FicWad

- Prelude To War -
--The Brink Of War--
28
Xander's neck and shoulder ached, and his trigger-finger had developed a seriously itchy blister. If excessive firing of a phaser rifle hadn't caused it, then it was due to the more demanding task of working the weapons of a shuttle in the battle of Wolf 314…or Austin 3:16…or something.
"Xander! Xander!"
As he turned into the corridor that led to his quarters, Anya was by its open door waving her arms about in a headless-chicken-dance of panic. It was then, as he approached at a jog, that he heard the clear electronic alert tone that came bleating from inside.
"What? What is it?" He leapt into the room – on guard – zipping his head this way and that; searching for the danger that undoubtedly (knowing his luck) awaited him there.
Nothing moved. The room was empty of all but the furnishings. Yet that shrill beeping continued ominously.
"What? Where? Wha–?"
Anya pointed. "That stupid little battleships computer-thing just started screeching at me," she groaned.
He looked at her cynically.
"I didn't touch anything, if that's what you're thinking."
Together, they moved toward the small table with the beeping object upon it.
Xander poked it. It looked like a laptop. Or, indeed, computerised Battleships. On further 'analysis', it even folded down like a laptop, but it was fixed to the table. There'd been nothing that looked like it in their room on the Enterprise. Xander flipped it up again. It wasn't lit and there seemed to be no buttons; just shiny black plastic plating.
Anya, face creased in pain at the sound it made, decided to put her fingers to the bottom plate. "Maybe you have to–"
"Anya!"
Too late. The device came to life. Horrific conspiracy theories shot through Xander's mind, followed by the question of just how resourceful Darkness might be with Data's knowledge at hand. There was just one conclusion that he came to…
It was an evil bomb!
"No!" He prepared to leap for cover with Anya when–
Willow's face appeared on its screen.
"S'about time!" came her familiar voice.
Xander saw that the lower plate of the 'bomb' was now lit with a series of touch-sensitive buttons. It was the Rutherford's version of a communicator terminal. Anya had simply switched it on.
"I was starting to think you'd abandoned ship," Willow said.
"Hey, Will!" he replied, more than pleased to see her oh-so-cutie-pie face again. Yet not as enthused as he would normally be. He took a seat by the table. "Jumping ship's not such a bad idea. Considering the alternative."
"Then you know what's coming?" she asked. "War?"
"It's all I've been able to think about. Been running training programs all morning. Even got the blister to show," he said, waving his trigger finger. "A new blister."
"Haven't you seen the doctor over there?" said Will. "They'd blast that blister into the blister nether-realm."
"Yeah…" Xander paused uncertainly. "Don't get me wrong, the doc here's hot; with the blue skin and the little antennae…"
Will puzzled at him.
"But she's a little…" he sought the word, "…intimidating. She's like: 'Sit here. Don't move. Take off your shirt. Open your mouth. Say 'Aah'. Take off your pants'."
"She made you take off your pants?!"
Xander grinned to himself. "Not so much…I kinda just dropped that one in there…more like a fantasy…no. But it happens for real in my dreams," he beamed.
Anya passed by and cracked him one round the head.
"Ow."
"I'm in the room," she warned.
"Sorry, Hon." He coughed into his hand: "Riker"
"Hey! Look at you!" Willow gasped suddenly. "I knew there was somethin' about you!" She pointed in a frantic fashion. "You're all hairy. …Xander, are you growing a beard?"
Xander flushed a little. "It’s kind of a half-beard right now."
"It’s your step-beard!" Will smiled. "So? Trying to out-beard Riker at his own game?"
"That's the plan," he jibed. "Besides; maybe it'll suit me. Maybe it's just what I need to give me a more mature air. Y'know; make me more growd-up." Anya handed him a clear bowl from the replicator. "Ooh; Spaghetti-Os!" he marvelled, taking a spoonful. "How are things at your end?"
Willow's happy face faded away again to gloom. "Not good. I'm working on new pouches but I don't know if they'll work any better than the last ones that went poof. And the best binding spell I can muster just isn't right for the job. …I don’t think I can do it."
"Hey," said Xander, setting the bowl aside. "We're on the Slayer-Team. We always bring home the trophy. When we catch him, we'll be ready. We're always ready. Okay…We're never ready. At least not until the last minute when we pull it back in a pinch. It'll come together," he assured her.
Somehow, though nothing had changed, his words washed her worries almost away. "I miss you," she said dearly. "It isn't the same without the whole gang here."
Xander smiled, but moved on. "Speaking of the Slayer, where is Buffy?"
"Buffy's on a vision-quest in the land of Klingonia," she replied.
"Wow. She must have been bored."
"Actually she seemed keen. Enthusiastic almost. I think she has some personal issues to work out. This might help."
"Nah," Xander retorted with a wave of his hand. "She'll be back any minute complaining about the whole experience: 'Cling-ons are so stupid. Cling-ons are so dull and freakish with their anal features–'"
Willow's door swished open.
Buffy – drenched in sweat, dishevelled, wrapped only in a brown robe; her clothes held under an arm – came storming in. "Willow!"
"Buffy?!" she exclaimed with shock at the sight of her.
Buffy saw the Comm screen. "Xander?"
"Buff?!" he also exclaimed with surprise.
There was an odd pause.
"We're on," declared the Slayer.
Will hesitated. "Uh…on what?"
Buffy looked into the screen at Xander. "We'll call you from Giles' room."
With that, his screen went black.
*
Within minutes, Willow had patched the Comm through the large viewscreens in Giles' and Xander's quarters and the five Scoobs were almost together again.
Buffy hurriedly outlined what had happened to her: The vision-quest, the Sorcerer, him being the son of Satan and an Angel – the Angel of Nature and Earth – that he and Darkness were brothers… and that Darkness was, in fact, Rhamhal of the Pestihl'nhar.
"Rhamhal of Pestihl'nhar?" Anya mused. "Rmn'pest'ln. I told you so. Rumpelstiltskin."
"Pity you weren't less ambiguous the first time," Giles replied sarcastically.
She wrinkled her nose at him.
Buffy followed by explaining that, without form, Darkness could not be destroyed. He was immortal in the most literal sense. Therefore, They would need to repeat the original binding spell using the Sorcerer… "If Willow opens the doors."
"I see," Giles began to pace around the room. "He suggests we open a doorway to the afterlife in order to channel his spirit through Willow."
"Through me?" the young Wicca squeaked, somewhat taken aback. "I'm nowhere near that strong!"
"I believe you are," he countered. "Moreover, the Wiccan Goddess believes it so. She tried to tell you that you were ‘Strong to bear the anima'…the spirit. She knew you could channel the Sorcerer's spirit."
"So," said Buffy, getting things moving, "we open a door?"
"Yes…" Rupert considered. "We shall need to enter the Spirit World. Th-There is an incantation…"
"Do you know it? Without your books?" she asked.
"Well, I-I," he stuttered, mumbling. "It isn't…that is, it's a complicated…not to mention a-a danger–"
She pressed him: "Giles! Do you know it?" They were at such a desperate point. There was no time for being sheepish.
And Giles knew it. He touched the sleeve of his colourful shirt where, below the surface, lay the tattoo. "…I do."
Buffy didn't much care to learn why Giles knew how to access the realm of the dead so readily. It probably went back to his Ripper years. After all; there was a dark side to Giles that they'd only seen a glimpse of when the whole Ethan Rayne/ Mark of Eyghon thing had come out.
Giles looked past his fears and continued: "But the Spirit World is a vast and…well…needless to say; it won't be easy to find this Sorcerer. One might liken it to a needle in a haystack."
"Where the needle looks remarkably like a piece of hay," added Willow.
"The Sorcerer said that he'd find you," Buffy resolved.
"Well, then," said Giles, "in that case…it seems a possible salvation has fallen into our lap."
Willow glanced at Xander, who smiled back and gave a wink. "Just like Xander said it would."
"What about the consequences?" asked Buffy. "Remember what happened when we called on the Spirit of the First Slayer?"
Death is your gift
What did it mean? How was she expected to earn the right to this knowledge?
"This is different," Will explained. "The First Sorcerer is helping us willingly. Besides, he sounds like a much more focused entity."
Buffy nodded. "Okay. A plan. What do we need to prepare?"
"Willow should rest," said Giles. "Conserve her strength. Buffy – you and I will need to acquire some supplies."
The Slayer got up, purposeful finally. "Right. Let's go."
The trio made a move, and Giles' room quickly emptied.
*
On the viewer, Xander and Anya looked through the screen at the vacant room.
Again, they were left feeling utterly useless. Out of the loop.
Anya left him sat by the viewer. There he waited for the longest time before finally letting it go. He switched off the Comm at his end, stood, and made his way out – grabbing his jacket and slipping it on.
Anya caught him at the door. "Where are you going?"
"Where I'm needed."
Then he was gone.
