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Chapter 8
The Mulder Syndrome and the Trouble With Hell
At one time it was called “Freedom Ridge”, one of the only places open to the public with a view of Area 51. It eventually became so popular with the black project and U.F.O. crowds, who set up everything from frequency scanners to video recorders to monitor the activity at the testing grounds, that the government finally got fed up with the whole thing and seized Freedom Ridge as part of the restricted area of the base.By “restricted area”, the government was referring to anywhere they could shoot you and get away with it.
“I believe the euphemism was ‘authorization for use of terminal force’,” said Aston.
Hudson nodded as he followed Aston up to the summit of the ridge. “Got to admit, it sounds more civilized than ‘authorization to use you for target practice’.”
The two men lay down on the dusty summit. It was a still, calm, breezeless day under limitless azure skies and a merciless noon sun. Except for some hawks and vultures sailing effortlessly amid the strong desert thermals, nothing stirred. Below them in the distance, set between jagged peaks amid blazing sands, the research facility once known as Dreamland, a.k.a. Area 51, shimmered in the unrelenting heat.
Aston unlimbered his field binoculars and surveyed the valley. The main Area 51 research facility lay just to the south of the blinding white sands of the Groom Lake dry bed. Aston swept the binoculars from the abandoned airstrip to the complex of buildings nearby.
“Hmm,” he said.
“I know that ‘hmm’. It usually comes before something very British and stiff-upper-lip such as ‘I do say, we seem to be in for a bit of a spot of bother with that nasty archdemon chap who just materialized’,” said Hudson as he reached for his own binoculars.
“I have never said ‘a bit of a spot of bother’,” Aston corrected.
“Man,” said Hudson when he got his field glasses trained on the scene below.
“Yes, ‘man’ indeed,” said Aston. “It does seem that we are not quite so alone in this world as we thought.”
There was activity taking place at Area 51. Quite a lot of activity, from the looks of things.
“Now what do we do?” asked Hudson, continuing to watch the movement of vehicles and personnel.
“We go down and pay them a visit, I think,” said Aston very calmly. “That would seem to be the intention of the two gents pointing the nasty-looking H&K Mark 23 SOCOMs at us.”
“Huh?” Hudson grunted, rolling over to see two men in desert camouflage ten yards away. The men had semiautomatic handguns pointed at them.
“Freeze!” barked one of them. “Move and you’re dead.”
“Man, another great day at the office,” grumbled Hudson.
* * *
“Here’s the problem with Hell these days, Buffy,” said Lillith as she wove her nimble little BMW through the dense afternoon traffic of Route 4 East. “When you destroyed Pandemonium, you took out a big chunk of Hell’s power structure. You didn’t get Lucifer, but you nailed a dozen of his lieutenants, all archdemons of no small import. Then during the whole Elemental Abstract mess, you severed the nexuses, cutting the demons off from the source of their power and legitimacy — the human misery trade. Without direct access to your world, their soul count has fallen way off.”
“Okay, so I tanked Hell’s stock price. I’ll divest. So what?” asked Buffy as she mulled over how they were going to gain access to the DH Group’s database. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to get in from outside. It would have to be an inside job. That was going to be fun. There were probably still people there who remembered her, Angel not the least of all.
“It’s a bit complicated, but the Hell you saw when you went there back in the good old days was not the way Hell always was. You saw damnation in-medias-Lucifer, an Abyss bound by dark commandments and laws ruthlessly enforced. You saw Hell the fascist state. But it wasn’t always that way. Hell predates Lucifer’s fall from grace by billions of years. Before his time, Hell was chaos. You think you saw nasty things down there? You haven’t seen the half of it, not one percent even.”
She paused for dramatic effect.
“I’m waiting for that other shoe to drop, Lillith. Come on. We’re on a schedule here,” said Buffy.
“There were things down there that would curl your hair, stuff that scares even guys like Astaroth,” continued Lillith. “Stuff that scares me, and in full Elder Power mode I could go twelve rounds with any archdemon on the block and not even break a sweat. Acathla was only the tip of the iceberg. That’s what Hell’s returned to since Pandemonium and the Saber Sequence. And if someone is stupid enough to try to open a doorway to that, all that chaos is going to come through with a vengeance. Trust me, you don’t want to see what happens to a world when Ether Phages, the Von Housemann Dark Mind, or a Joergenson’s Entity start doing a touchdown dance in your end zone.”
