. I give her a gooey look, `Perfect. If they've hassled any of ours, we can take them down,' I look down at Spike, `I'm gonna contact some people, probably Gezundheit Prosthetic can get that chip out, and if they can't, Genom'll be able to make it less likely to prove fatal to ya, OK?' `Bloody hell, you just want to give them a chance to see what colour my guts are.' `Perhaps, but they'll put them back,' I fish out my DECtablet, unlock and press the power button to wake it up, then start poking at it, filling out the help request form. I still haven't had to use the button labeled "turned into frog." - Ms. Walsh vanished this morning. Riley, her TA, took over the class. He moves like he's one of those commandos. - `Hey Will,' I give her a kiss, then twist around to get one from Tara, `Tara.' Tara gives me the brightest smile. - `Where is this?' `Temporary training grounds, urban combat and martial arts,' Ranma says, her familiar arrogant smirk on her face, `Calcutta.' `Calcutta? There isn't anything worth keeping here, then, huh?' Kendra asks, having mellowed a lot over the last couple years. `Nope, this area grew up in the early thirties as a slum, and went downhill from there. King Serenity bought it last year, after the population density started to drop.' `How come?' I look at Harm, who continues, `The limitations were only introduced four, four and a half years ago, we shouldn't see the effects of the boys only policy for another decade, at least.' `Yeah, but the four-year spacing is global, remember? Coupled with the rather high mortality rate, and the riots that sprang up after the anouncement, India has dropped down to just over six hundred million people, with most of the losses in the cities, where things were worst.' `Oh, so that's why we have a slum to tear up, cool.' Willow looks posilutely gleeful at the chance. `Willow,' Tara chides. `What?' - I block a bokutou strike, the jet maple blade striking sparks off the duranium spear. I attempt to retaliate, swinging the massive weapon at inhuman speed, and Ranma blocks, easily deflecting three hundred kilos of moving weapon and wielder, without even moving her feet. I pull myself out of the shattered mud-brick wall, and lash out with a kick. She taps both sides of my ankle with the flat of her blade, then sidesteps a jab from Faith. `Pretty good,' she compliments, poking Faith between the breasts, the wooden sword just barely dimpling her skin. I sidestep twice, and lash out with another kick, collapsing a two-meter section of the wall, a few of the bricks flying straight at the pair of them. Faith ducks and rolls out of the way, and Ranma just turns and smiles at me, not even flinching when half an eighty-pound mud brick hits her right in the chest. Then she appears in front of me and pinches my nose, hard, pulling a little. `I yield, I yield!' I squeak, as she drives me to my knees. `Good move,' and she kisses me on the forehead. - `At least it's summertime,' Willow says, shivering, as she presses her snow-covered form against my back. `True. It can always be worse,' Faith mutters, not moving from where she's pressed against my side in our walrus-hole. I giggle slightly at the name again. `What is so funny,' Tara grouses, poking my hood with a gloved finger. `The walrus-hole.' `It ain't that funny to be stuck in a hole in the icepack, five feet from water that, if it had any sense, would be frozen solid, in Antarctica, even if it it is the middle of summer. It's still forty below, we're still out here, still stuck fighting with three billion other people, for no damned good reason,' Willow gripes, trying to burrow deeper into the pile. `Half of them are our team, and the exersizes do a lot of good.' `How?' Tara wiggles over me, and I realize she's getting a kiss from Willow. `They keep the other nations from getting stupid, and maintain readiness for the next group of aliens to invade.' `Why are they doing that, anyway?' Faith asks, sounding genuinely puzzled. `Nuclear weapons have a distictive FTL signature, and while the Trifid just needed someplace they could reach, most of the more recent groups have been attracted by that,' Tara sounds so lovely when she's being pedantic. `Oh. How long do you think it'll be until they stop?' `Projections range from five to fifty years,' Willow says. `Lovely.' - `Faith,' Willow is asking, from the pile, as I slip back in from checking the