“She’s alive. Not badly hurt,” Harmony assured the Scooby Gang. She tossed a CD-Rom to Willow. “I’m supposed to tell you that I stole it, but fuck that. Adam gave it to me. I think it’s maps of the Initiative complex, entrance codes, that sort of stuff. Including the bits Adam uses which Riley and the guys don’t know about. That’s where he’s taking her.”
“So what about the swap?” Spike asked.
“He doesn’t expect you to go through with it. Yeah, he gave me a talk about the arrangements, but they’re all phoney so no point in wasting time repeating it. He expects you to break in and try to rescue her. Then he’ll switch off the chips, open all the doors, and it’s party time. Everybody dies, and he gets to play ‘I Created A Monster’ with the pieces.” Harmony looked ill. “He’s already rebuilt the demon I killed the first night I met him. Guess that’s one good thing about being a vampire, huh? He can’t do it to me.”
“He’s going to do it to Buffy,” Spike said. His voice was dead, empty of emotion.
“Over my undead body,” Harmony promised him, forcing a smile to her face. “Right, guys?”
“Right,” Giles said determinedly. “Well, not right. He’s not going to do it, and you’re not going to die.”
“Damn right,” Xander agreed. “We’ve got a lot more going for us than he thinks. He sets a trap, we smash it.”
“What do you make of the computer disc?” Giles asked Willow.
“PC coded,” Willow muttered. “Emulator’s not helping.” She looked up. “It’s encrypted. I can crack it, but it’ll take time. Maybe a lot of time. That doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s probably timed to get easier when he’s ready,” Harmony suggested. “Right around the time he’s gonna switch off my chip.”
“That makes sense,” Willow agreed. “Any idea when that’s going to be?”
Harmony shrugged. “Not really. Maybe when it gets dark. He’d probably want me fully mobile, wouldn’t want you going in without me. I’m supposed to stab you in the back. Turn Riley, drink the Slayer, get my chip permanently deactivated, unlive happily ever after. Apart from the bit he hasn’t mentioned to me, where I have to do whatever he says or get the chip switched back on, that is.” She looked around. “Where is Riley, anyway?”
“What have you done to me?” Riley demanded.
“Nothing. It was Mother. Professor Walsh. She implanted the behaviour modifier,” Adam explained.
“A chip in my head. She really did it,” Riley gasped.
“Actually the chip is here,” Adam pointed to Riley’s chest. “Tied directly into your central nervous system through your thoracic nerve. I may have to reposition it if I fulfil my agreement and allow Harmony Kendall to transform you into a vampire. “
“She wouldn’t do that!” Riley protested.
“Because she loves you? But that’s exactly why she wants to do it,” Adam told him, with a very human wry smile. “She wants to keep you young and good-looking forever. I haven’t decided yet whether or not I’ll let her. It depends on her performance.”
The gang were making plans for their rescue mission without input from Spike. He sat on Giles’ couch staring into space, sipping at a mug of blood, and giving one word answers when addressed directly. His depression was casting a pall of gloom over everyone. They had become used to much of the motivation and energy powering the group coming from Buffy and from Spike; with one missing in action, and the other seemingly having succumbed to defeatism, their drive to succeed was flagging.
Someone knocked on the door, then opened it and entered without waiting for a reply. Joyce Summers, looking worried but determined, with Oz following close behind her. They made straight for Giles.
“In any other circumstances I’d say that it was good to see you, Joyce,” Giles greeted her soberly. “We’ll do everything we can to get her back.”
“I know,” Joyce replied with a shaky smile. She looked at where Spike was sitting. He’d hardly even looked up when she entered. “Spike seems to be taking it hard.”
“He’s definitely not his usual self,” Giles confirmed. “I’ve tried getting through to him but without success, and we are going to need him to be on top form if we are to rescue Buffy. Perhaps you can do something.”
“Hi,” Willow greeted Oz awkwardly, not meeting his eyes. “Thanks for coming.”
“No big,” Oz replied with a half smile. “Maybe I can help.” He gave Spike a calculating look. “He looks like he could use it.”
“He does, yeah. Sorta like being without Buffy’s knocked something out of him. Even Tara’s not getting anywhere.” Willow turned towards where Joyce had joined the vampire on the sofa and studied them for a moment. “Neither is Joyce,” she added.
“I’ll see what I can do.” The young man stepped across to Giles. “Okay if I take a look through your record collection, man?” he asked.
The Watcher was taken aback. “This is hardly the time,” he said severely. “We have a serious situation on our hands at the moment. Didn’t Willow tell you that Buffy has been captured by an enemy?”
“She did. Also that Spike’s being Eeyore instead of Tigger,” Oz replied. “I’ve got a notion of how I can get him back on the ball. Okay?”
“I – ah, I think I see. However my collection does not contain anything by the Sex Pistols or the Ramones,” Giles told him.
“I’ve looked through it before,” Oz reminded him, making his way to Giles’ stereo and beginning to leaf through the stack of vinyl records that stood beside it. “Think I remember seeing something that might just work.” He flipped past Cream, the Grateful Dead, Traffic, Jefferson Airplane, Hendrix, The Who, and Pink Floyd before stopping at The Jam’s album ‘Setting Sons’. He pulled it out, began to read the sleeve to confirm that it did indeed include ‘Eton Rifles’, and then spotted another record behind it. “Cool,” he breathed, picking it up. “You’re not entirely a punk-free zone after all, Giles.” He slipped the album out of its sleeve. ‘Scared to Dance’ by The Skids.
