FicWad

- A Call-To-Arms -

13

Starbase McClintock hung gracefully over the planet of Nari-Vair resembling a colossal man-made mushroom. Similar in design to the Spacedock in Earth's orbit, though it was only two thirds of the size and lacked one of its two mushroom 'head' sections. Deep inside the structure, in the command centre, approach control took the helm from the Rutherford's Conn officer, guiding her through the huge spacedoors and into the heart of the structure on aft thrusters only. The sleek form of the Rutherford slipped through the hollow interior, passing vessels old and new, and was steered automatically to the station's central column where it slowed to a crawl and parked alongside the hulk of the larger Enterprise.

"Looks like we're the last guests to arrive at the party," Lieutenant Commander Danil Oom observed from Ops as he powered down the ship's computer systems.

Within minutes of docking, once the long pressurised gangway had been securely locked in place, her crew had been granted a brief shore leave. But her captain had been less fortunate, as he was called immediately to the admiral's private meeting room.

*

Starbase McClintock was the third largest port-of-call within Federation space, and saw more traffic than any other starbase that was within a week's travelling distance. Consequently, the admiral in command of that station was the official spokesperson for Starfleet and the UFP this side of the Alpha quadrant. Therefore, it was with a sense of trepidation that Freeman now moved through the station. First by transporter - directly to the pad nearest the admiral's office - then by express turbolift, and now walking briskly along the corridors.

Something BIG was going on. Something to do with Earth, no doubt. Something worrying. Something so worrying it had Starfleet in a flap, scrambling to action. Freeman knew that once he'd got all the details and was given his orders, he'd be back in his element. But this ...the waiting to find out what the deal was ...the nervous tension that was building up in his gut. It was more than he could tolerate. And this feeling had been gradually intensifying since the admiral's call over 2 hours ago.

Freeman came to a slight bend in the sparse corridor that led him into a small area decorated in utter contrast to the sections of the Starbase he had seen previously. In a room more in the style of a starship captain's office, a young woman in unofficial uniform - the admiral's personal clerk - sat behind a mahogany desk with computer panels built expertly into the wood surface.

The second she saw him, the admiral's clerk indicated ahead and told him to go on in.

Inclining his head in thanks as he passed her, Dave entered through the two large doors as they parted for him. Each bore one half of the Starfleet insignia frosted into glass. He found within, sat around the far side of a large antique conference table, two balding men whom he recognised and one bespectacled man he didn't.

The private office was even larger than the bridge of his own ship, and was decorated in subtle shades of beige, with a wood panelling running the circumference of the oval-shaped room from floor to waist height. Other than the top-notch conference table and the over-luxurious desk, the focal point of the room was, without a doubt, the row of eight floor-to-ceiling windows that opened the office up to an incredible view of the docking bay area. Work-bees and EVA pods - even men in suits - flashed across the scene, all hard at work on the massive vessel that sat directly under the windows. The U.S.S. Enterprise.

Admiral Wheeler approached him with his usual air of confidence. The man was probably much younger than he appeared and, although the dome of his head was thinned to near baldness, the horseshoe of hair that ran from ear to ear was still a delicate shade of blond.

Wheeler shook Freeman's hand firmly and spoke with the speed of a confident man with little time and much authority. He was clearly used to talking. "Welcome, Captain. Sorry for the terseness of your visit, but this is rather critical. You're late, by the way. I was expecting you half an hour ago. Needless to say we saw fit to begin the meeting without you." He handed Dave a PADD. "Picard's report," he said. "I suggest you read it at your earliest convenience. May I ask what kept you?"

"It's all in my report, Admiral," Freeman replied and handed Wheeler a PADD of his own.

"Excellent," his superior said, and discarded Freeman's report PADD nonchalantly onto his desk. "Captain Dave Freeman - Captain Jean-Luc Picard. I'm sure you are aware of each other. This is Mr. Rupert Giles."

Freeman and Giles acknowledge each other.

The admiral went on: "He is a civilian who, if I am to understand the situation correctly, is one of a group of six individuals from Earth of the year two-thousand of an alternate reality - brought to our universe through a cross-dimensional temporal vortex by a force of pure evil hell-bent on destroying our entire universe," he reeled off without even becoming out of breath. "It's all in the report." Wheeler observed Captain Freeman's expression of bemusement. "And, yes, I am serious. Mr. Giles, please explain the situation with Lieutenant Commander Data, if you will."

"Um...certainly, Admiral," the tweed-clad man - Rupert Giles - said with a distinctly vintage English accent. "Commander Data ... you are familiar with him, I presume?"

"I...know of him," Freeman confirmed.

"Well, he...he was possessed by an ancient, possibly ageless, entity that-"

"Wait a second," Freeman interrupted. "Just...wait a second. I'm having a little trouble...taking all this in."

"It'll pass," said Wheeler, nodding to Giles to go on.

"Alright..." Giles coughed into his hand before continuing: "Data's body, or his 'mind' at least, is home to a powerful being. A force of evil born in a universe occupied by all manner of supernatural beings. This evil - 'Darkness' - as it is called, has control of Data and is able to access his knowledge to serve its own purpose. It also has the ability to command the souls of any mortal creature it causes the death of. Not to mention demons."

"Demons?" The captain of the Rutherford breathed a heavy sigh and scratched at the edge of his beard.

A Work-bee passed down outside the windows carrying a replacement hull plate in its tractor beam and began to lower it into a cleaned-out hole in the Enterprise' saucer.

"Okay." Freeman held his hands up in a sign of defeat. "Can I just ask... does this have anything to do with the blockade around Earth?"

"Yes," Giles responded. "In my world there is a gateway that opens to Hell. It is my belief that Darkness will attempt to destroy all existence by opening this 'Hellmouth' in every reality. ...He must be stopped."

"Which is why we're here," the admiral verified. "We need to locate him. Find his route and intercept him before he can reach the Sol system. He's in an old Bird of Prey, so it won't be a problem beating his speed. As for where he is now - that's the vital piece of information we don't have."

"Where was he last seen?" Dave enquired.

Picard spoke for the first time since Freeman's arrival: "His last known whereabouts were on the science station orbiting Sal Fusia-Six this morning. He... killed the entire crew and apparently took all of the station's shuttles with him. Unfortunately he had moved on by the time we arrived at the scene."

"That reminds me, Admiral," Freeman recalled. "We passed there on our way here. But... the station's location-beacon didn't seem to appear on our sensors."

Wheeler remained stone-faced. "Yes. It wouldn't. Would it, Captain?" he said to Picard. "You'll be explaining that to a legal panel later, assuming all goes well."

There was an uncomfortable moment of quiet before Captain Freeman remembered more details. "It wasn't just the Sal Fusian outpost, Admiral. We encountered numerous stations that appeared to be crippled on our way here."

Picard shot up from his seat. "Were any of their shuttlecraft missing?"

"We didn't stop to investigate. The admiral gave us explicit instructions to come 'without delay'."

"Quite right," Wheeler agreed.

"How far does this trail lead?" enquired Giles.

"All the way back to the illegal Ferengi trading-ship we were investigating on the edge of the Bazari Territory. Between there and the Sal Fusia system."

Now the admiral drew himself to a standing position. "What can you tell us about the trader-ship?"

"The Ferengi was missing, presumed dead. The damage to the vessel was consistent with a Klingon attack."

The captain of the Enterprise grew more intense. "Did his sensors register a Klingon Bird of Prey?"

"We couldn't access the computer," Freeman regretfully admitted. "There was a nine-billion line code locking the memory core. But... who the hell can write a code that long between the time the distress call went out and the time we got there?"

There was only one possible answer.

"Data," Picard resolved.

Rupert felt the situation was becoming more and more out of their control. "If he did attack all those outposts, he must have amassed quite an army by now."

"We compared the Ferengi's stock with his manifest and discovered some items were unaccounted for," Freeman reported. "Items that could form a specialised remote device. Like a ship-control band."

"Data's going on an away-mission," Picard deduced. He was leaving his ship without losing the ability to control it by remote.

"But where?" asked Wheeler.

"The Territory," Freeman decided. "If he's looking for technology that's less mainstream, it's the best place to go. Why else would he be so far off-course if he wants to get to Earth so badly?"

Picard realised his counterpart was correct. The fastest way to Earth from Sal Fusia was a straight line and the Territory was quite a detour from that path. "He must be intercepting Starfleet communications. He knows he can't get to Earth without being bombarded."