*
Rupert had made a list that was to the best of his memory, had shown it to the captain (while struggling with his own conscience – whether or not to tell Picard the truth about demons being as individual as mortals. As it happened, he couldn't bring himself to speak of it. He still wasn't quite sure if he had done the wrong thing by lying.) and was now on his way, with Buffy, to a room on deck 2.
It was on Picard's instruction that they were heading for this room. Apparently, there they would find the means to gather the supplies required to reach the dead.
Arriving at deck 2, they found a deck much like all the other levels they'd seen – dark, moody, with grey and brown décor and no windows. Following the corridor, they soon reached the intersection where they were meant to turn right. But, as they did, they were met with a security guard who was armed at the hip with one of their laser pistols.
When the Slayer saw him there, blocking their path with a weapon at hand, she became instantly defensive.
The man's hands went up right away. It seemed he had no desire to tackle a girl with her reputation. "It's okay," he said, tapping the hand-phaser. "We're on yellow-alert. Standard procedure."
Buffy relaxed and tried to look casual about her jumpiness.
"I'm Rush," he put to them. "My order from the captain is to grant your every wish." At that, he led them into the room.
"How about galactic peace? Can you do that?" Buffy joked as she passed him going in. "Though I'd settle for Freddy Prince Jr…in a pair of white Speedo's…preferably two sizes too small." When she entered, she discovered an odd room that reminded her of cheesy sci-fi shows from TV. It screamed: 'cheap set'. Simple grey walls and six large and bulky machines against them circling the small room.
Rush led them to one of the devices on the far wall. "Don't poke fun, Miss. I've never known any guest not an ambassador to have such a free license here on the Enterprise."
"We are ambassadors of our cause, Crewman," Giles said, following Buffy in.
"Lieutenant," he remarked, pointing to the pips on his collar. "It's Lieutenant. I'm an officer."
Lt. Rush started the machine up, and it came alive with lit panels and a small screen upon the wall above it. "Captain Picard just thought you might need some help using the replicators here," the man explained.
"Much appreciated," Rupert acknowledged. "We have a list." He handed a PADD over to Rush and watched as he gave it a quick glance.
The man's eyes widened. "…Yes, you do."
Slightly embarrassed, Giles added: "I'm assuming you don't have anointed candles." He received a blank look. "As I thought. We shall have to mould them ourselves, and anoint the ingredients as we add them."
Rush's face strained somewhat. "Anoint? You mean, like; give them some kind of holy blessing?"
"Err…" Giles began.
Buffy stepped in. "No," she said. "More like; give them mojo."
"Mojo?"
Giles also blinked. "Mojo?"
"Right. Mojo. Ya know; like...power. It's all about creating an atmosphere of energy. Almost like a beacon from this world to another."
Giles appeared quite dumbfounded by her accuracy.
"'Least, that's how Willow put it," she went on. "I think. I can't be far off. …I think it's a kind of radio. Like; Demon FM, or somethin'."
Rupert shook his head. Looking back to Lt. Rush, he asked: "What do you think?"
He gave the list a thorough perusal with a pained and uncertain expression throughout.
It read:
Hand-poured candles:
Beeswax (20 lbs, raw, in 1lb blocks).
10-inch twine wicks (20).
Chopped Violet leaves (20 oz).
Orris-root powder (20 oz).
Dye from 'murex' marine mollusc 'mollis purpura' (1 ltr).
2 boiling pans, (one small, one large).
8-inch tall metal cup, 3-inch diameter (2).
8-inch deep metal bucket (1).
Rush looked to them for any sign of humour, before continuing:
One untreated wooden Talisman, Cocobolo 'dalbergia retusa', in style of Mark of Eyghon (4-inch long, 2-inch wide, 1-inch deep Approx.).
One untreated wooden bowl, also Cocobolo (6-inch diameter, 4-inch at deepest point) Containing:
Undiluted Venison blood, female.
He frowned hard and again looked up.
Giles indicated for him to continue:
INCENSE:
Star anise seeds (4 oz).
Althaea leaves (4 oz).
Acacia leaves (4 oz).
Myrrh resin (4 oz).
Sandalwood, fresh (1 living plant).
One Charcoal tablet.
One large Clam-shell.
Tuscan sand (4 lbs).
Also:
Device to ignite candles.
One pair of metal tongs.
3 granite grinding bowls with implements.
Diet Coke (1 ltr).
2 twinkies.
1 Hershey.
Buffy and Giles waited.
Rush opened his mouth… but closed it again. This happened a number of times before he finally spoke. "Um…some of these things I can do for you now… but the rest… are going to take some programming."
Rupert nodded in understanding. "Then we shall take what we can now, thank you."
Within minutes, the replicator was in full swing. The items that caused problems were mainly the blood of a female Deer, the Talisman, and the specific sand. It would take some time to learn the correct molecular sequences for those requests, and to program the computer.
Eventually, Rush did manage the Talisman, after taking an image of Giles' tattoo and creating a 3D mesh for the replicator to work to. Many more parcels and boxes followed.
A large plasticrete box materialised containing 20 blocks of Beeswax. Buffy lifted it from the replicator and carried it out to the anti-gravity trolley Rush had quickly ordered after reading the list. Giles was there; straightening out the items already sat upon it. He made room and Buffy dropped the Beeswax between the metal bucket and the pans.
She caught Giles staring at her. "What?"
He dropped his gaze and fumbled with his spectacles, cleaning the lenses with his rainbow shirt.
She waited for him to get past his awkward moment.
"How are you holding up?" he asked at last. It seemed to Buffy that he had been trying to ask this for some time.
She sighed. "I'm okay."
"Buffy?"
She sighed deeper. "I'm holding up."
"Is that enough?" he asked her.
"It'll have to be. I'm really alright."
"Something is far from alright, Buffy. You haven't been the same… that is, you've been worse since the visions. I can see it in you."
"Watching me that closely, huh?"
"It was my job once."
"I'm not going to crack, Giles, if that's what you're worried about."
"Of course not. Why would you?"
She hesitated. "What do you mean 'worse since the visions'? Worse than what?"
"You've…been in turmoil since we arrived, Buffy. It's perfectly understandable. …I'm deeply concerned for Dawn. Her safety is at great risk with you here. I can only imagine how terribly you worry for her."
Buffy sat herself down on the trolley.
"Has something happened? Did you see something?"
"The visions," she said softly. "They showed me other things. Images."
He was careful not to sound forceful. "Images of what?"
He saw her eyes were moist with welling tears. "Angel in pain…Dawn…with that Demon-Whore."
"They could be nothing more than dream figments."
"No." She glared severely. "She found out Dawn's the Key, I know it." She looked to him with deep, painful pleading. "Giles, if there was ever a time that I needed to be in Sunnydale, it's now. I've no doubt about it – Dawn needs me." Her face dropped. "Yet…here we are."
"If things really are at their worst, as you fear, I'm certain Angel would be there for Dawn in your absence," he assured her.
"That's one of the things I'm afraid of. …I can't help feeling like…like I'm supposed to be there…that I'm the only one that can do … whatever needs to be done to protect Dawn."
"I can't profess to bare the unique insight your Slayer abilities have granted you, but I can tell you that… that all of your fears and worrying may be entirely pointless. We can't know for certain that what you saw and what you feel are reflections of actual events. Events, might I add, that are tied to another reality in another time. I doubt even your prophetic visions can transcend dimensional divides. More to the point; in all your concern for Dawn… have you considered who will protect her from the end of all existence as we know it?"
"Me! Giles?…" She looked at him in disbelief – that he would even ask her that.
He continued despite her: "You're not here, Buffy. Darkness grows closer to his goal every moment. Everything is at stake. This world, our world, and every other. I am sorry to be so harsh, but–"
"No. No, you're right." She got up from the floating trolley and paced. "But it's not just the visions. I've been painting by numbers since we got here, Giles. I was on auto-pilot fighting the zombies. …By the time we caught up with the android – Data – I…I let him get the better of me way too easily. I wasn't even trying to be careful. I'm lucky he didn't kill me. He could have." Buffy stopped pacing and sat down again. "Then came the visions, oh joyous mirth." She let out a breath. "Since then I've just been using everything that's happening here as a diversion. Trying to keep myself occupied with Worf, too. Funny, I was actually beginning to learn something. But this isn't a diversion, is it Giles?" It was far too serious a problem for that.
"No," he replied gravely. "No, it isn't." Rupert puzzled. "Worf? He's the Klingon you've been training with?"
"Yeah. …Is that…I mean; you don't mind?"
"Certainly not. I can only teach you so much, Buffy. At the very most all that is humanly possible. If you have an opportunity to learn skills beyond those I can bestow..." He smiled. "Then I think you should go for it while you have the chance."
Her face showed him warmth and appreciation. "Worf thinks that humans are weaker than Klingons because we're afraid of death," she told him.
"What do you think?"
"I don't know." She sighed, and seemed to relax finally. "I always thought it made us stronger; not wanting to die. It makes us do whatever it takes to avoid it. But Klingons aim for it. …They're like…big, brutal, steroid-induced lemmings."