“It hadn’t really occurred to me that it was punk,” Giles said thoughtfully. “The guitar is really quite exceptional, especially on – Oz, you’re a genius.”
“I know,” Oz said dryly. “Crank your phonograph up to eleven, Giles. If this don’t liven him up nothing will.”
“’Course we’ll get Buffy back,” Spike assured Joyce. Unfortunately he didn’t say it as if he believed it, and her lips tightened.
“Spike, you’re not exactly inspiring me with confidence. This isn’t like you. I know you’ll rescue Buffy. I can’t imagine you ever letting us down. You’re not going to let some cross between the Frankenstein monster and Robbie the Robot beat you, are you?”
“’Course not,” Spike denied, but without his usual fire. “It’s just I don’t see how we’re going to do it. He’s stronger than Buffy and even more indestructible than I am. Pretty well unbeatable. Dunno how we’re going to pull it off.” He lowered his head, avoiding Joyce’s eyes. “If he’d meant it about the swap I’d have given myself up for her no problem. I’d die for her like a shot, if it’d do any good. I’m just shit scared she’s not going to get out of it alive and it’s eating me up.”
Joyce began to feel fear for her daughter eating at her too, sapping her resolve. Her determination wavered. Then a blast of music erupted from Giles’ record player. Raw energy from the bass, exultant crashing guitar chords, followed by totally incomprehensible lyrics. Spike raised his head and a tentative smile began to creep across his face. His head began to nod slightly in time to the music, gradually nodding harder until he was tossing his head, grinning, and thumping his fist against his thigh.
Oz watched him, eyes twinkling, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly in what for him was a broad grin. Willow grinned at him triumphantly and exchanged a high five with Xander. Giles nodded with satisfaction. Tara smiled happily, and then tilted her head and frowned as something unseen caught her attention. Her fingers moved, weaving a pattern in the air, and her lips moved in a silent chant, unnoticed by the others.
“Right, what are we all bloody sitting around here for then?” Spike asked, standing up. “Let’s get a sodding move on.”
“So, no more depresso Spike then?” Willow beamed.
“Nah. Where there’s life there’s hope, right? Even where there’s unlife there’s hope.” Spike bounced over to the record player, where Oz was removing the album and putting it back in its sleeve. “Ta for the music therapy, mate.”
“Glad I could help.” Oz raised an eyebrow. “There’s a whole lot of energy in that record – but have you any idea what the Hell he’s singing?”
“Not a sodding clue,” Spike confessed cheerfully. “Except for the ‘Into the valley’ bit, easy enough to pick that out what with it being the title and all. I might speak fourteen languages but Richard Jobson’s got me beat.”
“So, now you’re willing to take an active part in the planning, have you anything to contribute?” Giles asked.
“Not a lot,” Spike admitted, sobering up. “Point me at him and I’ll do my best to take him down, but I’m not likely to have any more success than Buffy unless we can get me some kind of an edge.”
“And we can’t just ask him nicely to lie down so you can do the exploratory surgery,” Xander put in. “Think you could keep him pinned while Harmony did it? Or the two of you while one of us opened him up and made him batteries not included?”
“I think he’s stronger than both of us,” Spike reluctantly admitted. “Maybe we should call Angel. It’ll be dark soon; he could be here in a couple of hours. The three of us might be enough.”
“No good,” Harmony said unhappily. “He’s in a tight spot himself. Wesley called me yesterday, wanted me to come give them a hand, but I had to say no ‘cause it would have totally blown my cover with Adam. Which sucks big time, ‘cause Cordy’s in trouble. Hate letting her down.”
“What about magic?” suggested Willow. “Maybe I could do some kind of spell to pull the power thing out of him.”
“Hmm. Perhaps a paralyzing spell,” Giles mused. He went to his bookshelves and removed a volume. “There’s a spell in here which may be able to hold him motionless, or at least weaken him sufficiently for Spike to have the advantage. The only snag is that I can’t perform the incantation.”
“Oh, that one. Don’t you have to speak it in Sumerian or something?”
“I speak Sumerian,” Jonathan piped up. “Phonetic, anyway. Show me the incantation and I’ll be able to repeat it.”
“It’s not that. I speak Sumerian myself, as it happens. It’s an incantation to a goddess and can only be performed by an experienced witch. A wizard or warlock is not an acceptable substitute. And it must be performed in close proximity to the target, probably perilously close.”
“So, this goddess not an equal opportunity employer,” Xander remarked. “Looks like you need a sort of combo Giles. You or Jonathan with the Sumerian, Willow or Tara with the witchy power and the all-important boobies. Spike’s ability not to get all killed would be kinda useful, too.” He grinned sheepishly. “I know, I’m not helping.”
“As a matter of fact you are,” Giles told him. “That’s rather a good idea, actually. Hmm.” He pushed his glasses firmly up the bridge of his nose and sought out another tome. “Heart, mind, spirit, hand. Hmm, yes,” he muttered to himself as he read. “Balance, yes. By the power of Sineya the First Slayer. Oh dear. That’s not so good.” He looked at Spike and frowned speculatively.
“You look like you’re cooking up some cunning plan, Rupert. What’ve you found? Let us in on it, mate,” Spike urged.