"And I'm guessing he'd rather keep Data's body intact," added Giles. "It's perfect for him. All that knowledge and, unlike a human host, Data's body will never decay under the force of his evil."

Freeman, though he wasn't sure why, was beginning to understand what was happening. "So, this Darkness is adapting to his new environment by fighting technology with technology?"

"It does make sense," said Giles.

Admiral Wheeler tried to bring focus to the meeting: "Alright. Data is clearly after dubious tech goods. Where else better than the Territory? Nowhere, it would seem. He knows we can stop him at Earth, so he wants something to get him safely to the site of the Hellmouth unstopped." He paused. "Weapons?"

Freeman shook his head right away. "If it's weapons he wants, he'd have taken the temporal-cascade warheads we found on the Ferengi vessel."

Not weapons? What else was there?

Anything they could come up with now would clearly be nothing more than speculation. And there was no time for that. Wheeler wanted action. "Both of you," he said to the two captains. "Follow Data to the Territory and stop him at all costs. We can't let him find whatever he's looking for. The unorthodox nature of Bazari goods may be even more dangerous than Data."

"But...Starfleet has no jurisdiction there," said Freeman. "Command wouldn't-"

The admiral jumped in: "Starfleet Command has granted me emergency powers to take whatever measures I see fit to secure the safety of the galaxy. I will entrust the specifics of the mission to the two of you. Needless to say that, whatever you decide to do, I authorise you to go in undercover. That means no transponder signals and no identity codes. It is imperative that you remain undetected. Now, the Klingons have sent us the technical schematics for the Bird of Prey he is using. Its top cruising speed is warp eight. You may exceed this as much as necessary to narrow the lead he has gained. You will depart as soon as repairs to the Enterprise are complete. Keep me informed at every step, gentlemen. Dismissed."

And with that, the meeting was over.

But Captain Freeman was not quite content. "Admiral, we may need a representative of Mr. Giles' team on the Rutherford to help us with some of the demon-lore."

They looked to Giles. "Um..." There was no possible way he could do it. He and Willow were far too busy with trying to find a spell-related solution. Buffy wouldn't be able to go - he needed her close to guide her. And Spike? Well... no chance.

"There is someone," he said at last. "Though he wouldn't go alone."

Freeman understood. "It wouldn't be fair to ask him to."

Now that was settled, the admiral concluded: "One more thing, gentlemen. Should you be discovered or, heaven forbid, captured within the Territory, then 'officially' Starfleet Command will disavow any knowledge of your actions."

Giles resisted the urge to make the comparison with 'Mission: Impossible' out loud. And just as they were about to embark on an impossible mission of their own. That was surely a bad omen.

Giles followed as they made their way out of the office.

"Picard," Wheeler said to the captain as he walked with Freeman and Giles to the exit. "A word, please."

Picard held back until the doors shut and he was alone with his superior.

Wheeler stepped up close to Picard; his voice had a sinister undertone. "I'm fully aware of Data's importance within Starfleet. And I understand also that he is more than a mere automaton. That, in fact, you and he are friends..."

"He is not simply a friend, Admiral. He is ... family."

"Yes. I remember the feeling. I served on the Redoubt for eighteen years before I took my current position, and on many other ships before that. As a captain, I myself had to make many hard decisions, and some of those had to take priority over friendships. ...My point being; our loyalties - your loyalties - are to the Federation and the protection of its united members above all else."

"What are you inferring, Admiral?"

"Picard. The simple fact of the matter is ... This isn't the first time that Data has been a bother now, is it? ...On a number of occasions in the past, Data - through no fault of his own, I might add - has jeopardised the safety of the Enterprise, her crew and the Federation itself. And it is my duty to inform you, Captain, that I have been granted the license by the President himself to authorise his termination should such a situation arise that would deem it necessary. I trust that you understand."

Picard took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding in affirmation. Yes. He understood all too well.

"Jean-Luc, I know that you will try everything within your power to avoid that scenario. And you have my full support to do so. I don't wish to see Data terminated any more than you. But if it comes down to a choice between his life and the lives of all of us ... I must know that you're able to make that choice. Otherwise I would have to assign this mission to someone who can."

"If it comes to that, Admiral."

That had been a reluctant 'I can do it'.

Picard began to leave.

"And, Captain. ...I do hope it won't come to that."

He turned back to the admiral and nodded his appreciation. If there was any other way he would find it.

The doors closed behind the captain, leaving Wheeler alone.

"God speed."

*

Deep in one of the farthest corners of the orbital facility, along a sterile white corridor, two security officers stood guard over a single secured doorway.

The three 'guests' inside were kept secure only for the purpose of limiting their exposure to this future. The argument being that, even though they were not from the past of this timeline, it was entirely possible that in their own universe the events that lead to the formation of the United Federation of Planets and to Starfleet and the technologies of this reality could still occur. Meaning, of course, that if they were to return home and 'invent' the phaser, then Starfleet would have been responsible for aiding the alteration of the destined evolution of an entire dimension. Quite unacceptable. Admiral Wheeler, being as strict as he was, had enforced this regulation to its full extent. Small room, simple furnishings and no windows. Short of bars, it was practically a prison.

Buffy Summers and Willow Rosenberg sat together in near silence; eyes gazing absently to the floor. The cold, sterile walls had apparently lost their appeal. Buffy had already spent what seemed to her like hours digging tiny splinters from her fingers with her nails as Willow had eased her own anxiety by chatting away with the counsellor who had been assigned to them; Deanna Troi.

Now they were waiting.

It was hard for them to tell when, without a clock about the place, but a short while ago two more guards had entered, taking Xander and Anya away with them. It had been most unusual.

"Maybe they're splitting us all up," Willow had said quietly, "to do weird experiments on us one by one until we all have squiggly little bugs in our brains. Then they make us do creepy things like...like... juggling with our feet or something." She'd rolled her eyes at herself and given up at that. The counsellor had been quick to put them at ease, yet it was clear she was as uninformed as they were.

William the Bloody, a.k.a Spike, who was sat alone opposite the girls, had snorted and said: "Take it from someone who's been on the sharp end of a scalpel; these mad scientists aren't in the habit of keepin' the test subjects comfy before a session of brain-slicin'."

Since then it had been fairly quiet. Willow mumbled from time to time, mentioning ideas she and Giles were exploring. Spike kept looking at his blackened nails and picking at them. To Buffy, he had looked remarkably like a small boy awaiting a stiff punishment from the school principal.

But now they were in silence.

Willow was deep in thought. Spike, seeing as it was approaching late afternoon, had finally succumbed to sleep. And Buffy began searching her hands for any splinters she'd missed the first twenty times.

They jumped as the door slid open. One guard entered followed by Xander, Anya and another guard.

"Hey, guys," Xander said with a hint of woe. He looked a little rough. Anya held onto him tightly - more so than normal. In fact, they both seemed...scared? Or uncomfortable at the least.

"Whassup?" Willow asked him, picking up on the strange vibe.

Xander shuffled nervously. "We just had a meeting with Giles and...the captain guy."

"Captain Picard," Deanna offered.

"Right. Captain Picard," Xander put right, again with an awkward despondency.

Buffy didn't much like the bleakness that had come over the room. "Is everything okay?"

Xander shrugged. "Yeah. I guess. It's just... this other ship... the /Rubbertub/-"

"Rutherford?" Troi again offered, before answering a call from her communicator.

"Yeah, they asked for a rep - one of us - to help them with the demon stuff."

"They picked Xander," Anya said with nervous enthusiasm.

"So we'll be going with them soon," Xander continued. "Just thought we'd say 'bye'. In case we don't get to hang for a while."

"/What/?" Buffy couldn't believe they were being split up. Especially in SPACE! There was so much room to get lost.

"They can't do that," denounced Willow, turning to the Counsellor. "Can they do that?"

Deanna grimaced a little as she nodded back. "I'm afraid so."

Spike chuckled to himself.

That confirmation only served to defeat any hope Xander had of getting out of going. It showed quite clearly on his saddened face. Willow went over to him and offered a comforting hug.

Once their embrace was over, Buffy, who also saw that Xander's face had taken on a stricken greyness, voiced her concern: "Are you gonna be alright?"

He put on a brave face. "I hear they have a pool tournament over there this time of year, so we might sign up for the distraction." He dropped his eyes from her as he said: "But it's gonna be tough... without you guys."

"Boo-hoo," Spike scoffed. Every one of the mortals gave him a cold, hard stare. Realising he was being insensitive, Spike rolled his eyes and approached Xander with a hand held out to him. "Miss you already, old chum. Be sure and write us, 'kay?"