Giles frowned.
"Also noble, and brave, and honourable," she added. "They're really annoying."
"Not at all like you, then?"
She raised one eyebrow.
Rush appeared from within the room, containers stacked under his arms. Puzzlement lay over his face. "Is this… are…are you guys, like, casting a magic-spell or something?"
Buffy got up, suddenly all business. "That's right. The Devil's Black Magic."
"As a matter of fact, " Giles pointed out, "it's more toward purple magic."
Buffy continued to address the officer. "We're opening a portal and summoning the dead," she said, blunt as butter. "Fun, eh?"
Rush dropped the packages on the trolley and quickly walked away, glancing back as he went, disturbed to say the least.
"Was that entirely necessary?"
"No," she said. "But it felt good." She grabbed the hover-cart and set off down the corridor. "We better get started right away. We have a lot to prepare. …This guy…is goin' down."
Giles watched her and smiled. His Slayer – focused, ready and as annoying as ever. It was good to see that side of her again. Of course, he would never admit to that.
*
In the armoury of the USS Rutherford, Cpt. Freeman was finishing a short motivational speech before sending his troops off to their duties. Freeman watched them leave and, within himself, wished them all the luck in the galaxy.
"Hi." Xander entered with a confident stride. "I'm here to sign-up," he said. "To volunteer…for the Corps. I thought maybe you could use a shuttle gunner or somethin'." He looked around with open arms, as if looking to apply himself to some physical task.
"Actually…those positions have been filled," Dave replied.
"Oh…" He glanced around again. "Well, somethin' then?" he asked in earnest, remembering that Freeman allowed no free rides. "I don't wanna be just a piece of cargo."
"Oh, you won't," Freeman assured him. "It's our hope we'll have the chance to board that Bird to get to Data."
"To capture him?"
"Yes," Dave agreed. "Or the other option," he added, with a sinister tone. "I could use you with a rifle in the main transporter room when the time comes. You'll be part of the raiding party. It'll be hard – close quarters – you'll be a Mobile Infantry Trooper."
Xander nodded. He seemed to accept it with little or no trouble. "What about Anya?"
"I'd like her on the bridge," said the Rutherford's captain. "There's a chance that her specialist knowledge of these creatures may be needed." Freeman noted the younger man's relief. "She'll be safer here."
Dave observed as Xander seemed to drift into himself for a moment, possibly foreseeing how events may unfold when tomorrow comes and all becomes a grim nightmare. Unfortunately, Dave couldn't stick around to help Xander through his troubles. He had an entire crew to care for after all. "Just remember your holo-training. You're a natural, soldier." He put a strong hand on Harris' shoulders. "Keep a phaser rifle at your side and be ready for the call." He gave a final nod and embarked on a last tour of his ship, stopping on his way to instruct a security officer – "See that our colleague here's issued with a type 3." – before disappearing out the door.
*
On the floor of his quarters, Giles laid out the wax and wicks, the leaves, powder and purple dye. He then placed the smaller pan into the centre of the larger pan on his coffee table.
"Hot water; one-hundred and seventy degrees," Buffy ordered, and watched as an odd flask materialised on Giles' private replicator. She returned with it to the low table and, as instructed, poured the hot water into the larger pan until it almost reached the rim of the smaller pan inside.
Finally, Giles placed a single block of wax into that small pan to melt. "Now we wait."
"How many candles are we making anyways?" asked Buffy.
"Thirteen," he said.
She smirked. "Thirteen? …C'mon…are we that cliché?"
"Thirteen happens to be a very significant number – with deep ritualistic connotations."
There came a silent beat.
"Darn-tootin'," Willow chirped from the window ledge where she sat grinding.
"Oookay," muttered Buffy as she followed Giles over to check on Willow's progress.
The young witch held a granite bowl of finely crushed violet leaves and orris-root powder. "All done," she said with a smile.
"Now we must anoint the ingredients," said Giles.
Willow's personal scepticism found voice: "Shouldn't that be done by, like, a shaman…or a coven?"
"As a witch, your word will be as binding as any coven," he assured.
Willow eyed the bowl. "I don't remember any anointing spells."
Rupert took the bowl in his hand. "Simply focus on the ingredients and say…something like: 'In the name of the Wiccan creed, and by natures hand, bless this…token of offering…with…the power given unto me by…the high Goddess…of my craft.' …It really isn't important, so long as you give it your Wiccan blessing."
She nodded. "I bless you," she put simply, with a wave of her hand.
"I was expecting something a little more involved," he said.
So, she waved her hand over the bowl again and went on: "In the name of the Goddess, the sun, the moon and the stars. In the name of the Earth and the living trees that set root in her soil as her skin. And the rivers and oceans that flow as her life's blood… May this power that I bestow herein… aid us all in seriously kicking some evil ass." She wiggled her fingers at the bowl. "Okay."
"One blessed salad," Buffy announced. "What now?"
Giles handed her the newly anointed bowl of powder and leaves. "Now we prepare our first candle," he replied, returning to his pans and stirring the softened wax.
The Slayer regarded the contents of the bowl. "Um…waiter? …I believe I ordered the Caesar."
The girls snickered.
When melted, they added a measure of the anointed goods and a measure of purple dye to the wax and stirred. Buffy filled the metal bucket halfway with cold water from the replicator, at 5 degrees, as Giles removed the inner pan and poured its contents into the tall moulding cup. The wax began to harden right away, and Giles created a thin hole in the centre of the forming candle. In this, he added a wick. This cup was then placed in the cold water bucket until the wax hardened fully. Once the candle was knocked free, it was finished.
Willow helped them to repeat this process 12 more times, as she could not yet prepare the incense. They were still waiting for the Deer blood and the sand. In addition, they were expecting the science lab to deliver 2 completely sealed yet hollow containers – non bio-degradable. It was hoped that they would be a suitable new home for the Spirit and Mastery of the evil one.
It was early afternoon by Earth time when the candles were fully prepared, and time to rest before tomorrow's war. Technically it was that very evening, after a brief nap, when they would reach their cornered enemy, yet out there in space it was difficult to tell day from night and where one day ended and the next began.
The three Scoobs reluctantly left their preparations at a standstill. The rest period was a captain's order. He wanted a fully lucid team at crunch-time. As for the Scoobs, they at least had a chance to bind Darkness using the Sorcerer’s original spell. It wouldn't kill him, but it would end the present threat. Hopefully more permanently than the last time.
The remaining supplies arrived as the girls were leaving for their own rooms. They planned to continue as soon as they'd had their much needed few hours sleep. They said their good afternoon's and headed for bed.
*
Geordi La forge, Chief Engineer of the Enterprise, stepped off the ladders and rounded the warp core. He halted where Wells knelt with his head in an open panel. "Reinforcing the EPS taps? …Good work. Just watch your infusion rate – nothing above a point-one flow. You're doin' a great job." He continued on his way, pointing back up to the 2nd level. "Benson! Be careful of the flux levels. Let’s try to avoid burning out the isolinear matrix." Then he stopped, seeing an open panel amass with cable ends and without a busy crewman. "What's happening here?"
Wells popped out of his hole. "Lorrez' started adding those optical hardlines to the ODN trunks."
"Lorrez?" La Forge scanned the deck. "Where the hell is Lorrez?"
"Up here, sir," came a voice from the upper level. A stocky crewman appeared at the railing wearing a technician's coveralls.
"What are you playing at up there?"
"I'm just restarting the subprocessor while the maintenance port is free," replied Lorrez, with an unusual accent.
"Did you finish backing up the ODN lines?"
"Not yet, Commander, but–"
"Not yet?! You aiming to blow out the supports when you bring that processor online? …Didn't think so. Now get your butt down here."
"Sir."
Geordi reached the system display table where more of his people worked on warp core defences. "How're we doin' with that forcefield?"
"No improvement on previous levels," he was told.
"Dammit. We just don't have enough juice left. We'll have to put it on hold 'til Commander Riker clears all the non-essential decks. Soon as he does, we'll re-route that power and pile it into the core's defences. It's vital the core holds."
His team nodded, and left him alone at the table. He was stressed and tired, and he felt there was so much more he wanted to achieve before duty called. He was mulling over his thoughts when the young red-headed member of the Spooky Group made her presence known.
"Bad time?" Willow asked when he looked to her with his tired mechanical eyes.
"…No. Well…actually yes. But it's okay. There a problem?"
"No. Not really. Apart from the loom of imminent danger," she said, trying to be light-hearted.
"Trouble sleeping?" he asked.
"There's just too much tension in the air."
"You know…you really shouldn't be here," said La Forge.
"I know… just thought… maybe I could help out…" She ambled up to a small wall display and perused over the readouts. "At least 'til I'm tired enough to sleep."
Geordi actually felt himself laugh inside, and couldn't help but smile a little. "Uh…I don't really think there's anything you could–"
"I notice you're building a second network between the ships' workstations and operating systems," Willow observed quite casually.