“Yeah, Giles, spill,” Willow added her voice to the vampire’s. She turned to Tara and saw the worried frown on her lover’s forehead. “What is it, sweetie?” she asked, her smile fading.
“Something’s been trying to get at Spike,” Tara informed everyone. “I felt a sort of p-presence. A m-malevolence.”
“I’ve lost him,” the demon shaman admitted. “He threw off the despair and regained hope.”
“Try again,” Adam ordered.
“I did. Something interfered. A magical barrier. Hedge witchery, nothing I couldn’t dispel in an instant if I was there, but at this distance I can achieve nothing.”
“Well, we’ll just have to bring him closer.” Adam went to a communications console and flipped several switches. “We are, as the colloquialism puts it, ready to rock.” He picked up a cell phone and sent a brief text message. “The pieces are on the board. Let the game begin.”
“You managing okay, Joyce?” Spike asked solicitously.
“Yes, thank you, Spike,” Mrs Summers assured him, bringing herself to a halt for a moment. “It’s a long time since I did anything remotely like this, but I’m coping. Enjoying it, even.” She kicked off from the wall and allowed herself to slide further down the rope. “Abseiling, right?”
“Yeah. I feel like the sodding SAS storming the Iranian Embassy.” He hefted the Heckler and Koch submachine gun that was slung from his neck. “Even got the right kit for it. Who dares, wins.” He slid another few feet down the rope, staying close enough to Joyce to help her if she got into any difficulty.
“I’m not good at this,” Jonathan muttered, sliding awkwardly down his rope. “Always hated gym class at school.”
“I’ll look after you,” Harmony promised him, keeping station alongside the short student. “I hated gym too, but the vampire thing definitely a plus right now.” For a moment a speculative look crossed Jonathan’s face but then he shook his head and got on with the abseiling.
The whole gang assembled at the bottom of the shaft. Spike, Joyce, Giles, Xander, Willow, Tara, Harmony, Jonathon, Oz, and Anya. They were armed to the teeth. Giles had the ‘Swedish K’ SMG that Spike had acquired from the Watchers’ Council goons, Xander had an automatic pistol that had once belonged to Darla, Jonathan the tazer rifle, and most of the others had crossbows. Anya held a baseball bat, and Joyce had an axe. They were in a large empty chamber with only one door, a heavy security door with a keypad and card slot.
“I wonder how far we’ll get before they spot us,” Anya remarked.
“Soon find out, this is probably ringing the bell,” Harmony replied, swiping Riley’s code card through the slot. A red light flashed, and she quickly punched in a number combination. The door slid open. “So far so good.”
The party walked through the door, Spike and Giles in the lead, and began to make their way into the Initiative complex. They stumbled upon the first of the guards within twenty yards. A young man leaning against the wall, a cigarette held to his lips, who dropped the cigarette and snatched for a gun as he saw them.
Two sub-machine guns lifted menacingly and he abandoned his attempt at a draw. “What the -” he began.
“Terry, innit?” Spike asked, recognising the man as one of those Initiative employees who posed as a student and was enrolled in one of his language classes. “Down here for a sly fag?” Terry gaped blankly, not understanding the phrase that had very different connotations in American English. “No need to panic, mate,” Spike went on. “We’re not here to cause any trouble. Take me to your leader.”
“Don’t run, we are your friends,” Xander couldn’t resist adding, getting a chuckle from several of the others. Giles chuckled too, then caught himself and gave Xander a hard stare instead.
“You want to see Colonel McNamara?” Terry asked, eyes wide.
“Well, not want exactly, but I think we’d better,” Giles told him. “Right away.”
“And Graham Miller, and Forrest Gates if he’s not in the hospital,” Spike added. “Move it. The Cherokees is escaped from Fort Mudge!” Terry looked blank. “Bloody kids,” Spike muttered. “No appreciation of the classics.”
Adam stared incredulously at the viewing screen. “Is that Kendall creature betraying me?”
“It looks like it,” the shaman agreed, following his gaze. There was no sound, but the images made the situation fairly obvious. Harmony had just slapped Colonel McNamara across the face and was standing looking smug, arms folded, completely free of any pain, while the Colonel went so white that the imprint of Harmony’s hand could be plainly seen. “She’s tipped them off. They know the devices are deactivated.”
“Why?” Adam wondered briefly, and then decided to waste no more time in futile speculation. He turned to where Riley and Buffy were strapped down onto operating tables. “That settles the question as to whether or not you are to become a vampire, brother,” he informed Riley. “No reward for her, just a dusty death. For you, a little more modification, so that you can reach the full potential Mother saw in you. As for you, Slayer, it seems your dramatic last-minute escape to save the day has become superfluous to requirements. Mother!” he called. “Doctor Angleman!”
The animated corpses of Maggie Walsh and her chief assistant answered his call. Buffy winced as she saw their blank eyes and the metal pieces holding the bodies together. Riley cried out in horror. “Professor Walsh!” he gasped. “What did you do?”
“You have undergone Phase One,” the zombie replied tonelessly. “You are ready for the final phase.” She began to gather together surgical instruments.
Adam moved to his communications console and began throwing switches. “Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the dogs of war,” he quoted. “My friend, you had better seek out Spike,” he addressed the shaman. “He’ll make a valuable recruit, a more than adequate replacement for the traitorous Kendall, if you can overcome the voodoo conditioning. Take the M’Fashnik rebuild with you. If you can’t break the spell then kill him.”