"Go stake yourself, Spike."

"Coulda done that a long time ago if ya hadn't a' stopped me," the vamp said as he went back to his seat.

"My mistake."

"Who was on the other end of your badge?" Buffy asked of Troi.

"That was Captain Picard," she said. "Someone will be here shortly to escort us to the transporter room. Repairs to the Enterprise are almost complete."

"Transporters?" The very word made Xander break out in a cold sweat. "If it's all the same...isn't there any other way onto the ship?"

"You could take the gangway again if you'd prefer," said Troi with a slight smile.

/Not again/, he thought. They'd been told that ordinarily the elevators could link directly from ship to station, but that level of docking had not occurred due to damage. And the walk through the gangway had been unbelievable. "It was a little shaky. There was swaying-"

"And it was way too far," Anya butted in. "My legs still ache from the trip over here."

"There is one other way," Deanna said. "You could catch a ride in a transport pod."

She was met with a number of fuddled expressions.

"It's like a... a flying turbolift," she explained. "It will fly you from an airlock in the starbase directly to the Rutherford."

Anya considered briefly and nodded. Sounded good enough.

Xander looked from Troi to Anya, then at the others and back to Troi.

"Is it ... safe?"

*

Commander Riker arrived for them, and soon the group moved through the station to the docking transporters. Three of the station's security officers led the way for the Scoobies who had been told that Giles was already on the Enterprise with Captain Picard. Troi and Riker took the rear.

Anya released her hold on Xander when he excused himself and pushed to the front of the group alongside Buffy and Willow. "Did they tell you anything yet?"

"No," said Buffy. "I'm starting to feel like a bump on the log."

"Have you heard anything?" Willow asked him.

"Yeah. I heard /something/. I know Captain Placard's gonna be holding a briefing in a couple of hours. I think we're going after Data...Darkness, I mean."

"/Finally/," Buffy sighed in relief. "Another hour of just...waiting...and I'd be finding my own spaceship to go after him."

Willow sighed as well. Only it was not with relief. "I just hope we're ready."

Riker spotted the young woman named Anya, now walking alone.

"Hi there," he said as he slipped in next to her. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of talking with all the excitement that's been-"

Anya thought she could take this opportunity to divert Riker's unwanted attentions away from her. "Willow's a lesbian," she said abruptly. "A gay lesbian. With girls."

Her sudden and unexpected outburst, though quiet, took Riker by complete surprise. For a long moment he was taken aback. Willow was walking just a few metres ahead of them and the commander eyed her with a deep frown.

Anya waited. Men seemed to have some strange lust for gay women. Probably something about wanting what they couldn't have. And the mental image of them having sex, of course.

Sure enough, Riker raised an eyebrow and a smile crept to the corner of his mouth. "Really?"

Anya allowed herself a smile too, in honour of her own ingenuity.

That had been too easy.

The group continued on for a few more metres.

Riker called a halt as they reached a crossroads in the corridor. "This is where we break off," he said, moving forward to address them all. "Those transferring to the Rutherford," he instructed, holding an arm out to his right, "follow Lieutenant Beaumont to shuttle docking level two... that way. The rest of you," he continued, heading straight across the junction, "with me."

"I'll go along with them to the travel pod," Troi called to him.

He stopped and turned. "The Enterprise is almost ready to go, Deanna."

"It won't take a moment. I'll be there in plenty of time before departure."

He took a moment to examine her face - one he knew better than any other - and saw what she wanted. As a counsellor, she saw in people things that no one else was trained to. And it was apparent that she was needed by Anya and the boy more than by the rest of the 'Spooky Group'. "Understood, Counsellor. See you on the bridge," he said simply, and briskly moved on.

Willow and Buffy gave their friends a heartening smile before following after Riker.

Riker, Buffy and Willow, Spike, and 2 security men approached the transporter platform.

Spike trailed behind his companions with the 2 guards. "Don't suppose either 'o you fellas know anybody who could lend us a smoke?"

Willow was telling Buffy the latest news: "Giles thinks that if we can somehow draw the Darkness from Data's body, it could be more susceptible to a general binding spell."

"What about its power? This 'Mastery' it has? Won't it still be able to control its 'Evil Dead' rejects?"

"Well, okay, two binding spells. There are binding spells designed to block demonic power as well as demonic spirits. You get the general idea, though?"

"Generally," Buffy concurred. "But these spells... they'll be pretty basic, right?"

"Basically."

"So... what if they don't bind? Or even pinch, for that matter?"

Will cringed. "We...haven't got to that scenario yet."

"Oh."

"But we /will/," assured the witch.

"Uh-huh." Buffy smiled. A rarity for her these days.

They stepped onto the transporter pad and almost immediately faded away, leaving the 2 guards on the station...

...And materialised again on the Enterprise.

Buffy continued through the fizzle of the dissipating transporter effect: "And how're you planning on exorcising a force of unbreakable evil out of Data?"

"We...we..."

"Haven't got to that yet?" Buffy finished.

Willow made an exaggerated sad face. That would be /no/, then.

"Hold on for a second, ladies," Riker requested as the girls made for the door. It would seem they were getting used to the layout of the ship if they were confident enough to lead the way to the bridge.

Spike, displeased at being ignored completely, huffed and said: "I vote we mutiny and take control of this damn ship ourselves." He nodded toward Riker. "We could beam /him /into space for a start."

Buffy and Willow looked at him.

"Shut up, Spike," ordered the Slayer.

Then Spike voted with his feet and walked out of the room and off to his quarters.

Riker stopped to tell Chief Warren that Troi would be following them momentarily. As he talked, however, his gaze seemed to linger towards the girls.

Buffy hinted at Riker as she whispered to Willow: "Check him out, checking you out."

"Me? I'm sure he's looking at you."

"No way. He's got Willow-lust in his eyes."

"Stop it. I might start to blush. Besides, I don't go that way anymore."

"C'mon, Will. You can't have turned completely the other way?"

She paused, unsure how to respond to that. "Here lies a one-way street. And I've got my gal. Anyway; 'The lady's not for turning'."

"Margaret Thatcher?"

"What?"

"You're quoting."

"Maybe."

Riker finished and they began to leave with him.

"So, why are you blushing?" Buffy whispered into Willow's ear.

"I am not!" she replied, touching a hand to her face for confirmation. "They obviously haven't fixed the environmental systems properly."

Buffy nodded with a smirk. "Obviously."

*

Before them stood a circular airlock with narrow portholes on either side. Through these, Anya and Xander saw the pod they were about to take.

It was attached to the wall they were now behind, and it was surprisingly small. Like a bathroom cubicle laid on its side. About 4 to 5 metres long it was, and maybe 3 high. Beyond it, berthed at the interior wall of the station, the mighty form of the Rutherford awaited them.

They were seeing the side of the ship. When they stepped right up to the thin window, the full length of it was visible. It was SO close! They could even see where the plates of the hull joined. Their view of the ship's bridge was obscured by the odd extension that projected back from the top of the saucer to a rectangular 'turret' sitting a good 290 metres to the rear of the vessel.

The design was quite different to that of the Enterprise. Xander had seen the models that were on display in Picard's observation lounge and assumed that all the ships would have the same basic design. But even the Rutherford's warp nacelles were pointing in a completely different direction. Down instead of up.

Xander's construction-lobe kicked in - the part of his brain he liked to think he used when he was at work - and he wondered then, seeing as the warp engines weren't attached to the main hull of the ship, just where was the Rutherford's engine-room?

Counsellor Troi approached them carefully. "I know you're both worried about what you might find over there."

"You mean it shows on my pastey-white face?" Xander gibed.

"Willow tells me that you work on a construction site," Deanna said in a conversational manner.

"...Yeah," he confirmed, slightly confused as to why it mattered.

"I'll bet you were nervous the first day you started?"

"Not really."

"You already knew the people working there?"

"No, I just kinda got to know people as I went along. You get used to people pretty quick when they're training you."

"Then why should this situation be any different?" Troi asked him. "It is only temporary after all."

Yeah, if we don't all get dead, Xander thought to himself.

The counsellor resumed: "Strange people, new surroundings. We've all been there. It can all become extremely disconcerting. If you let it. Try to think of all the interesting new people you'll meet. You'd be surprised at how much you can learn from each other. After all, would the Federation be as enlightened as it is today were it not for the versatility of its members? Over a hundred and fifty unique alien races. And, as for your friends, they'll never be far. Anytime you want to talk to them, the Enterprise is only a call away. You'll find a desk computer in the living area of your new quarters."