“You’re telling me that just because Hell lost a couple of board members and I put a crimp in the soul trade, they’re going Chapter Eleven and letting the rats take over the warehouse? Doesn’t sound like very competent management to me. Maybe a reorg is in order,” said Buffy.
Lillith frowned. “Just think for a second, Buffy. What do you suppose Hell needs all those souls for? Giggles and grins? No, they’re used as the raw material for the wards and containments that keep the First Ones at bay. If it weren’t for the resale value of your typical soul, you people wouldn’t be worth the average archfiend’s time.”
“And with the soul supply drying up, the walls are coming down, and all the dispossessed landowners are coming to reclaim the family plantations, right?” Buffy asked.
“That’s pretty much it in a nutshell,” said Lillith as she changed lanes to pass a slow-moving Nissan.
“You knew this would happen when I ran the Saber Sequence, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” said Lillith, shrugging. “But I figured, so what if Lucifer and his goons got the short end of the stick? Screw them. They’ve always been a bunch of assholes anyway. Good riddance. What I didn’t count on was the M-7 aliens, or leftover dimensional gateways. Unlike Flynn, I don’t get to surf the probability waves for kicks. I’m not allowed to sit and read the quantum tea leaves of chance. I don’t get to know what’s going to happen down the line.”
Buffy sighed and rubbed her temples. “Why can’t anything just end when I end it? Is there some overarching rule of my existence that says everything has to come optioned for a sequel?”
“Hey, count your blessings. At least you got a franchise going. Most of your alter-egos in the other Realities didn’t even make it to the end of the first reel.”
“Still, it would be nice if just once the dead stayed dead, so to speak.”
“Oh, you’d be bored to tears and you know it. You live for this.”
“Yeah, but I’d just as soon not die for it.”
“You won’t have to, Buffy. Not as long as we keep the doorway from opening. No need to be fighting wars if we can prevent them from ever happening.”
“I’ll go along with that,” said Buffy.
Lillith turned and winked at her. “See? There’s no reason this has to be a big production. In fact, if we play our cards right, this should be a genuine milk run.”
* * *
“I’ve never seen an alien,” said Xandra as she looked over the coffee-stained pamphlet they’d found at an abandoned gas station in Rachel, Nevada. It was titled “The UFOlogist’s Guide to Area 51”. On the front, a spindly Gray was giving a Vulcan “Live Long and Prosper” gesture.
“And you’re not going to. Not on this rock, anyway,” said Erin, her eyes focused on the road ahead. “According to GHOST, Roswell was about as close to actual contact as this Earth ever got.”
“GHOST doesn’t know everything. Did you know that according to this, Area 51 houses twenty different flying saucers from seven different alien species, and that some of the crew were alive up through at least the nineteen seventies? Maybe we’ll get to see one.”
“I really have to get you to start reading something other than the Weekly World News,” said Erin. “Dreamland is just a top-secret aircraft design and testing facility. It’s got pieces of one actual alien spacecraft. One. That’s it.”
“Hey, the pamphlet wouldn’t lie,” said Xandra, holding the booklet up in front of her and pointing to the alien on its cover. “Would this little guy deceive you? I don’t think so. Just look at that face. I’d buy a used car from this guy.”
“Ah, here we go. Groom Lake Road,” said Erin as she turned off onto a dirt road. “I hope you’re not going to act like this when we get captured. I don’t want to get shot because they think you’re a raving loon.”
Xandra affected a pout. “The truth is out there.”
“Oh, please.”
“And by the way, I have a problem with this whole getting captured thing. It sounds dangerous.”
“Xandra, when has anything we’ve ever done together not been dangerous? We could go to the mall together and end up fighting vampires by the end of the night, for crying out loud.”
“You have a point.”
Up ahead a black Cherokee swerved onto the road amid a cloud of dust, stopping in the middle of the track and forcing them to a halt. A second four wheel drive vehicle blocked them from behind.