“What on Earth is that?” McNamara asked, staring at the equipment that Willow and Jonathan were unpacking from sports bags. “And that?”
“It’s a magic gourd,” Willow said proudly.
“It’s my magic bone,” Jonathan added, blushing slightly as Joyce and Anya raised their eyebrows.
“You can’t seriously believe in magic,” the Colonel protested.
“You’re standing in a complex full of captive demons, you’ve just been bitch-slapped by a vampire, and you quibble about magic?” Joyce rolled her eyes. “My daughter is in danger and you’re not helping.”
“This is my turf. I’m in control,” Colonel McNamara began, only to falter to a halt as the lights flickered and died.
“We’ve lost visuals,” a technician reported. “All the cameras are dead.” The lights came back on, and the technician looked hopefully at his screens. “Visuals still down. Containment systems are non-operational. Repeat, containment non-operational.”
“Tonight there’s gonna be a jail-break,” Spike muttered. “We’d better get on with it, Rupert.”
“I had hoped to get closer to Adam’s hideaway before we started,” Giles frowned. “We have to be within three hundred and sixty cubits, that’s about two hundred yards, of Buffy, and this is an awfully big place. We may have to fight our way to a suitable spot.”
“Should we make Super-Spike now?” Jonathan suggested. “That way he can cover you, and he’s ready in case you bump into Adam on the way.”
“Good idea,” Rupert agreed. “Begin the ritual.”
“What’s going on?” the Colonel demanded. The Scoobies ignored him. His face went red with anger, but before he could make his protests more forcefully a soldier rushed into the room. “The Hostiles are loose,” he reported. “They’re making their way out of the containment area and into the complex.” He turned away from McNamara towards Miller and Gates. “We’re forming up for Operation Zulu,” he told them. “Mason’s running things till you get there.”
“I’m on it,” Graham answered, unslinging his M-16. “You’d best stay here, Forrest, that arm of yours is in no shape for fighting.”
“I guess,” Gates replied reluctantly. He saw Joyce, Tara, and Jonathan settling down in a circle on the floor, laying out candles, and lighting them. “I’ll keep an eye on things; make sure nobody messes with the mojo people.” He pulled a chair away from one of the instrument consoles and sat down, resting his injured arm on a desk and putting his good hand in his lap with a pistol gripped in it.
“What the Hell is going on?” the Colonel shouted. “I’m supposed to be in command here!”
“Sorry, Colonel, you’re too far out of the loop to explain now,” Graham apologised insincerely. “We’ve put a back-up plan together to deal with a break-out. Something Colonel Havilland was working on, and we had some input from the civilians. We’ve got it under control.” He finished attaching his bayonet and strode towards the door. “You coming, sir?” McNamara followed him from the room, shaking his head and muttering, but clutching a pistol in a determined fashion. The rest of the soldiers in the room accompanied him, leaving only a couple of technicians, the Scoobies, and Forrest Gates.
“I’ll go try to find Buffy and Riley,” Harmony announced. “I’m getting really worried about him.” She shot off without waiting for a reply. The rest of the gang waited for the ritual to take effect before following.
The late Dr Angleman wiped Buffy’s upper arm with an alcohol swab. “Considering you’re going to kill me, not seeing the point of the sterilising bit,” the Slayer muttered.
The zombie made no reply. Silently he picked up a hypodermic syringe and lifted it, ejecting a fine spray of liquid, and then thrust the needle into her arm. She twisted violently, with every ounce of her strength, and cried out in pain as the needle tore her flesh and then snapped off. No flicker of emotion crossed the undead doctor’s face as he backhanded her savagely across the face. “Lie still,” he commanded, and went to find another needle.
“Like hell,” Buffy snarled, and tugged at her restraints as hard as she could. Adrenalin fuelled her strength and she could feel one of the bindings holding her arms beginning to give way.
“I said your dramatic escape would be superfluous,” Adam remarked. He came over to her and held her arms still with ease. “You might as well stop struggling. Before long you will be just another soldier in my army. Free of pain, of indecision, of conflicting desires. Dedicated to the cause.”
“Said cause being what, exactly?” Buffy asked, hoping to delay him, to gain time in which some opening might crop up that she could exploit. “Not seeing what you’re wanting out of all this.”
“Peace on Earth,” Adam explained. “No more futile struggles for wealth and power. No more inefficiency. All will be united under one leader. Humanity and demonkind will live in perfect harmony. There will be an end to war.”
“Yeah, ‘cause everybody will do exactly what you say, right? Sorta heard that one before. That was Maggie Walsh’s big plan, then?” Buffy heard a door opening and realised Adam had stopped listening to her. She raised her head, looked past the cyborg, and could see Harmony.
“Hi, Boss, sorry I’m late,” the blonde vampire greeted him cheerfully. “Hi, Riley.” She gave her boyfriend a little wave, and shock and betrayal twisted his face at the sight.
“You betrayed me,” Adam accused her. “You revealed my plans to the humans.”
“Hey, had to get them to trust me, only told them what they were sure to work out for themselves,” she protested. “I’m here now, at your service. Just tell me what you want me to do. Hey, can I smell Slayer blood? Can I have a taste?”