"We...don't actually know how to use those things," said Xander.

"The keyboards don't make any sense," Anya explained.

"Then I'll be sure to remind Willow to keep in touch," Troi reassured them.

"That'd be great," said Xander. "Thanks."

"This way, please." Lt. Beaumont indicated to the now open airlock.

Before she went, Anya said to Deanna: "Thank you, Counsellor, for those supportive and encouraging words. They were most reassuring."

Deanna almost laughed. She'd been trying for a more subtle approach. "I'm... pleased to hear it," she replied, realising she'd been caught out. "If either of you ever feel the need to talk to me as a counsellor, or just want to chat, I'm available anytime too."

Beaumont led the couple into the pod and Xander found it difficult to believe that they were now passing seamlessly from the starbase to the interior of the tiny travel ship they had seen through the window a moment before.

Deanna watched the airlock snap shut behind the couple, and she hoped that her words would soon penetrate Xander's wall of dread and self-depreciation. She waited long enough to see that the pod was underway, then she too departed for the transporter pad.

The pod seemed larger from the inside somehow.

As well as Anya, Xander and Beaumont there was a pilot at the controls to the front of the craft.

"This is exciting, Xander," Anya beamed, a little too eagerly. "Why aren't you excited? We're important now. We're representatives. They had the choice of six people and they picked you and me."

He didn't answer her.

"Well, I'm excited," she declared. "Giles put our names forward because he knows we're the smart ones. Though, I have been telling you that for months."

Xander looked down at her with pity in his eyes. "Is that what you think? Really? Or are you still trying to delude yourself?"

"What?"

"I managed to fool myself too. For about thirty seconds. You know why we're really here don't you?"

Anya frowned at his hostile attitude. "Xander, what's the matter with you?"

"Everyone else's busting their guts to find a way to fight the bad and the only thing we've managed to do so far is waste Picard's oxygen. They shipped us out because we're useless to the Enterprise. Simple as that."

Anya was shocked at first. "Wha...bu..." But then she dropped her gaze to the floor as the truth of the matter dawned on her. She pulled herself to Xander and held him tightly, looking out the windscreen of the pod at the giant ship as it grew closer. The unknown approached them slowly and it was more frightening than either of them could admit.

They travelled the rest of the way in silence.

Unwanted, unneeded, and alone.

At one point, the pilot asked if they'd like him to make a fly-by of the ship. The scenic route.

Xander replied with a terse: "No." The last thing he felt like doing was taking a pleasure cruise. His stomach was knotted and his heart was racing. He didn't know why the hell he was so anxious. The counsellor was probably right. But...

Part of him just felt as though...

As though they'd been kicked out of the Scooby Gang.

The pod drew itself up to the much larger vessel, spun around and backed into the seal of an airlock.

Once the doors opened and they were inside the ship, Beaumont handed them over to an ensign in security uniform. The young officer welcomed them politely.

They noticed immediately the tiny wrinkle-like ridges at the roof of his nose and the elaborate earring he wore.

"Please follow me," the ensign said before leading them through the corridors of the U.S.S. Rutherford.

It was a very different feeling being aboard this ship. The corridors were a touch narrower, the carpets were grey and blue here, and windows were more prominent than on the Enterprise. Plus there was a completely otherworldly atmosphere. It felt alien. In the same way a new home feels alien - like maybe you'll never feel comfortable there, though you know that eventually you will.

"I'll be escorting you to the bridge shortly," said the young man. "But the doctor has requested a study-sample of your cellular RNA, if you don't mind stopping at sickbay first, of course."

"We've already been through those tests," Anya remarked. "With the other doctor."

"Yes. She has Doctor Crusher's report. She just likes to verify these things herself. Doctor's prerogative, I guess." He smiled at them. "The captain sends his apologies, but the doctor is the one person onboard with the authority to undermine his own commands. For medical purposes anyway. Quite frankly I think she rather enjoys doing it." Then he turned to give them one last piece of advice: "By the way, she's Andorian. So...try not to get her mad."

Anya turned to Xander.

Xander turned to Anya.

They shared a worried look.

Soon they arrived at their destination. The sickbay too was vastly different here. It was set in a circular room with beds running much of the circumference of the wall and had a workstation situated in the centre.

Off to the left a double-door led into a side room. Through the window there, it appeared to be the doctor's office. A second door led off to the right to some other part of sickbay, perhaps.

Their attention was drawn back to the office door as a small, delicate looking person stepped through.

A woman walked toward them.

Xander felt sure his mouth was gaping. He'd never seen anyone like her. Her skin was of a glorious light blue hue, and her pure-white hair was tied up elegantly. The small woman, who was no taller than Buffy, had a pair of quirky little pointy antennae jutting oddly from either side of the crown of her head - sticking out of her hair. Her face - thin, and with an elegant beauty - bore an attractive pair of thin-framed black spectacles. She also wore what looked like a lab coat - some kind of uniform accessory - and when she spoke it was with a soft and angelic tone. "This won't take a moment," she said, holding out a device.

She was the doctor!

A brief examination later and they were back on the move, with their guide, in a turbolift to the bridge.

When the lift stopped and the doors opened, the young officer urged them out. "This is where you get off."

They left their escort behind and stepped through the doors awkwardly before they slid shut. When they caught sight of the bridge, Xander and Anya first noticed the step that led up to the extended section at the back. A flat circular table sat there, with some kind of radar display on its surface.

Freeman watched as the young couple stepped out of the turbolift doors together.

A kid of medium build, with a head of dark hair, wearing a mix of beige and white with a dark brown jacket. The girl, who was a head smaller, seemed to have brown hair with a strong colouring of blonde. She wore a similar, more feminine and body-hugging outfit of an off-white colour.

Xander and Anya scanned the strange new bridge to see what kind of crew they had been thrown in with. There were a number of people present, but most prominently were a greying man with a goatee, a brown-haired woman, and a man with dark speckles on his face. They occupied the centre of the room.

Freeman stepped forward. "Welcome to the bridge. I'm Dave Freeman; captain of the Rutherford." He first gave Xander a friendly shake of the hand, then Anya.

The captain appeared human. He had a full head of brown hair beginning to show the signs of greyness at the sides. It was parted at one side in a loose quiff. Anya found him to be quite an attractive man. In a rough kind of way.

"So, you'd be Xander Harris, our ambassador to the occult?" Dave asked heartily.

"Actually it's just Xander. And I'm not really an ambassador. Just a... a Xander."

The dark-haired woman spoke up: "You're the chosen representative of your people liasing with the crew of this ship, aren't you?"

Xander frowned. "I...I guess so."

"Then that makes you an ambassador," confirmed the captain.

The speckled man approached him then. "Welcome aboard, Ambassador." He took Xander's hand and shook it firmly.

This one was human looking, with blonde receding hair shaved almost to nothing. But he also had dark speckled markings at the sides of his head. They followed the recession of his hairline and came down in strips at the front of his ears and along the sides of his neck. He was not a young man, yet his face certainly did not reflect his years. He was a serious-looking type of guy.

Xander thought to himself: Ambassador? /Wow/. 'Ambassador Harris' ...He really wished it had a ring to it.

"I must apologise for my doctor," Freeman expressed. "I'd rather she'd waited until you were settled before putting you under the microscope, but it seems she had nothing better to do. What can I say? She is the bane of my existence," he half-joked. "These are my joint-executive officers - Commanders Coren Vaun" - he indicated to the older man with the markings - "and Saskia Romani." The dark-haired woman.

She too was human looking. Young, fairly attractive with medium-length dark brown hair. Slim and curvaceous. If Xander were in Freeman's shoes he certainly wouldn't have complained.

"And you are?" the captain asked of Xander's female companion.

"Anya," she replied. "I'm with /him/," she said, locking her arms around Xander's. "Just so you know."

O...kay

Chevva, the pilot, decided to introduce himself to the quirky twosome. Help them feel welcome. "Treva' Moziah Swift - pilot extraordinaire - at ya service," he said in a strong Jamaican accent. "But ya can jast cal me Chevva."

"Hi. Xander Harris," Xander responded, checking the new guy over.

Chevva was a tall and gangly dark-skinned kid. Couldn't have been more than 20. And, judging from his accent, was entirely human. Unless he was from the planet 'Caribbea'. His dark hair was woven into tight, braided strips that ran back and fastened in a short tail, and he radiated enthusiasm.