surface, `Why are you joining the Normal Police, anyway?' `Probably you've guessed, but I didn't have the easiest of childhoods,' I wiggle a hand under Tara, and cup Faith's shoulder. She twines her fingers through mine, then continues, `The first bit was pretty good, we weren't rich, matter of fact, we were pretty poor, but other than that, life was good. Then Papa died. It was a work accident, he stuck his head in a machine when he shouldn't have, and, well, that was that. `I was, maybe, nine when it happened,' I squeeze her fingers, and both Tara and Willow squeeze her a little, too, `Mom kept it gogether for a little while, but then she started drinking, and then,' she pauses, and I wiggle under Tara to be closer to her, `she started to bring home guys.' `Oh,' Willow gasps, and somehow shifts closer to her. `It wasn't as bad as it could have been, really. They just beat on us, and were verbally and emotionally abusive. Occasionally she'd have someone who'd be nice for a while, but he'd either get fed up with her drinking, or turn into a creep fairly shortly. When I was thirteen, Mama got put in the hospital for the first time, liver damage from all the drinking. She died in there, about a year later. That's when Satsumi, Rikoh Satsumi, of the Special Police, intervened. Got me out of foster care, where they were being abusive, too, but I was kinda expecting that, then.' I rub my face on her shoulder, the story not any easier to hear this time, and she continues, `Satsumi got me out of there, but she was mainly working to clean up the foster care situation in Massacusetts, and she handed me off to the Normal Police, and they assigned me to Matsudaira-sensei.' Tara squishes me into Faith as she hugs us both, `That's good.' `Yeah,' Faith reaches up, and hugs her back, `Matsudaira-sensei helped me get my head tied on straight,' she laughs, just a little, `Well, not quite straight, but.' Willow gets the pun, and giggles. Faith smiles, `He taught me {DKNL}, tought me the Normal Police moto,' Tara interupts with it. She actually manages to pronounce it right, even if she caughs a couple times right afterwards. `"It can always get worse",' Faith smiles, `That's what I want to do, work one on one with people, and make things better.' `And let other people take care of the big stuff?' Willow probes, gently. `Yeah,' she uses her free hand to touch cold glove to Willow's face, stroking her cheekbone lightly, `The big stuff, and the crooks, and the psychos,' she smirks at me. `Yeah, but that's so much faster to deal with.' I check the flag, then settle back into the pile, relaxing. - They both reek of gasoline. That is only to be expected, but still. Faith, somehow, doesn't. `How's the Ghia?' I ask. Willow rewards me with a brilliant smile, `She's fine. We just doused ourselves changing the old fuel hose.' Tara scowls cutely, `If we'd drained the tank first, we wouldn't have gotten a gasoline bath,' she chides, poking Willow. Faith smirks, `We've got most of the rubber replaced, now, and just need to finish putting her electrical system back together, and she'll be just a bit better than when she was new.' `How can you be sure of that?' I challenge. `That two liter motor, for starters,' her hands are a little grubby, but she keeps them off my white shirt, tangling them in my hair instead, `And paint technology has come a long way since 1957.' [yes, this is an old, horribly cute Ghia ^_^ --S] - `Fuck,' someone curses elegantly. `Bloody wonderful,' Giles is a little more restrained, `We dealt with the commandos, but their pet project got away. And he's really powerful, somewhat explosive, and we can't find him.' `Seems like.' `What about your friends in high places?' `He's magicly shielded. Nothing strange thermally in Sunnydale, but we have footage of him running into the woods north-eastish of town, and none of him coming out. There aren't any detectable tunnels out there, so he's probably holed up somewhere laying low, trying to keep from being seen.' `Are you sure it's him?' `Not many demon-cyborgs yet, and fewer still with polgara-demon spikes mounted on one arm.' `I'd heard that Thor was capable of extremely high resolutions, but that is remarkable.' `Thor can read a paperback over one's shoulder. And does, when one is outside,' Willow says, digging a cashew out of the bowl of mixed nuts in the middle of the table. `What?' Giles