Tara, the Spirit. Jonathan, the Mind. Joyce, the Heart. The three sat motionless, their breathing almost imperceptible, in deep meditation. Spike, the Hand, stood up, and his eyes glowed.
“Did it work?” Xander asked eagerly.
“I have the power,” Spike boomed sonorously. Suddenly he grinned. “Sound like sodding He-Man, don’t I? Yeah. It worked. Let’s go.” He led the way from the HQ room. Giles, Willow, Xander and Oz accompanied him. Anya remained behind, providing an additional guard over the meditating trio and also staying clear of the battle which raged in the open areas of the Initiative complex.
The demons were getting very much the worst of it. Scientists and soldiers caught on their own were seized and torn apart; but the formed body of troops organised by Graham and Mason were dominating the field. Demon corpses littered the floor. When on a couple of occasions a fast-moving creature managed to make it through the hail of fire it was met by a solid mass of bayonets and stakes. Only one of the demons intercepted the Scooby party as they crossed to Area 314. Spike tore its head from its shoulders without even breaking stride.
Adam’s override of the security systems had also deactivated the door to 314. They entered the secret room and sized up its potential as a safe place to perform the ritual again, this time to infuse Buffy with the combined powers and abilities of the three original Scoobies. “It is very probable that we are close enough now,” Giles said, “but I’m not absolutely certain. We could do with confirmation from Harmony, but if she doesn’t get back soon we’d better go ahead with the spell.”
“There will be no spell but mine,” a strange voice broke in. A concealed door in the far wall slid open, and a demon stepped through. Seven feet tall, fanged, broad and muscular. Metal bands surrounded its neck and steel struts reinforced its arms. Giles raised the Swedish K and ripped off a five shot burst into its torso. It didn’t even seem to notice. “Release,” the voice spoke again, from behind the demon, and Giles dropped the gun. “Now, vampire,” the speaker continued, coming into view from behind the large demon, “return to yourself. Let your mind be your own again. Take these puny humans as your rightful prey. You are William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, and none can bind you to a path not your own.” The demon was barely the height of an average man, thin enough almost to appear frail, and its facial tendrils gave it the appearance of a wise and bearded old man, but its eyes glowed with sinister energies and its voice carried power in every syllable.
Spike’s face rippled and contorted, and then changed into the mask of vampire game face. His fangs gleamed. “You are right,” he snarled. “No one can bind me.”
Willow began to mutter a spell. The undead M’Fashnik demon lurched towards her. Oz and Xander moved to place themselves in its path, and it raised its mighty arms to strike.
“I still don’t trust you,” Adam rumbled. He released Buffy and began to move towards the blonde vampire.
“That is just so unfair!” Harmony protested. “I’m like totally trustworthy.” Her arm blurred, and she drove her hunting knife viciously into Maggie Walsh’s head, penetrating right through the bone up to the hilt. “See? I never let down my friends.” The zombie toppled to the ground and lay in a limp heap.
“Foolish creature!” Adam snapped, annoyed. “What could they offer you that could match what you could have got from me?” He tore a long splinter of wood from a bench.
“When did you ever buy me flowers?” Harmony sniffed, unimpressed. She snatched up a scalpel from beside the fallen zombie and dived towards Riley, slashing at his bonds. He didn’t move. “Come on, Rye, get out of here!” she urged.
“He can’t. His control device has not been deactivated,” Adam told her with grim satisfaction. He advanced with shockingly unexpected speed and thrust out with the wooden splinter, driving it right through her back and piercing her heart.
Spike threw back his head and laughed. “I’m back. And I’m a bloody animal!” he shouted. The demon shaman grinned triumphantly. The vampire pulled Joyce’s axe from under his coat, whirled, and struck. The M’Fashnik’s head flew from its shoulders and rolled across the room. The shaman had time only to recoil in horror before the axe struck again and embedded itself in his brain.
“Wew! You had me worried for a second there, Spike,” Xander exclaimed, wiping sweat from his brow. “Thought you were turning evil on us.”
“What, with Joyce in my head?” Spike scoffed. “Not gonna happen.” He ginned at Oz. “I will choose a path that’s mine. I will choose free will,” he misquoted. “Get on with the spell, Rupes, Buffy could probably do with the boost as well. Dunno what that Adam bugger’s doing to her, but it’s not going to be nice.”
Riley cried out in horror as his girlfriend looked down at the wooden point protruding from her chest. Blood ran along the wood and dripped from the point onto the floor. She released the scalpel, which fell onto Riley’s stomach, and staggered sideways. “Crap, that hurts like a sonofabitch,” she muttered. “And this sweater’s cashmere. Bastard.”
Adam looked at her with mild surprise. “Not dust? I must have missed the heart.” He backfisted her across the face, sending her flying across the room. “I’ll just have to remove your head.”
Harmony scrambled to her feet. “Fuck you. I’m going to get Spike and then you are so going to get your ass kicked. Hang on in there, Rye, Buffy. I’ll be back.” She turned and fled from the room.