"Xander, man, if deez old folks 'ere get too borin' for ya," he said, pointing at the senior officers, "al be 'appy ta show yez de ropes."

When Xander saw that Chevva's superiors weren't taking his insult seriously he chuckled a little. "Thanks, man."

"We hear one of your group has superhuman strength," Freeman asked him with keen interest. He must have been gagging to find out more about the Scoobs.

"Is it true that one of you is a 'witch'?" Saskia asked.

Anya answered: "That's Willow. She's on the other spaceship. With everyone else."

The bridge crew noticed that their new guests were clearly nervous and overwhelmed. They didn't want to be there.

Freeman approached Anya. "And what might your speciality be?" he asked her.

"Demons. All kinds of demons. I have a friend, you see, who used to be one," she said. "A demon, that is," she added unnecessarily.

Freeman raised his brow and nodded. "That's ... nice."

"Very useful," Sass put in.

"So, either of you have...'powers'?" said Dave.

"Not anymore," Anya replied quickly. "Not that I ever did," she said even quicker.

"Me?" Xander said when they looked at him. "Err... not exactly. I...I usually just help out. Do research and stuff. Keep the guys focused. Get supplies-"

"He brings donuts," Anya cut in. "Sometimes coffee. Though there was that one time he was Dracula's butt-monkey. And this other time he split in two. He's always getting into stuff like that."

Xander's face reddened. "Anya-"

"Like the time the ghost of a Chumash Indian gave him syphilis."

"ANYA!" Xander half-yelled through gritted teeth. He leaned in and whispered to her, though not as quietly as he'd have liked: "Could we not mention my syphilis to the nice new people?" But he was already attracting the funny looks he had been dreading.

Sass decided to try to relieve Xander's embarrassment. "If it's any consolation, Ambassador," she said, pointing at the other commander, "Vaun here used to be a woman."

Cmdr. Vaun looked across at her with daggers in his eyes.

The dark-haired woman shrugged. "Well, it's true."

Xander yelped suddenly when he spotted the thing standing at one of the twin consoles behind the command seats. It was HUGE.

Tall and heavy-set, with thick white fur flowing in long sideburns that fell over its shoulders and also covered its clawed hands. There was even a hint of facial hair. The top of its head was bald, with a large cranium that was bumpy and ridged. The yellow style of uniform it wore had been clearly made to fit its unique figure.

What the hell is he? he wondered.

Danil Oom, a young blond man at the front of the room, perked up: "Actually he is a she," he said, startling Xander. "Lieutenant Gataana; the chief of security. She's an Antican. The only one of her species in Starfleet, in fact. The females of her species are often larger than the males."

Xander's mouth dropped. How did he know-?

"Telepathy," Dan responded.

"He's a Vulcazoid," Saskia pointed out.

"I'm not a Vulcazoid," said Danil firmly. "There's no such thing," he assured Xander and Anya. "I'm a Betazoid - like Counsellor Troi on the Enterprise."

Oh, dear lord no! Xander screamed in his mind, remembering some of the thoughts he'd had when she had been around.

Dan seemed to pick up on his thoughts again, as he smiled. "As far as I'm aware, she's only half Betazoid - an empath. She only senses emotions and feelings."

"She can't read my mind?"

"No."

Oh, thank the lord! he thought.

Again, Dan smiled.

Xander realised then that he'd have to be careful around this guy. "But you can tell what people are thinking?"

"Only if I want to. I don't usually scan people as a rule; it's rude. But sometimes thoughts... jump out at me. You're not a twenty-fourth century human. I'll have to teach you a few tricks to keeping your thoughts in your head."

Anya looked at the blond guy and puzzled. "If you're a Beltazoid wossit, how come you have those little elf ears?"

Dan sighed. Here we go again/, he thought as he began to give the same explanation he'd given to almost everyone he ever met. "Both my parents are Betazoid, though my mother died just a few weeks into her pregnancy. An emergency operation took place in the corridor of a transport ship and I was immediately transferred from my mother's womb into the womb of a close family friend. A Vulcan female. There was a difficult period in which the doctors struggled to keep the Vulcan body from rejecting my foreign tissue, and I wasn't adapting well to the new environment. ...Until a test-drug designed to counteract infertility in certain interspecies relations was modified and prescribed. But it was an experimental treatment and there were... side effects. There were the obvious ear abnormalities, and cellular genetic fusion was diagnosed. Though it wasn't until I reached the time of Pon Far that the extent of the genetic crossover was realised. So I /do have Vulcan traits - on a genetic level, but I'm a Betazoid in my blood."

"Like she said," Dave maintained, indicating to Saskia, "a Vulcazoid."

Dan gave up with a puff and went back to his post.

Xander eyed-up Commander Saskia Romani for a second time. She appeared human, but just beneath her straight brown hair he now saw there was the faintest hint of the same speckled markings that Cmdr. Vaun bore. She had quite a hot body. Nice breasts especially. And those light markings on her neck and face were pretty arousing. Xander wondered just how far down those markings went.

"All the way," came Dan's answer to his unasked question.

Xander tried hard not to think ANYTHING.

Captain Freeman announced to his crew: "We are about to embark on a mission of dire importance. You guys know I like to keep you all in the picture as much as possible, but this particular project has been classified Top Secret. Therefore, I'll be addressing all senior staff closer to our target. Let's try to keep the speculation down to a minimum until then."

Some of the crewmen grumbled at that, but all went back to work.

Dave stepped over to the new couple to talk to them. "Before this mission gets underway, I want to warn you... There are no free rides on the Rutherford. You're here, so I expect you to do your share like everyone else. We work as a team or not at all."

They gave each other a panicked look.

"Don't worry," Dave said cheerfully, "that was my initiation speech. It's the only one I give and everyone of these guys have heard it." He gave Xander a pat on the back. "It's all downhill from here."

"Captain, the Enterprise has cleared her moorings and we have been granted clearance to depart," boomed Gataana in her resonant tone.

Freeman sighed heavy. It was time. The operation he and Picard had worked out was about to begin. "Follow her out, Chevva."

"Aye."

"Match their course and speed, and stay on their tail."

*

The gleaming saucer of the U.S.S. Enterprise rolled slowly out of the giant spacedoors of McClintock and soon she was clear of the opening, floating freely in open space. There she held her position until the Rutherford joined her.

A moment passed in the sheer quiet of the void...

Then both ships stretched across the blackness into the distortion of subspace and, in a flash, they shot to maximum warp.

*

Freeman slapped his badge. "Bridge to engineering."

A second later his call was answered and the captain said: "Hoop, when you get a minute, report to my quarters."

"Damn fine idea, Cap. I could use a drink," replied the voice on the other end.

Dave began to lead Xander away. "C'mon, Ambassador. There's a lot we need to discuss."

He found himself herded into the turbolift and, once Commander Vaun and Danil had joined them, the captain called for their destination.

Xander managed to give Anya a brief and meaningful look before the doors snapped shut and the bridge disappeared.

"Wha-? Where?...Xander?" Anya looked from the lift to the female commander.

Sass smiled at her reassuringly and put a calming hand on her shoulder. "He'll be fine."

"Why didn't he let me go with Xander?"

"It's... a boys-only thing," she answered. "But don't worry, Anya. We'll have our time when this mission's over. The boys think they know how to have fun... but we both know that girls invented the concept."

Anya didn't really understand the accepted concept of 'fun', but she did get the feeling Commander Romani was correct.

"Anyway," said Saskia, "Any idea where we're going?"

*

When Freeman, Xander, Danil and Vaun arrived at the captain's room, Xander was first asked to fill in some of the details that led to the destruction of the Sal Fusian science station.

He went into great lengths to explain the incident in full graphic 3D Technicolor as the captain, who insisted on being called Dave, had requested. Xander had just reached the part where everything started to turn sour when another man - Hoop - arrived.

This man looked about Freeman's age - maybe late thirties - and with a yellow polo-shirt, like Dan. He had the look of an ageing surfer, only with less of the tan, and his hair was light brown and cut fairly short. He was fairly normal looking compared to the others.

Freeman introduced him. "Xander Harris, this is my chief of engineering; Doc Hooper."

"Just call me Hoop," said the man in an Australian dialect. "Saves a hell of a lot of confusion. First day I ever set foot on a starship, back when I was a freckle-faced ensign, we realised there was gonna be a problem."

Xander didn't understand.

"See; every ship has its CMO - the doctor," Hoop explained. "And everybody calls the doc 'Doc'. My first name happens to be Doc. So it was never gonna work. I've been 'Hoop' ever since."