The engineer faltered. "Um… yeah." He knew she couldn't possibly understand what they were doing, but he explained anyway with a sceptical expression: "We already have multiple back-ups. But they all run off of the same subprocessors. So, if they're damaged or we lose all power…" he trailed off. "That's why we're trying out another optical network; running off an independent generator the science labs are throwing together."
"Sounds pretty experimental," she replied without a sign of confusion.
"That, and not exactly recommended," Geordi said, a little confused himself.
"Cool." She studied the wall display again, then said: "Pity it's all cross-wired."
"What?!" Geordi erupted, the insult blazing across his face, before he regained his composure. "It's not cross-wired."
"Okay," she agreed, in a clearly disagreeable way.
"It's not cross-wired."
"I'm sure you're right," she said softly.
Now he was irritated, and feeling the onset of an insecure uncertainty. "I can guarantee you that it is not cross-wired," he assured…himself. Using the systems display table, he viewed all the internal connections of the hardlines and optical data network cables. He ran a quick diagnostic that confirmed his statement.
At that, Willow played her hand over the screen controls a little awkwardly, but managed eventually to find the desired buttons. The screen changed to show a completed section of the overall network. At the centre seemed to be a junction box of sorts from which a spaghetti car-crash of cables branched off.
"Residual electrical transference," she stated.
Geordi then smiled. He understood what she was thinking. She believed that, because both the old and new cable loops ran through this same junction, that they were no longer separate. She was wrong. "See this casing?" he asked, pointing to the junction box itself. "That material is built to absorb and diffuse any and all residual energy. The back-up loop is completely independent to the ODN lines. Trust me. It's not possible for there to be any energy transference. All the simulations support this."
"I'll bet your simulations didn't take into account the stress levels on your junction if the ODN line blows – I mean – overloads under an attack."
"It's designed to handle stress."
"It's also designed to spread that stress out over its surface. That's a lot of megawattage. But it's not designed to isolate your back-up lines."
La Forge considered her now with less scepticism and more surprise. He didn’t try to argue. "Computer, run a simulation series on our current ODN and hardline terminal networks."
"Working," the female computer-voice replied.
"What would be the effect on the back-up system should the primary ODN lines be overloaded?"
"There would be no effect on the secondary hardline should the primary ODN lines be overloaded."
He shrugged at her. "See." She was clearly out of her depth and he couldn't understand why she'd want to trouble him like this.
"Computer," Willow persisted, "what effect would there be on the ODN junction points if the primary lines are overloaded?"
"The ODN junction points would experience an increase in energy absorption."
"How great an increase?" she asked.
"Increase levels would depend on the severity of the overload."
"Give me a range, Computer."
"Twelve to fifteen megawatts of energy may be absorbed at the ODN junction points in the event of an overload."
La Forge didn't look impressed. "That's hardly surprising," he argued. "Those junctions can handle well over a twenty megawatt charge. Non of that energy will reach the back-up cables. The two circuits are separate. There's no cross-wire here. Look, I've been a chief engineer for nearly twelve years… and I'm trying real hard not to be impolite, but–"
"How much energy would have to reach those new back-up cable ports to create a circuit?" she pushed.
La Forge sighed impatiently. "As little as three milliwatts could do it. But, as I keep telling you, it's not gonna happen."
"Computer, in the event of an overload to the ODN lines, should twelve to fifteen megawatts of energy be absorbed at the junction points… how much energy would reach the ports of the back-up lines?"
"Point-eight-five to two milliwatts."
"You said anything over that would create a circuit between the two cables?"
"Anything at three or above."
"Computer, how much energy would be present in the cable port simply by having a hardline connection present?"
"Point-six milliwatts."
"That's close," she observed.
The chief had to admit that it was closer than he'd realised, but still at a safe level of 2.6 milliwatts maximum. Well below 3 milliwatts. "I really do need to get back to work," La Forge pointed out, hoping the girl would leave. She was soft spoken and somewhat timid, that was true, but she was beginning to give him more stress than securing the warp core.
"Now, Computer," Willow said, as La Forge rolled his eyes, "if that junction port has a two-point-six milliwatt charge at the time of an overload, and is receiving an average demand from computer terminals in tactical and flight control departments under battle conditions… what would be the effect?"
"The junction port would experience a micro-feedback loop causing a point-five increase in energy levels," the computer responded.
"A point five increase? That would bring the wattage up to…"
"Over the limit," La forge uttered in sheer disbelief.
"Resulting in?"
"The creation of a circuit," he continued.
"Meaning?"
He began to feel like a first year cadet. "If a subprocessor blows, it'll take our back-up with it." His hands went up to his head. "I don't believe it."
"You'll have to put in, like, a fuse…or a circuit breaker or somethin'," Willow advised with much less technical clarity.
Geordi stood speechless. He simply could not, in any way, believe he'd been caught with his proverbial trousers about his ankles. Especially by someone so young. And especially by someone who, less than 76 hours ago, had never seen a starship nor heard of a warp drive let alone an optical data network. It was like young Wesley Crusher all over again.
His shock was suddenly replaced by suspicion.
He found words again: "You didn't just spot that did you? You knew there was a problem."
Willow blushed a little and gave a shrug, admitting to him that she'd spent much of her time over the past day searching for a problem she could help solve.
"Now why would you go to all that trouble?" said Geordi.
She reached into her fur-lined coat – a copy of the one she'd had back home – and presented him with a small crystal. She referred to the small clear rock as labradonite, mentioning a pouch of some sort, and asked if he could spare the time to help her alter it's structure.
The chief didn't have to think twice. He wouldn't have spotted the cross-wire in his system until the final battle simulation was run. And that would be almost certainly too late to make it right. "Seeing as you saved me at least an hour of work," he said, playing it down somewhat, "not to mention embarrassment…Sure, let's take a look."
With the help of La Forge, and a new and unusual gadget, they managed to focus the refraction of the crystal.
The labradonite itself was used in her pouches to reflect demon energies. By enhancing the amount and intensity of the light it reflected she hoped to repel the demon force of Evil more than the last time back on Traders' World. It was an effort to solve a supernatural problem with a scientific solution.
They were just finishing up when Willow finally broke a subject she was desperate to talk about. "Data…he gave us a tour of the ship when we first arrived," she said.
Geordi tensed a little. There was pain behind his blue optical implants.
"Data said you were his best friend," Willow recalled. "Before he turned evil and all."
His eyes dropped and he let out a remorseful sound. "Don’t feel like much of a friend right now."
She let him take a second.
"Y'know," Geordi said, "Data's done this kind of thing before. Tried to kill us. Sometimes without even realising it. But it's never been his fault. There's always someone else pulling the strings. He's not the one responsible for this."
"You're right, he isn't. But we think we know who is." She gave him a brief explanation, which he found difficult to accept.
"Giles is gonna hand-in his report to the captain first thing," she added.
La Forge groaned. "It all sounds so far-fetched. I mean…ghosts, monsters, and now the gods? It's not exactly the kind of reasoning I'm used to dealing with."
"It's the kind of thing I deal with every day," she pointed out. "Besides, it's Captain Picard who'll have to decide what to do with the information."
"Yeah," he considered, "well I don't envy him." He looked around at the technology that he knew so well, and thought of all the hocus-pocus he'd witnessed in the last 4 days. "This…whole situation forces a person to completely re-evaluate their thinking."
"Yeps," she agreed. "I remember when I saw my first vampire. That was a crash-course in thought re-evaluation alright." Will spotted a PADD lying face-up on the display table. On it was a familiar image.
"Captain Picard's asked for a fail-safe version of the immobiliser Counsellor Troi used on Data," Geordi explained, raising the PADD and examining it. "But…whatever I come up with to shut him down… that thing… It'll just be able to restart him again like last time. …If I can just break its hold on him… give Data a chance to fight back. As I understand it, Data'd have to die to be released from…whatever-the-hell it is inside him."
"What would Data want you to do? Considering what can happen if you do nothing?" she asked him.
"And if it was you? If you had to kill one of your friends to save everyone else?"
"I…I'd find another way," she acknowledged.
"If there was no other way?" he pushed.
"I'd find another way."
"And that's what I have to do. I need to find another way to get it out of him. Somehow… If only we could offer it a…a better alternative. Somehow convince it that Data is the wrong host." La Forge strained. "I can't think of any other way than to kill him."
Willow dropped her eyes then with sadness. She hadn't known Data long at all, yet she'd seen the purity of his soul right from the first moment she met him. Now they were considering killing him.
'Kill him?' she thought with an inward frown. 'A machine?'
Was it really 'Killing' him? He was, after all, a computer in a humanoid shell. She shook her head, surprised at herself for thinking such a thing. But something dawned on her then: 'He's a computer!' Then she realised. "A virus!"
La forge puzzled at her. "What?"