The battle was almost over. The two demons who burst into the HQ room were fleeing the debacle rather than searching for prey, but when they saw the relative weakness of the humans inside they gleefully moved to the attack. The technicians fled. Joyce, Tara, and Jonathan were trapped in their trance, unable even to move, and they were a helpless target. As one Hostile leaped upon them Forrest fired his pistol four times and sent it crashing to the floor to writhe in its death throes. The other turned its attention to the Initiative agent, ignoring the crossbow bolt which Anya sent into its flank, and charged at Forrest’s chair. He fired once more as it charged and then its fangs bit deep into his throat. Anya snatched up her baseball bat and ran to his aid, smashing the demon repeatedly over the head, and Forrest pulled the trigger of his pistol once more. The demon went limp and lay still. Trapped beneath its body Forrest Gates also lay still.
Anya heaved at the body, trying to free him, but the corpse was too heavy for her to shift. “Give me a hand here!” she shouted to a technician who was cowering behind a desk. He didn’t respond. “Help me, you coward!” she snarled, the venom in her voice worthy of her bloodiest days as a Vengeance Demon. “He’s one of your own. And the demon’s dead.” The technician came forward reluctantly and assisted her in rolling the dead demon away from Forrest. His eyes stared up at them. Open and sightless. The fangs had torn a hideous gash in the side of his throat and he had bled to death in seconds.
Adam briefly considered pursuing Harmony but dismissed the idea as a waste of time. The termination of the zombie Maggie Walsh would mean that he would have to involve himself directly in the rebuilding of Riley Finn and the Slayer. He frowned in irritation and turned to go back to Buffy, but then caught sight of something on his viewscreen and was distracted. He went closer to the monitor and stared in horrified disbelief.
The battle was over. Medics were treating the wounded. Soldiers were dragging demon corpses into a pile. Seriously injured Hostiles were being unceremoniously finished off with bullets or stakes. The Trojan Horse had failed and the humans had won a decisive victory.
“Forget the conversion,” he ordered Dr Angleman coldly. The zombie scientist had returned to his attempts to inject Buffy, so far without success. “Just kill them both and let’s get out of here.”
Harmony staggered into the chamber and held onto the wall to keep herself from falling. Spike and Oz moved to assist her. The other three Scoobies were deeply involved in the ritual and didn’t even look up. “Can’t get it out,” the blonde vampire moaned. “I can’t pull it out forwards, it rips me up too much. Hurts. Can’t reach to pull it out of my back.”
Spike spoke softly in what sounded like Gaelic, his voice oddly feminine. Harmony straightened up and her pain-wracked expression cleared. “Thanks. Oh, that feels so much better.” She turned around. “Can you pull it out?”
“Brace yourself, pet, this’ll probably hurt like buggery,” Spike warned her in his own voice. He took hold of the wood and drew it from the wound. Harmony cried out in pain, clawed at the wall so savagely that her fingers left marks in the concrete, but then relaxed. The hole closed up as soon as the splinter was removed. “Bloody good thing I gave you the ring to wear, innit?”
“Damn right,” Harmony agreed. “Thanks.” She smiled happily, but then her forehead wrinkled with worry once more. “Spike – you’d better get to Riley and Buffy as fast as you can. He’s going to hurt them.”
Spike glanced behind him to where Giles and Willow were just speaking the final words of the ritual. “You bet. Oz, watch out for the others. You too, Harm, if you’re okay now. That way?” he asked, pointing ahead in the direction from which Harmony had appeared. He set off running as soon as she nodded confirmation.
Oz hefted the Heckler and Koch nervously. He didn’t altogether trust Harmony. She had been injured, lost a lot of blood, would inevitably be hungry, had no operational microchip to restrain her and wore a ring which made her immune to most anti-vampire measures. Still, the others trusted her, and they’d known her vampire self far longer than he had done. Giles had trusted her enough to use her as a double agent against Adam and so far she had repaid that trust admirably. “So,” he said hesitantly, “you ever get to the Bronze these days?”
Dr Angleman selected an eight inch amputation knife and headed for Buffy. She strained furiously at her bonds. They were stretching, she knew they would give way eventually, but she was running out of time. Dr Angleman raised the knife, his face expressionless, and Buffy felt despair overcoming her. Suddenly the zombie lurched sideways, almost but not quite losing his grip on the knife, and he turned around revealing a gash in his back that was oozing a greenish liquid. Riley Finn came into her view, blood trickling down his chest, a scalpel in his hand. He slashed again at Dr Angleman, and then danced back to avoid a return slash from the amputation knife.
“Return to your bed!” Adam ordered. Riley ignored him and kicked the zombie in the knee. “You removed your chip,” Adam said slowly. “That is unfortunate.” He stood still for a moment, seemingly uncertain of what to do. Riley continued to fight against Dr Angleman, and Buffy heaved again at the restraining straps. This time she felt something give and her left arm came almost free. She pulled again, but then went rigid and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. Her mouth opened in a convulsive gasp.
Adam leaped forward with another of his startling bursts of speed, lashing out with one arm and knocking Riley from his feet. “Finish him,” he ordered Angleman. “I will kill the girl myself.” He extended the bone Polgara demon skewer from its sheath within his arm and thrust at Buffy’s torso.
Buffy’s arm blurred. “No,” she said calmly, and deflected Adam’s thrust into the operating table. She chopped down with her hand and snapped the bony spike. “Broke your arm,” she remarked casually, and pulled her right arm free without apparent effort. As Adam drew back his arm, retracting the remnants of the skewer, Buffy struck him across the face. The cyborg staggered backwards, tripped on the corpse of Professor Walsh, and fell to the ground. He sat there staring at her in shocked disbelief as she tore away the straps from her legs and vaulted lightly to the ground. She grabbed Dr Angleman by the head and wrenched hard. The zombie flailed away ineffectually with the knife briefly until there was an ugly snapping sound and his body fell, leaving his head clutched in Buffy’s hands. “Eww, gross!” Buffy pouted, and threw the head across the room.