Xander's frown faded in realisation.

"So, what's your story? Where'd 'Xander' come from?" the Aussie engineer asked him.

"It's short for Alexander."

"Damn. Never come across that abbreviation before." Hoop then went straight for the liquor cabinet, as opposed to the replicator, and helped himself to a glass of the captain's single malt whisky.

As they were technically still on duty, Freeman said to him: "Just the one, I hope."

"One's all I need," Hoop agreed, and emptied the glass in one swift mouthful. "And I been needin' it since I heard someone mention 'Flesh-eating zombies from Hell'." He chuckled to himself. "What is that? I mean; I've heard some mixed up rollocks in my time but... tell me... this is a joke, right? Xander? You guys are pullin' my plonker, aren't ya?"

Xander felt kind of sorry for these people. They had no idea. "I wish we were. Really," he replied. "Believe me, I've seen my share of mixed up...'rollocks' too, but these demon zombies ... they even give me the screamin' meemies."

Hoop looked around the group for telltale sniggers. "Still sounds like a nineteen-fifties horror flick to me."

Xander went on to tell them the rest of the Sal Fusian incident, and soon they were all relaxing in the captain's lounge area as Xander told them of the Scoobies' various exploits. About his first encounter with vampires. Learning what Buffy was. Destroying the Mayor-turned-snake. Teaming up to defeat Adam. He had them roaring with laughter when he told them of his recent misadventure as Dracula's bug-eating pet.

"And my folks thought they were getting a bargain when they moved to Sunnydale. It's amazing how a Hellmouth can effect the price of housing in a small suburban community."

"This 'Hellmouth' you live on... how does it work?" Cmdr. Vaun asked.

Xander explained, as best he could, what it was. He told them how, on one occasion, it opened and they had to knuckle-up and fend off the forces of evil to close it up again. He referred to the time Buffy, Angel, Faith, Giles and Will battled with it in the old school library. It seemed like the perfect example of a spontaneous yawn from the Hellmouth. Though, he himself hadn't been with them on that occasion.

"You weren't there?" said Dave.

That question seemed to make Xander a little uncomfortable. "No. I... don't think I was feelin' too well that day."

"Not syphilis, I trust?" Danil joked. "Hey, don't worry about it. I caught the Denuvian plague once. And that's deadlier than a De'lan housewife!" he said with a smile.

Hoop let out a guffaw. "I remember! Doc Sishna quarantined you for a month with only basic fluid rations to live on!"

The Rutherford men began to laugh.

Freeman added: "We had to wean you back onto solid food over a week just so you didn't get chronic stomach cramps!"

More laughter. Even Xander found it amusing.

"You could have done something about that, Dave," Dan grumbled.

"Even I can't override the doctor's orders," the captain assured him.

But the young Vulcazoid wasn't convinced. "Still... there was no reason for me to be fed rations in quarantine. No logical reas-"

"Oh, shut up!" shouted the other Rutherford crewmembers.

The laughter had given Xander the urge to pee, so he asked to use the bathroom. Once he'd been told where it was, he shuffled off quickly.

Vaun and Hoop started chatting about the 'supernatural' but soon ended up reminiscing about the time they were almost ravished by Alterian hookers.

As soon as Xander was out of the room, Freeman slipped over to Dan and said quietly: "What do you make of him, Dan?"

"He lied to us earlier. When you asked him what he was doing while his friends saved the world. He was hiding something. He doesn't want us to know what he was really doing."

"Can't you read him?" Dave asked.

"I /could/. But I don't want to pry. It probably isn't even important."

"But other than that?"

"Other than that, he's honest. Seems like a nice guy. Kind of innocent - almost child-like - and a little insecure. But a descent human being. I like him."

Freeman didn't much like ambiguity in people. He preferred to know the people he worked with. Perhaps it was a character flaw, but he felt a need to understand people in order to trust them. He had to know how they think - to know how they'd react in any given situation. That was why he liked to keep his relationship with his crew less formal. More like they were all a bunch of pals on an adventure. He found it made a better team out of them.

Perhaps if he could get Harris to relax and feel more at ease with his assignment, then he would be more forthcoming.

Xander returned, wiping his damp hands on his Battlestar Galactica jacket. "I...couldn't find the towel."

The four officers chuckled.

"Y'know what we're missing?" Dave said with cheer. "Stogies!"

Hoop slapped his hands together. "Lord, strewth! Could it be Habana-time?"

"I reckon so, fellas," Dave confirmed.

The captain went over to a display stand in the corner of the room by the windows. Upon it sat an ornate wooden box.

Unlocking his humidor box, Freeman picked out his own favourite - a Cohiba robusto, and the same again for Hoop. For Dan and Vaun he took out their usual choice - Bolivar royal coronas. All 4 cigars were thick and around 5 inches long. Dave stopped. "You smoke cigars, Harris?"

Xander stammered: "I...well...no. That is, I've never... no." He was surprised by the question. He thought only grown-ups and cool people smoked those.

Freeman looked for an appropriate smoke for the beginner. Something a little milder and easier to manage. Making his choice, he picked out a small Punch petit coronation and closed the humidor up.

Xander watched in awe as the cigars were handed out. He gaped at the other men's big, fat cigars. Then looked at his own little one and felt somewhat less than adequate. "I got the impression people didn't smoke anymore," Xander mentioned.

Freeman handed the cutter around. "Cigarettes are no longer produced on Earth, though you still get those who choose to roll their own from tobacco grown on other worlds." He stopped to start his stogie with some sort of flameless lighter. "But Havana's are very much alive," he said.

Hoop continued: "And there's only one place in the galaxy that can produce genuine Havana cigars - the Pinar del Rio region of Cuba. The only licensed place on Earth able to grow tobacco."

Xander let Hoop come over to cut and light his meagre 'stogie' for him. Then he put it to his lips awkwardly.

"Don't inhale," Freeman advised. "Just blow out the smoke and take in the flavour."

He did so. And coughed.

"So, Xander, you think you could handle a life in outer-space?" Hoop asked.

Xander smacked his lips together, trying to decide if he liked the taste of his cigar. "I used to think so. But being here's made me rethink a little. Space feels a lot safer when you're watchin' it on the TV. I don't know how you guys can stand to work out here. There's gotta be safer jobs on Earth."

"This ain't just a job for us," said Hoop. "But, to coin a cliché, it's /life/! An adventure! It's as much about finding yourself as it is about discovering new life and new civilisations."

"When I wanna find myself I usually just look in the mirror. Sure, it's not pretty, but it saves building a fleet of spaceships and trekkin' halfway across the galaxy."

The engineer laughed at that. "Y'know, kid, you got a point."

Freeman joined them. "I hear you came over in a travel pod," he said to Xander. "It's been too long since I last did that myself. So, what do you think to the ship? Amazing, isn't she? The views from a pod are breathtaking."

Xander grimaced. "That's not really why I used the pod. I...I don't like to beam," he revealed. "There's just something about having your bits scrambled that isn't right."

They sat and puffed on their stogies for several quiet minutes. Just a bunch of guys chilling out. Xander began to get the taste for his little Punch petit coronation.

Hooper still didn't understand the whole 'Hellmouth' concept, so the Australian broke the peaceful silence with a question. "What is the Hellmouth? Some kind of subspace rift?"

"Like I said, It's a hole between our dimension and the Hell dimension." Xander explained again.

"But what's the scientific explanation? There's gotta be one," Hoop said with a slight laugh, as if he was stating the obvious.

Xander tried to put it another way: "Last year a bunch of government scientists tried to understand the demon world. And they tried to control it. But they didn't manage either and it killed them. These things ... they don't live in what you would call the 'real world'. They're a whole other level."

The chief engineer shook his head. "See, that's where I have a problem. Everything can be explained scientifically."

The lone Scoob sighed inwardly. "Well, if that's how most people in this universe feel... we're all screwed."

Xander's cigar was almost half gone, and he tapped off the inch of ash that clung to the end of it. Taking another drag and letting it linger in his mouth a while, he suddenly remembered something and blew the smoke away. "What did Comman- err, Saskia, mean when she said you were a woman?"

Vaun coughed into his hand.

"Sex-changes are compulsory where he's from," Hoop lied.

Xander grimaced at that.

Vaun was quick to dismiss Hoop's words. "It's only half true. I'm a Trill. On my world there are two forms of intelligent life that can exist in a symbiotic relationship," he clarified. "There are the humanoid Trills - the man you see before you now - and a vermiform creature that lives within our bodies. Before I became a 'joined' Trill, my name was Coren Dagan. The symbiont I joined with was named Vaun and I became Coren Vaun."