"I've got it! A self-defeating virus!" She began to flap and move around frantically. "One that corrupts all Data's programming and function – memory, personality – destroying everything that gives him life – his soul – forcing the Evil out."
Geordi caught on right then. "Before fulfilling its design by repairing and uncorrupting his systems… bringing him back online." He finally saw a light of hope. It didn't last. "Uh, but it's not a hundred percent safe. To keep the entity away from him, he'd have to be corrupted for a length of time. He might be out too long to bring him back."
"It's safer than killing him dead," she pointed out.
"If there's any permanent damage…I don't know that I can repair it."
"It's Data," Willow stressed. "You can do it. You can do it because you have to."
He allowed a ray of hope to return. "Alright…say we pull this off and Data is 'exorcised'…what about everyone else around him? Won't it just take a leap into the nearest person?"
"I got that covered," she said hopefully, trying to sound confident. She didn't want to rock his boat now. "That's what this is for." She raised the crystal again.
He didn't understand how that was possible, yet he allowed himself to trust her. "Okay," he accepted. "I need to get to work on this virus right away."
Will nodded and stepped to the exit. "I should go. I'm supposed to rest."
La Forge had no such luxury. "Good luck with your crystal."
She smiled. "You too." On her way she paused. "If you need a hand…"
"Thanks." He chuckled, which surprised him in that moment. Some of that earlier embarrassment also returned. "We're good here," he said. "Well, we are now. …Thanks." He watched her leave the department and the thought struck him that he'd just been in the presence of a potentially exceptional Starfleet officer.
*
Much of the crew on both vessels were now taking sleep – many with the aid of a very short-term hypospray injection to defeat the tension keeping them awake.
Picard himself – the man who gave the rest order – with barely an hour of struggled sleep, had dressed and returned to the bridge with a pressing urge. Stepping off the turbolift, he moved directly to the pilot at Conn. "Ensign." He paused to consider his decision.
Their current speed was warp 2. They were 0.1 light years behind Data. He would arrive at the Klingon's location about 6 hours ahead of the Enterprise.
Picard was meant to await the signal from the gHin TAQ before increasing his speed. But that would mean the Klingon ship would be in the line of fire for over an hour before they were able to come to their aid. In war terms – an eternity.
By engaging warp 9 now, however, they could arrive at the Epsilon Ursae system just minutes after the enemy fleet.
The decision was his to make.
Finally, he chose to disregard the arrangement they had with the Klingon ship. "Ensign – increase to warp nine." He'd be damned if he was going to leave the Klingons to face them alone for so long.
He took his chair, eyes still hung over from sleep. "Mr. Warner," he said to tactical. "Please ask the Rutherford to match our speed. In fact – open a secure Comm to Captain Freeman." Picard got up. "In my readyroom."
"Aye, Captain," Warner acknowledged before completing both tasks.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard had just decided to alter their full-on-assault approach to this conflict.
"But…what if he's asleep, sir?" Warner worried.
Picard bore a wide smile and mused over it a moment, knowing what it felt like being in Freeman's position. "He is the captain of his ship, Lieutenant Warren, he'll be awake alright." He entered his side-room. "And, if he isn't, …wake him."
*
Within 3 hours, everyone was awake and busy again. The Starfleets' were further readying their ships for combat while the Scoobs were doing what they needed to do to prepare for the end-game.
*
A set of orange doors parted to reveal Buffy standing alone in the corridor.
"Spike," she said.
"What do you want?" came his reply from inside his room.
"Right to the point, then? …We could use your help."
"Ha!"
She hesitated. "Can I come in?"
"I'm the vampire here. Do as you please. …That's usually the way it works with you."
She entered just far enough for the doors to close.
"Well?" he asked. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"
Defiant of his attitude, she did what she had come to do: "If we have to board that ship, we'll need all the good fighters we can get. If our spell fails, you could be the only one who can stop this. He can't possess you. You're immune to his power."
"Immune!" he spat. "I'm not immune! Do you have any idea how hard it is to resist? How much it hurts?" Spike roared. "Besides; I'm evil. I'm a demon – one of them. This isn't my fight."
"You don't want the world to end any more than I do! I remember you asking for my help once to save the world."
"That was different."
"How?"
"Look," said Spike, more diplomatically, "I’m not like you. We're completely the opposite of each other, Buffy. Cowboys and soddin' Indians. We were never meant to work together." 'Never meant to BE together' "I'm not on your team. We're not the same."
"We're more alike than you realise," she admitted, before adding an after-thought: "As nauseating as that idea is."
Again, he huffed at her. "I'd like to hear you justify that crap. You're all 'sent from above to kill demons'. I'm part of the darkness – part of the problem… 'Least in your eyes."
She stepped in closer now. "I know that it's down to the chip but, as things stand, you're practically a Slayer yourself."
Spike laughed out.
She explained: "My power is rooted in darkness; just like yours. Neither of us is 'normal'. It's only because I've made a choice to fight for good that separates me from evil." She now stood right before him. "Am I evil because I have it in me to be?" Buffy asked. "You have to make a choice, Spike. Whose side are you on? Are you part of the problem? …Or part of the solution?" She waited but he gave no reply. "I need you on this."
Spike tensed suddenly. His eyes seemed to see beyond her. "You…need me?"
"Need? Did I say need? …Need's probably too expressive a word…Want."
"You want me?" he returned with a coy smirk.
"We!" She flustered. "We want you. We want you on this." …'Breathe…gather yourself before this gets any more disturbing' …"We need you in on this, Spike. You're the last line of defence." Buffy waited for a reply, studying him as she did through cautious eyes; feeling uncomfortable all at once with how close they were stood from each other.
She watched him, and he appeared to study her right back.
Buffy's main concern was whether or not she'd got her point across in all her word-fumblage. She figured not. But, what worried her was how Spike had almost… flirted.
She was suddenly aware that Spike was now standing right over her. Fear struck her. But not the scary-monster-in-the-dark kind of fear… Not the scary-confrontation kind of fear… Not even the what's-he-gonna-do-? kind of fear.
She feared she knew what he was going to do.
What if he had taken all her meanings the wrong way?
What if he…
What if…
Then it happened.
For a frightful second, it seemed like he might actually lean in to…to kiss her.
Buffy didn't give him chance – suddenly slamming her palms into his chest to halt him.
The reason behind Spike's lurking about outside Buffy's home began to dawn on her. For the first time, she gave serious thought to the fact that he might actually have a 'thing' for her. And it made her sick. But the surprise at his attempted kiss left her so stunned, she found herself unable to respond in any way other than to blast him with her most stern look.
She couldn't help but blame herself for mincing her words, which probably led him to the wrong conclusion. So, she simply stopped him.
Spike, on his part, noted with a slightly playful smile that her hands were cupping his pecs.
She quickly pulled them away. Trying desperately to focus on the matter at hand until she could gather her composure, she said: "Can we count on you?"
Spike, more than confused and not sure whether to feel embarrassed, couldn't be sure if the Slayer was just playing coy or if she was rejecting him. Or even if he'd only imagined the attempt. "You…can count on me, Buffy. I'll be there when you need me." He realised that had sounded a little bit too personal. "After all…Happy Meals, right?"
"You can't feed anymore."
"Still, there's always hope."
With nothing more to say, she turned to go, somewhat disturbed. "And Spike…" She glanced back at him, and it wasn't a playful look. "Don't ever try that again."
'Is she teasing?' he wondered. "Or what? Let me guess… you'll kill me? Beat me 'till I beg for mercy?" He was grinning now.
"No." She could think of something far worse … "I'll ignore you." She left, determined to banish the memory of his attempted kiss forever.
Spike's smile faded as the doors came together, replaced instead by the most fearful worry.
*
The last of the supplies arrived to Giles' relief. He set the two hollow containers on the coffee table and immediately filled the wooden bowl with the Deer blood. Into this, he placed the talisman; shaped as it was like the Mark of Eyghon that for years had branded his arm – an upward pointing arrow bearing a tail, wrapped by 2 serpentine shapes.
He left the dark wooden talisman to soak for a couple of hours in the blood as required, then set out the three granite pots and their grinding implements. He and Willow were hard at work powdering the seeds, leaves and sandalwood needed for the incense when Buffy arrived, late as usual. Rupert handed her a bowl and asked what had kept her.
"I talked to Spike again," said Buffy, mashing into the contents of her bowl with the grinding stone.
"And?" Will begged.
"He…agreed to help us."
"To what benefit, I wonder?" Giles remarked cynically.
"He doesn't want the world to end."
"Yes…and I'm sure his reasons are pure. Not at all selfish or macabre," he commented. "He's probably only doing it so he can survive long enough to find a pack of cigarettes."
Buffy scowled a little. "I don't honestly care what his reasons are. It's not as if he's a mindless evil thing. …Spike's bad. He’ll always be bad. But there's bad, and there's evil." She pummelled the contents of her dish. "We can't exactly condemn him when he's capable of good, Giles."