Adam climbed to his feet. “You have destroyed months of work,” he complained. His calm air of invincibility was fraying. He sounded almost petulant. “I will have to start all over again.”
“Not gonna let you,” Buffy said calmly. “Time for you to die.”
“You belong dead,” a voice behind Adam joined in.
“William the Bloody,” the cyborg said warmly. “Restored to your true self. Slayer of Slayers, your prey stands before you.”
“Yeah, and he’s making his mouth go in a sodding irritating fashion,” Spike complained. “When I said ‘you belong dead’ I was talking about you, you berk. Not her.” His voice changed suddenly and shockingly. “Nobody lays a hand on my little girl.”
“Mom?” Buffy’s forehead wrinkled for a few seconds but then smoothed as understanding came into her eyes. “We are all here. Family. Together as one.” She bent and picked up the amputation knife from the floor. “You can never understand the source of our power,” she told Adam.
“Magic,” the cyborg said bitterly. “What happened to my own magician?”
“Skinny bloke with tentacles for a beard? He had an unfortunate encounter with this axe,” Spike informed him. “Joyce swings a wicked chopper whatever body she’s in. You’re next.”
“I think not,” Adam replied. The skin and flesh of his forearm began to retract, and the broken Polgara skewer fell away. Metal sections were revealed below the flesh. They unfolded outwards, shifted position, reassembled themselves, and formed into a minigun. An electrically powered miniature Gatling gun. “I upgraded.” He turned it towards Buffy and opened fire.
Colonel McNamara entered Area 314, Graham Miller at his side, and four more troopers behind him. He held his pistol in his left hand; his right arm hung limply at his side, a bloodstained field dressing covering his forearm. He stared at the open door at the far side of the room. “There isn’t supposed to be a door there. This is as far as Area 314 goes.”
“According to the plans, maybe, but you can’t argue with what you can see,” Graham pointed out. “Explains how Adam could get in and out without us knowing. You weren’t as deep in the loop as you thought you were.”
McNamara gave him an irritated glare, but then saw the truth of Miller’s words and his expression changed to one of resignation. “It was ‘need to know’, I did need to know, and they didn’t tell me,” he complained. “I thought Havilland must have been incompetent. I was wrong. I’ll make that clear in my report. Damn Black Ops people keeping secrets even from command levels.” He looked at the three motionless figures on the floor, candles flickering beside them, and at where Oz and Harmony stood watching over their friends. They had relaxed once the soldiers entered, and Oz lowered the MP-5 to point harmlessly at the floor.
Harmony had picked up the Swedish-K after Spike’s departure, but now she laid it on the ground. “Hi, Graham, Colonel,” she greeted them. “Sorry about the slap. Just making a point, you know, okay?”
“It’s forgotten,” McNamara assured her. His eyes went to her bloodstained and torn top. She had obviously been injured. “Do you need medical attention?”
“Hello, vampire,” Harmony reminded him. “I’m fine. Adam stabbed me with a big metal bar,” she lied to conceal the secret of the Gem of Amara, “but it healed right up as soon as Spike helped me get it out. I lost like a whole lot of blood, though, could really do with some. You got any that’s not all full of drugs and stuff?”
“Of course. We’ll get you some ASAP,” the Colonel promised her. “But first, do you know where Adam is?”
“Along there,” she gestured. “Getting his ass kicked by Buffy and Spike.”
“Two civilians are fighting Project 314?” McNamara gasped, horrified. “We’d better get in there!”
Harmony shrugged. “I’d stay here if I were you,” she advised. “You’d just get in their way. They’re pretty good at that sort of thing.”
“And they’ve got the magic going for them,” Oz added. “Buffy must be okay.” He pointed at Willow, Giles, and Xander, who remained calmly motionless. “If she got hurt I think we’d be able to tell.” Just then Giles’ eyes opened and his arm twitched. Willow groaned, and Xander yawned. “I think you’ll find out what’s going on in a minute. The sleepers are waking.”
Buffy’s hand drew a circle in the air and she spoke in a language that was old before Babylon. The hail of bullets turned into powder in mid flight.
“This is contrary to the laws of physics,” Adam said, sounding aggrieved.
“Actually it’s not,” Spike explained in Jonathan’s voice. “There’s ample kinetic energy in the projectiles to power the breaking down of the molecular bonds. The spell just makes use of that energy.” Adam stopped firing and stood listening to the explanation. “Ye cannae change the laws of physics,” Spike added gleefully, and the axe crashed down onto Adam’s arm. The blade smashed the gun barrels from their mountings and the cyborg’s weapon became a mangled mess of scrap metal. Sparks flew and Adam reeled. He jerked convulsively, tearing the axe from Spike’s grip and throwing it across the room. The vampire merely grinned and drew his kukri. Buffy advanced, amputation knife at the ready.
Adam looked around wildly, showing fear for the first time since his creation. He turned and ran for the exit. Spike raised his hand and spoke one word of Sumerian. The cyborg slowed, moving as if caught in molasses, and Buffy caught up with him and plunged the knife into his back. She ripped a hole in his torso, reached in with her other hand, and pulled out the uranium battery.