"What's the point of that?" asked Xander.

"Physically I will live only one lifetime, whereas the Vaun symbiont will live for generations to come; carrying the memories of all previous hosts to the next one, and the next, and so forth. Effectively, when my body dies, I will live on in memory."

"Wow. So you have... like...other peoples' memories?"

"Three lifetimes. It's not just the memories though, Xander. It changes who you are. A part of those three hosts before me are within me now. Their feelings, opinions and a piece of their personality. It can be a difficult adjustment to make in the beginning."

"So, one of the other hosts was a woman?"

Vaun nodded. "Yes. The last host was a relief-freighter captain named Rena. A perfect example of the influence of a past life - she changed the course of my life."

"She did?"

"Very much so. Since the first day I entered Starfleet I wanted nothing more than to have my own captaincy," he recalled fondly. "I had reached the rank of commander before I joined with the Vaun symbiont and, since that day, I've lost that dream. One that I was so determined to see realised. All because I remember the pain and stress it caused to Rena. It simply put me off the idea."

"When did you...join?" Xander asked.

"I joined quite late in my life. It is possible to select the symbiont you wish to join with, and ... I never knew my grandfather. Though I had heard so many tales of how he had been a great man in his time. I wanted so much to remember him as they did. So I requested his symbiont."

"But what if someone already had the...the symbiont?"

"They did. Rena. I can never explain the feeling of wanting something so badly, yet waiting for someone else to die before you can achieve that goal. It was the most difficult thing I have ever done."

Hoop's face was beginning to wrinkle in a sickened grimace. "I still think it's perverted, mate. Who the hell wants to remember their own father's conception?" He shook his head.

Dan piped up: "It's great to see again that we're living in a time of cultural tolerance."

Hooper turned to face him. "Some things just aren't right."

"It's a sacrifice I was willing to make if it meant I could know my own Grandfather."

"Say; let's not get into this debate again, okay?" the captain said diplomatically.

The men sighed and sat back to finish their smokes once again in peace.

"Xander, I see you're growing a beard," Danil remarked.

"Yeah." Finally! Someone noticed! "I /was/. But it's starting to look more 'Alley-tramp' than the 'Manly hunk' I was going for."

"Nah. It just needs some shaping. A tidy."

"Really?"

"Sure. Beards are like women; they need training. Keeps them from getting irritating." He winked and rubbed his own thinly groomed blond beard. "I can give you some tips, if you like."

Xander grinned. So much for Commander Riker and his boring beard. "Excellent."



*

"It's not quite The Bronze," Buffy noted on entering Ten-Forward with Willow. There wasn't even a band playing. Or music, for that matter.

"You're not wrong there," Spike called as he came strolling over from the bar. "They don't even do spicy Buffalo wings!"

The two girls looked at each other with the same expression. It said: 'Does he think he's our friend or something?'

"Tell you what," Buffy said to him, "why don't you grab us a table - one by a window - and we'll be right over. Maybe we'll get lucky and fly by a star."

The vampire's face went from neutral to disparaged. "Oh, you're funny, Slayer. You should do stand-up. You're a regular George Carlin." Then he stooped so low as to pull a face at her.

Willow spotted what was in his hand and asked him: "What's that you're drinking?"

Spike eyed the tall glass. "This? Yeah, I don't know what it's meant to be..." He held it up and swirled the blue liquid within. "But it's got a kick on it like a bull with a bee up its arse."

As Spike was talking, Buffy's attention wandered about the room until it fell upon the far corner where a small group of rowdy Klingons were huddled, sniggering unashamedly at the three of them. Even as she looked at them, they bore their teeth at her, muttering and laughing to themselves. The important one named Worf was with them.

"Ignore them, Buffy," Willow begged her. "On the evolutionary scale... they probably rate somewhere between Australopithecus and Neanderthal. Cro-Magnon at a push. They're not worth the trouble."

But, Buffy had her mind set and Willow's words washed over her. "Order for me, 'kay? I'll just be a second."

Willow sighed. "Okay. Be careful."

The Slayer crossed the room purposefully until she reached the drink-wetted table of the Klingons. There she stopped and planted her hands firmly on her hips as she was often in the habit of doing. "There a problem?" she asked them in a way that forbade a response.

"Where is the whimpering male you associate with?" one of the fouler of the alien men asked her.

"He has fled in fear! Like a /BiHnuch Gagh/!" another replied on her behalf.

The Klingons roared with laughter.

Buffy, not at all impressed, waited for them to quieten. "You think Xander is afraid of you? Someone told me you people had thick skulls, but they didn't say anything about your over-inflated egos."

One of the group made to stand up and face her, but Worf stopped him with a wave of his hand.

Buffy stood firm.

"Your 'friend'," said Worf, "insulted me and insulted the Klingon language. In threatening my honour, he must face me in the challenge of /B'aht Qul/. Until then, the incident will not rest."

Buffy frowned in disbelief. These Klingons were pathetic. Like teenage jocks out to defend their exaggerated reputations.

"A challenge?" she puzzled.

Worf nodded.

"The B'aht Qul challenge!" cried one of the others and slammed his elbows onto the tabletop with his fists raised. The Klingon opposite him followed suit and brought his own elbows to rest on the table. He placed his fists on the inside of his fellow's - wrists to wrists - and they chanted a brief, drunken verse before pushing against each other.

The first tried to force his opponent's arms inward while the second attempted the opposite. They struggled briefly with little movement until the first grew bored and cracked his rival with a fierce head-butt.

Both men reeled from the impact and collapsed to the floor, almost immediately bursting into alien song.

Buffy stopped to think for a moment. They really expected Xander to go through /that? /Well, if they did, she certainly didn't.

"It's a shame he's not with us, then," she stated. "You must already know Xander was sent to another ship. Indefinitely." She took a more playful pose to show how little the 'warriors' threatened her. "But as the head of my group... I accept the challenge on his behalf."

Worf grunted. "The challenge is for /him/. He is the cause of our grievance."

"Funny," she replied, "but I was led to believe that 'round these parts a leader was responsible for the actions of their group."

Worf's lip curled up.

His fellows looked at him for a response.

Buffy went on: "That would mean any grievance you have with any of my people... is between /you/... and /me/."

After a moment in which Worf realised his bluff had been called, he planted his elbows firmly on the surface of the table. "BAT QUL QAD!"

Buffy took the time to look around the lounge and found that a handful of the patrons were now transfixed with the situation at the table of the Klingons.

So, people were watching. That was okay. So long as she didn't make a jackass of herself.

Buffy, now feeling a little more than nervous, took the stool across from Worf and rested her fists within his. Due to the shortness of her arms it meant that her elbows, unlike Worf's, hung two or three inches above the level of the table. That didn't help her nerves any.

She thought she stood a fair chance of out-manoeuvring Worf. That much she had proved already. But a test of strength was another matter. Klingons were strong. She was super-human. She wasn't super-Klingon.

What she, as well as Worf, did not see was Deanna Troi, sat in the recess at the opposite corner of the room, sneaking in a late-night chocolate sundae. The counsellor's full attention was now on the Slayer/Klingon stand-off.

Worf called out "DAH!" and Buffy immediately felt him pressing in on her. Her muscles tensed instinctively and she managed to regain her starting position, much to Worf's annoyance.

His arms tightened up some more and he put his all into closing the gap between his fists.

Buffy felt her muscles pull and they began to burn suddenly.

It all seemed to be going wrong for her as Worf almost claimed his victory. But then she remembered. She wasn't just Buffy. She was the Slayer!

Her arms tightened up tenfold; muscles like rope wrapped around bars of steel, and Worf began to lose his advantage.

Ever-so-gradually, and with great struggle, the Slayer managed to bring the challenge back to its first position again. But there it lingered.

Buffy feared then that the Klingon might try to crack her skull open with his and that was not something she was about to allow... So, just for the slightest fraction of a second, she relaxed her muscles.

This surprised Worf and, when she returned at full force to push her wrists against his, the surge of power overwhelmed him and he found his bare knuckles slamming with the crack into the table-top.

Worf roared in defiance, and Buffy stepped back from the table before he could lash out at her.

She hoped that this was the end of the matter. Mainly because her arms felt like painful jelly strips hanging off her neck.