She was right. Even if it was just the chip and being around the Scoobs that had changed him, he was still changed. Who could now say which side of the fence he was on? Again, he was reminded that demons weren't necessarily purely evil. And that not all demons were alike. Moreover, the guilt he felt having lied about this to Captain Picard resurfaced and grew more intense. Could he, in all good faith, keep the truth from Picard any longer? … He was beginning to wonder.
*
Jean-Luc Picard began his final tour, complimenting his crew as he went, offering support where needed, and advice where due. Overall, each department renewed his confidence tenfold. At last, he ended on deck 5 outside the guest quarters of Rupert Giles. He rang the chime, received an invitation, and entered to find Rupert with his 2 female companions – each sat mixing some sweet-smelling concoction in what appeared to be an old pestle and mortar.
Giles welcomed him and made him numerous offers – a chair, a drink, late lunch.
Picard declined with a raised hand. In it, he held a small computer PADD just like the one Giles had typed his latest report on. It had included all their new knowledge on the evil entity – Rhamhal – and on their hoped method of defeating him. Well, almost all their new knowledge.
"I have studied your report, Mr. Giles," Picard said, tapping the PADD. "As a rule, it is my duty to know and understand every action that takes place onboard my ship."
"Of course," said Giles.
"Though, I find the concept of the… 'spell' you intend to perform… rather beyond the boundaries of my understanding."
Giles visibly deflated. "Is this the captain's way of politely stopping our efforts?"
"Not at all. If you can explain to me, in terms I can relate to, exactly how you will achieve the solution in this report. And if you can assure me that no harm will come of my ship and crew as a result."
First, Buffy blurted out something of a disjointed explanation, which Giles was quick to terminate. After his own fumbling, Willow was the one to break it down to its almost-scientific fundamentals:
"Think of it as asking beings that are on a different plain of existence for help," she explained. "To us they're Gods. You might call them 'entities'. By offering them some kind of payment or service, we can ask these entities to bestow us any wish that is within their power to grant. By doing this, we can open a door to a reality parallel to your own – one which contains a completely different universe. In this 'dimension' is the consciousness of a lifeform who once bound and defeated the enemy long ago. He alone can help us to repeat the actions that were successful back then."
Picard considered it. "How can you access such a place while you are so far from your own reality?"
"These other dimensions don't exist in our world," she replied. "They exist along-side it. For some, as with the one we're contacting, time holds no meaning."
Giles gave her a grateful pat on the shoulder. "As for guarantees of safety, Captain, there can be none. Like your war, the success of our efforts will be a result of how well we handle the task."
So, Picard gave his blessing. "I'm not sure I understand fully, …but I am sure that you do. I assume you will be remaining here during the conflict?"
They agreed.
"Then I will move all guests to this level and this deck will remain operational. I should warn you not to attempt to access any of the decks that will be without power for the duration of the conflict. I will have a report sent to you in regards to this. If your assistance is required I will call on you."
Rupert was on the verge of admitting to Picard his lie, yet he couldn't speak of it. Not with the girls around. He felt guilty enough without them hearing of it from his own mouth. He cursed himself. The truth was far more important than his own ego. He opened his mouth to speak – but Picard interrupted to inform him of a final mission briefing taking place in one hour in the observation lounge, and Giles was invited.
Picard made his way out. "If there is anything more I can offer; any other needs you have?"
"Only time," Giles uttered. "Time, space, and freedom, Captain. And not to be disturbed if possible."
"Very well. I'll try to keep the inertial dampers operational," he said with what passed, in his eyes, as humour.
*
The final briefing was held early that evening on the Enterprise. Their distance from the target destination was estimated at 0.144 light-years. At their current speed, they would arrive within the hour.
For this last meeting, only key personnel were present. Picard, as captain, was seated at the head of the conference room's glowing table. To his right; Will Riker and Rupert Giles. To his left; Cpt. Dave Freeman and his joint-executives – Cmdr. Coren Vaun and Cmdr. Saskia Romani.
Ambassador Worf stood beside the room's large monitor. "The Epsilon Ursae system," he stated, indicating the computer-generated image upon the screen. "This star system consists of eight planets orbiting a class-F star. Five of the planets are within the geo-range, and three are of a gaseous nature. It must be noted that the sixth planet is M-class, and home to a pre-developed race of humanoids. As well as a number of aquatic, and ornithological lifeforms."
"Will you be taking measures to avoid this world?" asked Rupert.
"Without question," Picard responded.
Worf then proceeded: "It is the intention of the gHin TAQ to manoeuvre the enemy fleet into a position between the fourth and fifth planets prior to engagement."
"Then there's the question of locating that cloaked Bird of Prey," Riker noted. "There's no telling what kind of improvement's have been made using Data's skills."
"Yes, Number One." Picard offered Vaun the floor. "Commander Vaun, would you care to make your report?"
"Certainly," said the shaven-headed Trill officer, and former tactical specialist, before moving to join Worf by the monitor. Vaun brought up an image featuring, to Giles' eyes, a series of wavy lines and odd measurements. "These readings were taken by the shuttlecraft Hannigan during an encounter with the Bird of Prey within the Territory. It shows a detectable irregularity with its engine emissions – causing the venting of exhaust gases. With any luck, it may still prove to be their Achilles' heel."
"It may now be operating with a functioning tachyon diffuser," Worf reported. "This could also cause any residual anti-protons to be dispersed."
Freeman huffed. "So they're potentially undetectable?"
"We must assume so," said the Klingon. The ambassador went on to explain his advanced firing program to Vaun. It was designed to bring down the Bird whenever a brief weapons lock could be established. With a single button, an entire spread of torpedoes will fire. As they travel to their target, phasers automatically rapid-fire those co-ordinates to weaken the target before the torpedo impact.
Captain Picard, with some anxiety, reported to the group that Giles' team was actively proceeding with a plan that held the chance of removing the entity from Data's body. When Vaun asked for details, Giles was left with a rather awkward exposition.
He tried to explain to them their plan to contact the being who first trapped the enemy (leaving out the substantial part about him being somewhat dead). His greatest difficulty came in trying to describe how this would be achieved. He relied heavily on Willow's earlier words. Needless to say, there were more frowns after his explanation than before.
Once Picard and Freeman had done a quick run-through of military tactics they hoped to use, the assembly was relieved to duty.
As Giles departed, only Cpt. Picard and Cmdr. Riker were behind him.
Riker halted in the doorway.
"Will?"
"I had an interesting visit from Lieutenant Rush this morning. He came to warn me. He's under the impression that our 'guests' are plotting to open the gates of hell and unleash the devil upon us all."
"Aah."
"Captain? Should we be allowing them to… do whatever it is they plan to do? How can we know they aren't endangering us further?"
"I understand your concerns, Will. I do. Believe me, I share them. What they propose to do is beyond belief. However… what is unbelievable to us may be perfectly acceptable to them. Perhaps even mundane. With that in mind, I feel it only reasonable to allow them to pursue their own methods as we pursue ours."
"Of course, sir." Out the corner of his eye, Riker noticed Mr. Giles returning to the observation lounge. He seemed to approach them along the corridor rather uneasily.
"Do you have a moment, Captain?" asked the Englishman, with a slight quiver.
"I can spare only a brief moment, Mr. Giles. I must take my place on the bridge," Picard responded.
"That is all I ask. Is not brevity, after all, the soul of wit?"
Picard hinted a smile and allowed him to speak. But Rupert hesitated in Riker's presence.
Will noticed the uneasiness and gave a glance to his commander.
Picard returned a nod. "See that Deanna visits Mr. Rush before we arrive, Number One." The crew had enough to fear already without fearing danger from within the ship.
With that, Riker moved onto the bridge.
"I shan't keep you, Captain," Giles said, declining Picard's offer to take a seat within the conference room. "As I said; I will be brief." He steadied his breath. The captain's reaction would be anything from surprise to anger as far as he could guess. At worst, he feared he would lose the man's respect. "I…am guilty of a lie, Captain," he admitted. "And I offer no excuses for my actions."
Picard thought back to his prior encounters with Giles, and studied his face, before asking: "A lie in what regard?"
"In regards to demons…and to their nature."
"I see." Picard grew cynical, yet intrigued. "I would care to hear your reasons."
"They're little more than poor excuses now, Captain Picard."
"Still, I would like the opportunity to make that judgement myself."
Rupert did sit down.
Picard joined him at the table.
"Spike has agreed to help us fight," he said. "He was offered a choice. And he chose to battle against the evil threat."
Picard understood. "And, if just one of his kind is able to work toward a peace, then all may have the capacity within themselves."
"I wouldn't go as far as to say that. …But there are demons – certain breeds – who's nature is harmless and non-threatening. And it is possible that some of them are out there now – forced to do the will of the enemy."
"Their minds controlled?"
Giles nodded.
"This…certainly changes things," Picard mused.