sputters, `How? Why? How is all that data dealt with?' `Three of the big A.I.s watch the feeds, and look for interesting things in it. Because we're paranoid. Precognitive spell-heurtistics determine where to aim the high-res telescopes, and everything is watched with the low-res ones,' Willow practically gushes. `Um. NtK, Will,' Faith chides, gently. `I'd say that Giles needs to know, so it's OK, but I'll check, anyway,' her DECtablet is out, and she's typing away at its keyboard. After a moment she looks up, `Yep. Fine, as expected,' and her DECtablet vanishes again. `Anyway, how can we find this thing?' Tara drops her head onto her crossed arms on the table. `He'll surface, again, and all of Sunnydale is being watched with the high-res 'scopes. The demon population are mostly citizens now, and most of them are off at Basic, so we'll get to run around and check up on any strange demonic activity patterns. Shouldn't be more than a week or two before we find him, and then it is simply a matter of pounding him into unconscousness before he can self-destruct,' I say, firmly. Spike and Angel nod, then glare at each other. - `The precogs said you could use some reinforcement,' Tsukino Usagi says, waving at the small crowd of young women coming through the gate. After a moment they resolve themselves, Hino Rei, Kino Makoto, Ifururita, and Kalia, Mizuno Ami and the Ctholon woman she's been seeing, Clarence or something, Ten'ou Haruka and, um, Kaiou Michiru. The others I don't recognize, at all. Introductions are made, and names are placed with faces. The pink-haired girl is called Em, no other names given. The short gothling is Tomoe Hotaru, and apparently Ten'ou and Kaiou's daughter somehow. The tall, dark-green haired woman is Meiou Setsuna. The two youkai are Betsy and Mulligan. I somehow manage not to smirk at that last name, but she looks a little dissappointed. - `I don't believe it.' `What?' `That we'd rate all of the current Senshi,' Willow gestures roughly. `What do you mean? I mean, I know that Usagi and Rei are special, but the rest are just inner circle.' `No, they're the senshi, and their girlfriends.' `How do you know?' Tara asks, grabbing Willows hand. It had started to bother me too, but. `Makes sense. The heights are right, and the power levels we felt,' Faith says. `Oh?' I ask archly. `Yep. Usagi is Moon, and KS. Rei is Mars. I'm glad we have good bug-proofing--' `Checked before I started ranting,' Willow says, letting Tara's fingers out of her mouth. `Anyway, Mizuno is Mercury,' `She was in town when we dealt with the mayor, wasn't she,' I interupt. Faith raises an eyebrow, then continues, `and Kino is Jupiter. Ten'ou and Kaiou,' Tara breaks in, `Uranus and Neptune,' then blushes. `Yep. Tomoe would seem most likely to be Saturn, and one of the others is the ever elusive Pluto.' `And Em is probably chibi-Moon,' Willow says, dropping something on the table. I note the careful way she handles it, and that she watches where she points it before I realize what it is. `She gave you that, then?' `Yep. Said I'd need it, I said.' `Huh?' `She said that I said that I'd need it.' `Oh. Time travel. Ick,' I make a face. `Probably. Touch it,' she says. No one else moves for a little bit, so I pick it up. At first I think it's a model 1911a1, but then I realize it isn't. The slide is back, no magazine, nothing in the chamber. Willow nods slightly in approval of my caution. After a little bit I give up trying to read the script on the slide, it looks like {DKNLS}, but isn't. `What does it say?' `Moon Kingdom Armory, Colony 13. Model P-12. Manufactured in the tenth year of the fifty-seventh dynasty, fourth kingdom.' `That's ten million years ago,' Tara whispers, just loud enough for us to hear. `Yep. The barrel was re-plated on the inside about a million years ago, but other than that, it's original. So are these,' and she drops something else on the table, four boxes labeled in the same archaic script. On top of that she sets another box, clear, only half-full, stenceled in a different script entirely. `Are those?' `The script is Second Protoculture. I think a few of them,' she taps the box over the eight rounds segregated from the rest, `are First Protoculture.' `That's a billion and a half years ago.' `For the Second Protoculture stuff. If these,' she taps the box again, `are what I think they are, they're nearly three.' `What do you think you'll need