She decided, rather foolishly, to give the other Klingons a threatening glare for good measure. To her benefit, it seemed to work and the Klingons soon dispersed, leaving a disgruntled Worf alone with her.

Worf simply sat and glared up at her through sweat-dampened hair with his misshapen teeth bared. He looked like a wild and ravenous animal.

"Ooh," said Buffy, regarding his expression. "What is that?"

His face remained savage.

"Jealous 'cos I beat you?" she asked. "Or angry because I embarrassed you in front of your boys?"

At that, Worf seemed to tense up again, though his face relaxed. He stood as calmly as he could manage. "You have great strength. But strength without method is a weakness," he spat.

"Without method? I won your stupid challenge, didn't I? Besides... I train. Almost daily. I've learned all kinds of fighting styles. Giles is even helping me to get in touch with my spiritual centery place. My inner me. The essence of the Slayer."

Worf scoffed. "Only in the midst of battle, when you are at your most aware, can you learn your true nature. For a Klingon warrior - fighting not to live, but to bring glory to his name, with death facing him head on - never fearing it, for death in battle is the greatest of ALL glories, but beating a path TOWARD it ... Only THEN does the spirit run free. The hunter. The animal. Pure in thought and deed. Moving with grace. Killing with passion. ...THEN you find yourself. The WARRIOR."

Buffy stepped back from him again. His words reminded her of what Dracula had said to her some weeks ago. That she was a hunter. A killer.

"Humans know nothing of combat," Worf said to her on seeing that his words were more piercing to her than the violence of another challenge. "In YOUR time, guns and bombs fight your wars. There is NO honour in overcoming an enemy from a far away place of safety where you cannot see the defeat in their eyes as they look upon you in death."

"I don't use guns," she retorted. "I have swords...axes...and stakes. Not even particularly sharp stakes. And I fight. hand-to-hand. one-on-one. A...a combination of MuayThai, Karatedo, Grav Maga, western Boxing ... and some Shaolin Kung-Fu."

Again, Worf scoffed. "Human fighting techniques are crude and flawed. And you fight with no order."

Buffy couldn't believe his nerve. "Guess what? I like to improvise. Most of the moves are pretty basic, sure, and I adlib depending on the opponent, or how the mood takes me, and-" She stopped herself. Why was she letting this weirdo get to her? "Anyway, how's your way any better?"

Worf's face grew suddenly darker and the offence that he felt was plain to see. "Klingons have MANY levels of martial combat! Each with their own distinct techniques and each of those techniques with sets of postures and mannerisms embodied with symbolism that forms a language in itself! The language of battle! And of Honour! When a TRUE Klingon warrior fights, his motion is like an opera - each action flowing one into the next; creating a narrative. A song that will be sung for generations to come!"

Buffy opened her mouth though, at first, nothing came out. "...Oh."

Worf moved in for the final blow. "But one such as yourself could NEVER find the discipline to master the warrior's way."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she shot back. "I'm impatient? Stupid? A girl/? You don't even know me! You know /nothing about who I am!"

Worf moved closer to her. "For one, you are far too concerned with your appearance to be unconstrained enough to bare your spirit."

She held out a portion of her hair. "So, a warrior's not allowed to condition?"

"The way you wear your hair is inefficient. It is a distraction. It will be your undoing."

He's attacking my /hair/? "That's ridiculous! It's never been a problem," she argued.

"When I am in combat, I choose to wear a warrior's braid for ease of movement and to signify that I have mastered all levels of the Yan'ChaQ discipline."

/Big deal/, she thought. "So, you don't like my hair."

Worf realised the harshness of his words were beginning to wear off. It was time to say what he really thought. "And your clothes are too delicate and soft. You are a contradiction. You claim to be a warrior yet you hide behind your weaker façade. It is deceitful. You have NO honour!" he growled at her. "If you did, you would not deny yourself your TRUE nature."

For some reason she couldn't comprehend, the accusation that she was without honour seemed to be the most painful of attacks she had ever received, and Buffy found herself so effected by it that she could not continue with this argument any longer for fear of emotional overload.

"I don't have to listen to this." She turned away from him then.

Satisfied that he had prevailed as victor of this round of their conflict, Worf gazed over the defeated girl one last time before turning from her and heading out of Ten-Forward.

From their barstools, Willow and Spike watched the Klingon pass by them, and the young wiccan straight away got up to go to her friend.

"Maybe we should let her cool off for a minute?" Spike advised.

Willow saw that Buffy's hands were still clenched in tight fists; her body still rigid, and reconsidered. "Maybe just a minute," she decided, and sat back at the bar.

Deanna heard Worf's last outcry from her table, and now she could feel the raw emotions that pulsed from both he and Buffy. "Worf!" she called as she ran after him. "Wait!" she said as she caught up with him in the corridor that led out of Ten-Forward, "What was all that about?"

"Nothing," he grumbled with little conviction.

"It didn't look like nothing to me. Are you alright?"

"I am FINE," the Klingon insisted.

"Well, you don't look it."

"It was a cultural disagreement. Nothing more."

He couldn't be any more unconvincing. Deanna tried another tact: "I thought you might have been to see me... after the death of your friend."

"He was my assigned guard. He died with honour."

"Oh spare me, Worf. You can't hide the pain from /me/."

"Pain? I am a Klingon. You are mistaken."

Troi shook her head. He was SO damn proud. "Worf, how long have we known each other?"

"Long enough, Counsellor. Excuse me."

She stopped him. "Twelve years! Worf, son of Mogh. Raised by Terrans, made his career in Starfleet, served on the Enterprise for seven years and Deep Space Nine for three. Worf, you may not always like to admit it, but you're the most human Klingon I've ever met. So don't try to tell me it doesn't hurt."

Worf sighed. "Are you quite finished, Counsellor?"

"No," she said flatly and pressed on. "Worf! As angry as you may be for loosing your friend, and as angry at yourself as I know you are for feeling that way, don't you think it harsh... Don't you think it /unfair/... to take those feelings out on Buffy?" She paused to give him time to dwell on her questions. "Don't you think she's been through enough?"

Worf looked back into the bar at a motionless Buffy and contemplated. "Perhaps," he replied eventually. "I MAY have been... unnecessarily harsh." He tried to leave again.

"Hold on," Troi said, putting a hand against his chest. "Not so fast, Mister."

He sighed and stood still again, waiting for her to say whatever she had left to say.

"If that's the case, then maybe you owe someone an apology."

Worf hit her with his unimpressed scowl.

"It's like this, Worf; since Buffy arrived here she's been growing increasingly introverted. I have no idea what you said to her, but it did nothing for her confidence. And, just when she was beginning to climb up from the pit of despair she's been in, you go and take the ladders away."

Worf didn't much like hearing this from Deanna. Perhaps the truth hurts. Or perhaps he was displeased at himself for letting her down.

"I may have to recommend you for a sensitivity course at Starfleet HQ," she said. "You are supposed to be an ambassador, after all. Or had you forgotten in all the chaos?"

"I take it there is little hope of me winning this argument?"

"More like no hope," she said with a smile. "Trust me. You'll both feel better for it."

Worf growled at her as he turned. "Very well." And he marched back into Ten-Forward.

When he got to her, Worf found the Slayer staring out at the stars as they seemingly pelted towards them in a blur.

He started to say something, but stopped himself at the last moment. Damn this was difficult. He'd just subjected this girl to a severe psychological beating. How could he take it back?

He thought it over and began to speak again: "Have your studies helped you to find your soul?"

Buffy couldn't believe he was back and she turned to give him a piece of her mind, until she saw the look on his face. He almost looked human. It surprised her. "They're...helping," she said. "I'm stronger and faster now than I've ever been."

"But you have not yet freed your spirit?" he asked carefully.

She didn't answer him right away. Her thoughts travelled back to Dracula. He was going to teach her about her history and show her what her body could do. Giles had taught her all the history of the Slayer there was to find in the books. But physically... there was so much she felt she was capable of that she had not yet touched upon. The heart of what she was still evaded her. "No. Not really," she reluctantly admitted. "Giles is doing great. I've learnt so much through his training. But..." She struggled to say what she wanted without undermining the teachings of her 'Watcher'.

Worf offered an ending to her sentence: "It is too limited?"

She dropped her head in shame and silently affirmed. She almost felt like she was betraying Giles somehow. And to this savage of all people.

"I may have been incorrect," he said to her, drawing her attention.

It seemed he was not a man who commonly admitted to being in error.

Worf took a breath as if considering his next words most carefully. "Perhaps you DO have it within you to learn the Way of the Warrior."