Giles said no more until Picard had dwelt enough on the thought, and put a hand on Rupert's sleeve. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I believe I understand your motives in keeping this from me. …I cannot guarantee that we, as a people, can be prepared to assimilate this race into our society. Nevertheless, we must have the opportunity to try. And they must be given the opportunity to make a choice." Picard stood. "Return to your quarters," he said, though not in a commanding way. "Begin your… your spell. …And good luck."
"To you also."
*
Cmdr. Saskia Romani was making her way back to the Enterprise' transporter room with her captain when Freeman asked that she be the one to pilot the Narayan shuttle, as he'd be at her weapons console. "I want the best shuttle pilot the Rutherford's got," he said to her.
"Wait a second, Dave. You're always telling me I should take my responsibilities more seriously. Isn't your responsibility to the Rutherford? To sitting in her command chair?"
"Remember when I told you that sometimes a captain wants to say 'to hell with the rules'?"
"Because some say they're made to be broken?"
"Right. Well, I'm saying to hell with sitting on my ass. Vaun's taking the Rutherford in from tactical."
"Sorry to disappoint the captain, but I've already assigned myself to the Nightingale with Lieutenant Gataana."
"The Nightingale? She's a type-fifteen bucket! She's the smallest ship in our bay!"
The pair entered transporter room 3.
"She's also the nippiest little ship in our fleet," Sass replied in defence. "And, with me at the helm, the deadliest."
They stepped onto the transporter pad.
"Huh? We'll see about that. Meantime, I guess I'd better find myself a pilot."
Then, with the two ships in perfect alignment – matching speeds right down to the last cochrane – they beamed across to the Rutherford.
*
The doors parted for Picard like orange curtains, foretelling the opening of this final Act that seemed to him more befitting of a Shakespearean tragedy, and the captain stepped into the thick atmosphere of the bridge. There hung a cold and weighty tension all about the room, as though the air itself was charged with electricity.
His bumps had begun to goose and the fine hairs of his body were standing on end. None present were yet aware of his arrival and so he found himself standing back quietly for a moment, observing the scene.
Worf stood close-by at tactical. He spoke ardently with an officer about strategic matters, the gleam in his eyes exposing his quiet enthusiasm. It was good to have him back on the bridge once again, even out of Starfleet uniform.
Deanna Troi. She was sharing a moment with Will; looking over his shoulder at his own command console. Something Riker said made her smile warmly back at him. It was Picard's feeling that the counsellor faced the hardest task of all – going through this ordeal experiencing everyone else's fears on top of her own.
And, just beyond them, operations management. Data's post. Filled now by Lieutenant Sallyanne McPhee. Though it was true that McPhee was second only to Data in her abilities at Ops… There was still a deep void remaining with his absence.
Picard's attention was drawn then to the aft terminals. There, at the engineering station, La Forge worked away.
On spotting his captain, Geordi shut off the engineering terminal and made his way over. "Captain, the back-up to the ODN is operational and secure, and we're ready to transfer power to the core defence field."
Picard nodded. "Well done, Commander. Is everything else in order?"
"Yeah, we're ready. As ready as we can be."
Picard again nodded.
"There's something else, Captain," La forge indicated in a secretive tone.
Picard regarded the engineer's manor a moment before offering him the privacy of his readyroom.
Minutes later, Picard was literally scratching his head. In his hand sat a modified hypo/phaser pistol. "Are you certain this will work?" he asked, holding the weapon up.
"There's no reason it shouldn't," replied Geordi, almost sadly.
Picard then gave him the nod of approval, followed by a sigh of regret. "So, it's come to this?" he said, eyeing the strange gun. The gun that would kill Data.
Geordi interrupted Picard's brooding contemplation: "I also dusted off this actuation device. It'll still de-activate him. It won't be any more effective than the last time, but I thought it might come in useful."
"Yes. Yes indeed." A glint appeared in Picard's eye then.
Geordi pointed to the gun in his captain's hand. "Should I take that to the boarding party?"
"…No… I will take responsibility for its use. When we board his ship, Worf and I will lead the operation. As Data's captain… I should be the one to…"
La Forge filled in the dead space: "And this?" he asked, waving the actuation device.
"See that Worf gets it," Picard said. He lifted the hypo-gun. "And let's keep this one to ourselves."
"Understood." La Forge left him.
Picard took another moment to consider the weapon he was holding, and all its ramifications.
"Data."
After a short time, he returned to the bridge and, now that his presence was known, the captain took to his role. "How long until we reach the rendezvous point, Mr. Jutla?" he asked the Indian pilot at Conn.
"Twelve minutes, Captain."
To Riker he said: "Begin."
Will made inputs into the console at his side, some of which were commands directed to Ops.
McPhee made the necessary adjustments, re-allocating power and resources to Riker's specifications.
Many decks, already evacuated, were now shut down – all power and life-support directed to more crucial systems. All scientific research was halted, and all non-tactical scans and tests ended. It was now all for the war. All was directed toward conflict. A crew dedicated to peace, in a vessel designed for exploration and study, forced to battle. It was a sad day. Yet, it was a day that would set the tone for all future days.
There came a chime to Picard's right. It was a communication to tactical.
"We are receiving the signal from the gHin TAQ," said Worf. "They have engaged the enemy."
"They won't be expecting us for another hour," Riker noted.
"Approaching system now, Captain," said Jutla.
"Here we go, Number One," Picard said, edging forward in his seat. "Disengage warp. Take us in – full impulse."
*
The two ships dropped out of warp on the edge of the Epsilon Ursae system and navigated the Klingon mine blockade. They skimmed passed the gaseous eighth planet and moved deeper into the system.
*
McPhee reported: "We have reached the pre-designated co-ordinates, Captain." Her voice quaked a little.
"On-screen."
A blank view appeared, empty of all but scattered stars and a section of the planet 5th from the sun. The N-class world appeared yellow, covered with dense white clouds of water vapour. But no Klingon attack cruiser, nor the enemy fleet.
"Confirm our position, Mr. Jutla," Picard ordered, stepping down from his chair.
Riker joined him.
"Position confirmed, sir," said the man at Conn. "We're just where we're supposed to be."
"So, where's the gHin TAQ?" puzzled Riker.
Picard had to consider his worst fear. "Mr. McPhee – scan for wreckage, please."
"You think maybe Data was too much for them?" Riker asked.
"I can't discount it."
"Negative on wreckage, Captain," came the reply from Ops.
There was an atmosphere of panic setting in when Troi joined them at the front of the bridge…concentrating.
Riker saw past Picard to Troi. "Deanna?"
Picard turned to her also.
"They're out there." …She grimaced. "…Tortured minds…lost souls … and the Klingons."
Worf spoke up: "Incoming message from the Rutherford, Captain. They are picking up multiple engine emissions; heading zero-four-two mark one-five… beyond the fourth planet – toward Epsilon Ursae six!"
Riker muttered: "Looks like they encountered some difficulty in stopping him."
"So it seems, Number One," said Picard, returning to his seat with the others. "Now let's return the gesture."
It was time. However, now that the time was here, Picard seemed to halt.
"The Rutherford awaits instruction, Captain," said Worf.
Picard came to life again. "Take us in, Lieutenant. Nice and slow." He turned to tactical. "Lieutenant Worf–" Then he caught himself. It was just like old times. But it was the wrong time to get nostalgic. "Ambassador Worf," he corrected, "inform them to proceed with operation 'Sly dagger'."
*
Meanwhile in Rupert Giles' quarters:
Giles began prepping the girls for the casting. "The spell requires three of us, as in the three points of a triangle: The Spellcaster, the Vessel, and the Anchor. This triangle, rather oddly, forms the circle of life. 'That which ends at death'. When this circle is formed in the surroundings we are emulating here, and a catalyst is introduced – in this case the power of Eyghon – a rift is created."
"Will I be able to go through it?" Buffy asked.
"No," replied Giles. "As the Vessel, the rift will form within Willow."
Will gave a cringe. "Anyone else think this's starting to sound like not such a good idea?"
"You'll be fine, Willow, don't panic," Giles reassured her.
"Will I be fine? Can you really be sure? Because I get the distinct impression that you aren't entirely sure. That, maybe, you're doin' all this on the fly!"
"Right, then. We'll pack-up and go home, shall we?" he commented sarcastically.
Willow sagged. "I'm done."
"Now, this is a highly dangerous casting – with great peril," he continued. "I must be precise in my actions, and the triangle must not be broken for any reason once I begin."
"Otherwise?" Buffy dared to ask.
"I dread to think. Willow's spirit may be trapped for eternity in the void between life and death, we may all be burned away by the wrath of the Gods, we may just be rendered comatose, …all time could end–"
"Okay." Buffy put her hands up in surrender. "We get the idea. So, we don't break the triangle and it's alright?"
"Hopefully," he said.
Will gasped. "Hopefully?"
"There is a serious element of risk involved in this spell either way. Unfortunately this is the one course of action open to us."
"I don't understand how this works," Willow confessed. "The spell seems too easy. I thought you had to bargain with Osiris himself to access the afterlife?"