“No!” Adam protested feebly. “I have tooooo…” His voice died away and he fell to the ground and lay still.
Buffy threw the battery up in the air, spoke again in Sumerian, and it hovered near the ceiling. It glowed brightly, the light shining upwards and harmlessly illuminating the roof, and then plummeted to the ground. A useless lump of lead.
“It would seem we owe you a great deal,” Colonel McNamara told Hostile 17; or Miss Harmony Kendall, as he reminded herself he should call her.
“Not that much,” she replied. “I got it in the sale, sixty-five bucks. Okay, it would cost me maybe a hundred and fifty to replace it, but hey, my own fault for wearing a cashmere sweater when we were going to be like fighting. I think I can get the blood out of my bra and my jeans and they’re not new anyway.”
“That’s not exactly what I mean, Miss Kendall, although I’m sure I can get the Army to reimburse you for the damaged clothing. I mean that your infiltration of Adam’s organisation probably saved us from being massacred. What did happen was bad enough. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be in charge here, but while I still can give orders I’ll have your microchip removed. You certainly deserve that at the very least.”
Harmony didn’t react with the enthusiasm he expected. “Thanks, Colonel, but I think I’ll pass. I’ll talk it over with Riley and Mr Giles, but I think I’d better have it left in.” She saw the surprise on his face and elaborated. “See, I’m not big with the willpower. Not eating people is easy when I know it will hurt. Otherwise, probably gonna lapse once in a while. Sorta like being on a diet, you know, me and Cordy and Amber would stick to it for ages and then we’d give in and have a night treating ourselves with cookie dough and Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food. Which of course was okay, but if I go eating people then Anya and Willow and Buffy would stop being friends with me, probably stake me, which would be totally uncool. So I think I’ll keep the chip if that’s okay.”
“Of course you can,” McNamara told her, taken aback.
“Oh, wait!” Harmony cried. “I’ve just had this totally cool idea. Could you, like, turn it down a bit? Halfway, maybe? So I totally wouldn’t go eating people, but I could fight back if anyone was going to like really hurt me. And it wouldn’t give me a headache if I dug my nails in Rye’s back a little hard, ‘cause, definitely a mood-killer that one.”
Colonel McNamara blushed slightly. “I think that might be possible. I’ll see what we can do.”
“Fourteen dead and eight seriously injured,” the committee member commented. “It could have been much worse. Total catastrophe averted mainly through the intervention of a bunch of College kids, a retired librarian, and a soccer mom.”
“Maggie Walsh’s vision was brilliant in theory but tragically flawed,” another added. “They can’t be controlled. I’m inclined to go with Colonel Havilland’s version. How did he put it? ‘If they’re harmless leave them alone, if they’re dangerous blow their frigging heads off.’ Much more cost effective. Millions of dollars expended, and all we’ve ended up with is a new plastic with no great advantages over ABS, some field data on non-lethal weaponry, and the rehabilitation and return to society of a guitarist, a stripper, and a typist with ambitions to be a private detective. And, of course, a massive potential embarrassment.”
“The casualties will have to be explained away as a laboratory accident and a helicopter crash,” the committee chairman decided. “The news to be released at some time when it can be buried among more major stories. It is my recommendation that the project be terminated and all records relating to it expunged. Our soldiers will be debriefed. Standard confidentiality clauses. McNamara transferred somewhere innocuous, perhaps Germany. Havilland to return to Special Forces. Those troopers attending Sunnydale University may as well complete their courses, if they are taking subjects relevant to normal Army careers, which I believe applies to most of them. Some minor financial inducements should be offered to the civilians, perhaps a supplement to their College grants. We’ll monitor them and take appropriate action should they decide to go public, but I don’t believe they will.”
“And Hostile 17?” another asked.
“She’s already signed a confidentiality agreement, and has kept to it. I see no reason to believe she will be a problem, but some sort of payment as a goodwill gesture might be in order. She’s the closest thing to a success the project recorded. But as for our dream of untraceable, deniable, Black Ops personnel – it became more of a nightmare. The Initiative is dead. Fill in the facility with concrete. Burn it down, gentlemen. Burn it down, and salt the earth.”
“It’s located below the University campus, sir,” a junior committee member pointed out. “I’m not sure that any kind of demolition would be feasible. There would be a risk of structural damage to the buildings above.”
“What budget would the funds for the concrete come from?” another wondered. “I’m looking at the dimensions of the main chamber, and I doubt if any allocation of funds for project termination could even come close to covering the quantities required.”
The chairman sighed. “I am speaking metaphorically. Strip out any reusable or resalable equipment, seal off the tunnels, weld shut the in-campus lift shafts. Lock the doors and put up notices saying ‘gone away, no forwarding address’.” He saw someone poised to speak, with the expression of someone impervious to irony who was going to take him literally once more, and sighed again. “Just shut it down permanently with as much security and as little expenditure as possible. Do I have your agreement?”
He obtained the necessary assents and wound up the meeting. He picked up his briefcase and returned to his office, where he told his secretary that he didn’t want any interruptions for the next half hour. From the briefcase he withdrew a VCR cassette and settled down to enjoy one of the few good things to have come from the whole Initiative debacle; CCTV footage of ‘The Great Nude Escape, starring Harmony Kendall’.