them for?' `I don't know, but Em said that I should have a clip of these on me at all times.' I blink. `That's pretty nasty stuff to be carrying at all times.' `Yeah. Thank Eris for hidden weapons, or even the simplest magics would be beyond me, even with only the gun.' `I don't know, if you worked it right, the coldness itself could help power the magic, and disrupt everyone around.' `I guess that's what this is for, then,' and Willow hands Tara a small wrench. Tara gasps, and almost drops it, `Wow. What is it?' `Nine billion years old. Found on Colony sixty before the terraforming began.' `Wow,' she gives Willow a hug, then Faith, then me. - *The author must appologize for the delay -- the fight with ADAM just doesn't grab my attention, and I can't remember why we need the whole crew for it. It happens, and they probably drag ADAM, kicking and screaming, off to be reprogrammed, and posibly rebuilt into something less ugly. Maybe one or two of those extremely cold rounds got fired. Things settle down again quickly, but some of the Sailors hang out for a little while* - Faith settles her chin on Willow's shoulder, her arms wrapping around to hug her loosely around the chair. Willow pats her hand absently, `Why? What good does it do to have powers so strong that you can't use them?' she asks the pretty young gothing, Tomoe Hotaru. `I can't use them on Earth, most of them. As an Outer Senshi I'm tasked with fighting foreign attackers. An attack which will destroy a small country on Earth will only destroy a few ships in space, if they're properly dispersed.' Em strokes her girl's hand with a thumb, `And the most powerful attacks aren't intended to be used except under the most dire of situations.' `Most dire?' I ask, and feel Tara nod behind me, her lap and arms warm and safe as always. `If we ever lose the Sol system, or any of our others, I'm to wait until we've evacuated everyone, and put out the sun behind us.' `What?' Willow gasps, then blinks, and nods, `With any luck you'll catch a significant part of their forces in it.' `Luck has nothing to do with it,' Hotaru shakes her head sadly, cuddling close to Em, `Unless they've already destroyed the biosphere beforehand, I'll be a worldkiller. I don't want that.' `I wouldn't either. Are we powerful enough to gate whole planets?' Hotaru sits up suddenly, frowning, and sets a DECTablet on the table, sketching and speaking in rapid }OMKL{, the syllibants teasing at the edge of my ability to translate. After a moment, she turns to Em, `I've got permission to try it. Come?' she stands, and holds out her hand. `Anywhere,' Em agrees readily, and lets Hotaru pull her to her feet. `Good. Transform,' Hotaru orders, and holds out a hand, `Saturn Crisis Power-' Em stands as well, `Moon Crisis Power-' `Make UP!' they call together, and the enegetic reaction swirls everyone elses hair and pretty much blinds us for a moment. `We'll be back in a bit,' Sailor Saturn says. I nod, blinking spots from my vision. `We'll be here,' Willow says. - `Heh! It worked!' Sailor Chibi-moon gloats, her arm around Sailor Saturn's waist mostly supporting the drained young woman. `What worked?' `Europa doesn't have anything living there, but it's got most of what it would need, if it was a little warmer, so . . . ' `You moved Europa? Where?' `Venusian orbit, or that's where it should stop in a couple weeks.' `Wow.' `It should be on the TV soon, then,' Willow says, smiling, `Someone's going to be throwing a fit!' `More than one someone,' Faith says, `They won't know where it came from for a few more hours yet, but they should already know where it went.' `Good for you,' I say. `Thanks,' Sailor Saturn says, with a tired little smile. - --- log: 3167/Chaos/40: started. 3167/Chaos/43: continued. 3167/Chaos/46: continued. 3167/Chaos/54: ed/additions 3167/Discord/14: additions, fixed a date problem. 3167/Discord/20: added a little. 3167/Discord/44: added a bit. 3167/Discord/45: editted a little, added a little 3167/Confusion/10: added a little 3167/Aftermath/34: added a bit, after leaving it for a month. 3167/Aftermath/40: added a bit more. [I think I may have lost some additions, or mis-yeared them :( ] 3169/Confusion/49: added more of what I wrote during Basic 3169/Aftermath/41: Finished with what I wrote during Basic. 3171/Chaos/72: Decided to just bag the plotline I'd forgotten, and go back to writing the parts I enjoy ^_^