"Normally one would," said Giles. "What we're creating here is almost a 'backdoor'. But it won't necessarily give you access to 'Heaven' or 'Hell' – the places where souls rest after death."
"Then, where am I going?"
"Where? …Um…I…It's… Well, I've never been entirely sure," he said, echoing Willow's words. "Some place between where we are now and where we will rest once we have passed on."
Buffy's face went pale. "The Between Room," she uttered.
"The What?" said Giles.
"I've been there. In my vision. That's where the Sorcerer came to me."
Giles blinked in wonder. "It's beyond me how you found your way there."
"They told me no one at my level had ever done it before," she recalled. "So, what about me? What part do I play?"
"You'll be my anchor," Willow answered. "You'll keep my spirit tethered to this plain of existence."
"Alright," Giles pressed on, "we'll need to run through your dialogue, Willow. Then we set up the room."
*
The mood of foreboding and anxiety on the bridge of the Enterprise gained gravitas as the ship edged slowly through space. There hung a deathly quiet in the darkened room, as though any sound they made would give them away. Now and again there would be a beep from one of the consoles, and someone who had been holding their breath without realising it finally had to release it suddenly.
The bridge was dark, chilly, and menacing in that moment. The floor was lit with a neon blue glow from the shallow steps of the varying levels, and the only constant sound was the hum of the ships' engines.
The air was thick with imminence.
"We are approaching Epsilon Ursae Six," said Jutla from the helm, breaking the eerie stillness a little reluctantly.
McPhee at Ops reported: "Detecting multiple phased-energy discharges at twenty-four thousand kilometres off the far side of the planet."
"Have we been detected yet?" asked the captain.
Worf examined the area for enemy vessels or communications. "No, sir. The planet is masking our approach."
"Then, let us use that to our advantage for a moment. Take up a stationary orbit out of their sensor path." Picard headed over to the woman at operations. "First thing's first; what's the status of Epsilon Six? Has the planet sustained any damage?"
McPhee attempted to check. "Sensors are unable to penetrate a heavy layer of charged plasma gas in the planet's ionosphere."
"Launch a probe to scan beneath the plasma layer. But first… send it into a low exospheric orbit on the far side. I'd like to scout the situation over there before we proceed."
McPhee complied, prepared, and launched her probe.
Chancellor Martok, who thus-far had sat quietly at an aft station, now spoke out: "We should aid the gHin TAQ now, Captain."
To that, Picard replied: "Right now, surprise is our best weapon." He sat down and awaited the probe's report.
"We are receiving images from the probe now, sir," McPhee stated.
"On screen."
The feed from the reconnaissance probe appeared on the viewer – at first crackling with static interference – then quickly, with some adjustments at Ops, clearing to show a crisp image. The curve of Epsilon Ursae-6 rolled by as the probe rounded the planet. At any moment the view of the conflict would be within sight.
They waited.
Then, all at once, it dawned before them.
In the distance, a huge, hulking monster of a ship – the gHin TAQ – under attack from close to a hundred shuttles. Like wasps attacking a rhino. The Klingons had 18 of their own fighters – assault shuttles – so far away they appeared like fireflies.
A crew of almost a thousand warriors manned the Negh'Var-type attack cruiser. She was the greatest starship of the Klingon Defence Force, the largest, most powerful class in their fleet, and the only Klingon ship as large as the Enterprise. The Bird of Prey itself was but an eighth of its size.
She was certainly a big ship. Not just big, but bulky and heavily armoured. And heavily armed. And heavily shielded. A battle-tank with outstretched wings bearing glowing red warp engines and a long thick neck finished by the head-module housing the highly protected bridge.
On her surface, she bore a deadly arsenal of weapons. 'Mega' disruptors. A forward phase disruptor cannon. A mass of disruptor turrets.
But she had a weakness that Picard was aware of. The disruptor turrets, should her shields fail, would have difficulty locking on to small vessels hugging close to the hull. Which those shuttles would soon discover and exploit.
"The gHin TAQ has sustained slight damage," Worf reported. "Nothing serious. Their shields are holding at ninety percent." Then he looked up from his station. "However, they are overwhelmed in number."
Picard acknowledged. There was no sign visually of the Bird of Prey and Worf's scan soon confirmed it was not within their sights.
"I don't believe he is here, Number One," said Picard.
Riker looked questioningly at him.
"I doubt he would be willing to risk the loss of his host."
"You think he went on ahead?" Riker asked.
"No. He's close-by. Watching. Overseeing this." Picard pondered. "We must draw him out. Force him to engage us and reveal himself."
"How do we force him to drop his cloak?" said Riker.
His captain gave no reply as the probe dived into a lower atmosphere and the image-feed was lost.
When the probe resurfaced, McPhee perused over her console. "The probe detected no residual energy patterns and there appears to be no damage to the surface."
So, the planet and its humanoid inhabitants were so far unaffected.
"Question is," Riker put in, "how long will it stay that way with a war going on on their front lawn?"
"They won't last long at all if we can't put an end to this quickly," Picard countered. There was no choice; the war was taking place right here. "Release the shuttles, Mr. Worf. Bring tactical systems to full standby."
*
The Enterprise opened its bay doors and released seven armed shuttles of varying shapes and sizes. Under the hood of the saucer, hugged at the centre behind the forward torpedo launcher, the captain's yacht deployed and joined the shuttles in a standard attack formation. They were soon joined by the 5 shuttles of the Rutherford, and her yacht. Among them, the Narayan – the latest model of Starfleet shuttle with Captain Dave Freeman at the weapons. Also, the tiny shuttlecraft Nightingale with Trill commander Saskia Romani at helm and the furry white Antican security chief at weapons.
*
On the bridge of the Rutherford all the central command chairs were vacant. In charge of the 500-strong crew, joined-Trill commander Coren Vaun took one of the tactical posts. Caribbean helmsman Chevva Swift had his console set up to perform some special moves at a touch of a button. Lt. Commander Danil Oom sat ready at Ops. This was a crew not unfamiliar with combat. Then there was Anya. As Xander awaited his orders with the security teams, she waited in reserved terror at the rear of the bridge. Alone again.
*
On the Enterprise, all was as it always had been. Picard, Riker and Troi at centre-stage, guiding a crew of 750.
Geordi's voice came over the Comm system: "La Forge to bridge. Is that a layer of charged plasma I'm seeing in the atmosphere down there?"
"That's right," Picard responded.
"In that case, Captain, I have an idea."
La Forge took the warp core offline and vented the nacelles as a number of torpedoes were also quickly modified.
"Everything's set," Riker reported, glancing up from his personal computer terminal at his chair-side.
"Are all departments ready?" Picard asked of McPhee.
"Aye, sir. Just waiting for the word."
"Very good." Picard gripped his chair. "Red alert! Mr. Worf – raise shields. Weapons at the ready. Ramscoops open."
Sirens sounded as red lights flared throughout the ship.
Picard tapped his arm control and his voice echoed on all decks: "All hands – battle-stations."
"The Rutherford wishes us success," Worf recited.
To that, Picard smiled softly. "Please inform the Rutherford and all shuttles to standby for the signal."
Picard took a breath. "Mr. Jutla," he said, "…take us in."
"Balls to the wall," the pilot muttered as he breathed life into his panel.
*
The U.S.S Enterprise rolled forward and turned toward the 6th planet. Thrusters fired, angling their approach at 40 degrees.
*
"Slow to four-hundred and sixty kilometres per second," Picard instructed.
*
Within seconds, the ship began to hit air molecules in the upper atmosphere – the friction build-up raising the temperature around the vessel to 3000 degrees Fahrenheit. The Enterprise glowed and trembled under the pressure.
*
"Structural integrity field holding," said McPhee. "Inertial dampers at full output."
Jutla stated: "Entering ionosphere now, Captain."
The bridge fell dark as they felt a shudder signalling a ship-wide ionisation blackout. The emergency lighting brought some sight back.
"Cease descent," ordered Picard. "Level out and maintain orbit."
*
The ship slowed to a crawl, pulled up, then cruised effortlessly around the globe – ploughing through a dense yellow cloud of charged gas.
Ramscoops at the head of both warp nacelles collected the atmospheric gas and a good deal of it was beamed into the modified torpedoes.
…There was a moment of stillness in space…
Enterprise burst free and burned its way out of the planet's exosphere – surfacing on the far side in clear view of the gHin TAQ and enemy shuttles.
*
The warp core was brought back online and protected by 3 powerful forcefields and a containment field.
On the bridge, Riker reported: "Modified torpedoes are primed."
Picard gripped his chair tightly. "Mr. Worf – load torpedo bays. Prepare to fire at full spread."
"Torpedoes ready, Captain."
They had now reached the point of no return. Every crewmember onboard knew it.
They were scared. They were focused. And they were ready.
"Mr. Jutla – disengage thrusters and engage impulse drive."
*
The Enterprise' impulse engines fired up to full power and she barrelled forward into the affray.