“Well, here goes nothing,” said Erin as several men dressed in fatigues and carrying assault rifles scrambled from their vehicles and leveled their weapons at the two women. “Smile at the nice men with the big guns, Xandra.”
* * *
Xander swore under his breath when he got his first inkling of where Pitts and Gantz were headed. He swore much more audibly when they got within sight of the building.
The DH Group. Of all the places in the whole damned world, it had to be the DH Group.
Why did his life always bring him back to one of his least favorite people in the universe?
The blue sedan entered the office building’s parking garage. Xander turned into the first side street and parked along the curb, hoping to avoid calling attention to himself.
“What are you up to, Pitts?” he muttered, scanning the parking structure with a pair of binoculars. After several minutes, he spotted the two men on the top deck of the garage. They stood facing the office building as they talked, the stiff wind of the Palisades buffeting them. At length, they disappeared back into the darkness of the garage and Xander lost sight of them.
A gray BMW intruded into his field of view momentarily as it turned into the garage, but he paid it no mind. He was more interested in the blue sedan, which was exiting the garage even as the BMW entered. He ducked down as it passed, then pulled out behind it, following at a discreet distance as it worked its way through a number of side streets to emerge in the parking lot of a strip mall containing a supermarket, CVS Drugs, and pizza parlor. Across the street was MSNBC headquarters, which Xander found of only peripheral interest as he watched the sedan park.
Pitts got out and headed for the pizza parlor. Xander glanced at his watch. Lunchtime. Gantz pulled out of the lot and angled northward onto Route 9W, going who knew where. Xander watched the situation for a few minutes to see if anything further developed, any new players or any more unusual activity. Nothing.
“To heck with this waiting around,” he mumbled under his breath as he reached for the door handle. “Time to shake the tree and see what falls out.”
* * *
“Take us back out of the garage,” said Buffy.
“Huh?” asked Lillith as she turned the BMW up toward the second tier of the garage.
“I said take us back. I think we passed somebody out there.”
“Who?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t get a good look and everybody’s two decades older than when I left.”
“You wouldn’t be making me turn back without a good idea.”
“I think I may have just seen Xander out there.”
“Harris? Not likely.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that I don’t think he’d be anywhere within ten miles of Angel. What, you think those two just buried the hatchet and decided to be best buds after you disappeared? Didn’t happen that way, sister.”
“You care to elaborate?” asked Buffy.
“No, not really. This is not an area I really want to get into. I don’t do domestic squabbles.”
“Fine, have it your way, but turn the Hell around before I get pissed off. I’m not kidding, Lillith.”
Lillith shrugged and threw the sedan down the exit ramp at tire-squealing speed. “Whatever.”
* * *
Xander made a quick visual scan of the inside of the pizza parlor as he entered, looking for anything that didn’t fit, that didn’t feel right. Everything seemed normal, the usual lunchtime crowd of business suited professionals, casually dressed mothers with children, and teens attempting in dress and demeanor to emulate whatever passed for major attitude this year.
He found Pitts seated at the rearmost booth and facing toward the door so that he could have a field of view that encompassed everything in the restaurant. Xander wasn’t too thrilled with putting his back to the room himself, but he spotted a convex surveillance mirror affixed near the top of the wall at the back of the dining area. Good enough. He strode over and casually sat down across the table from him.
“Ah, Mr. Harris. Ever the annoying gnat, aren’t you?” said Pitts conversationally as he shook garlic powder onto his pasta.
“Watch the garlic, Pitts, or nobody’s going to want to kiss you,” said Xander.
“Their loss, and yours. Tell me, Mr. Harris, did you put forth all this effort merely to engage in juvenile banter and innuendo, or can I take it that you are here for matters of a more substantive nature?”
“I’m putting you on notice, Pitts — you and that sociopath you work for. I’m onto you. I know there’s another wormhole generator out there, and I’m pretty sure Cade’s found it. And I know why you’re here, too.”
Pitts chewed a forkful of pasta slowly and carefully, then washed it down with some iced tea. “Really? Do enlighten me, Mr. Harris.”
“I know about the Leighton Geometry.”
“How nice for you.”
“Iain Leighton, Pitts. You know the name. The greatest thaumaturgical theorist of his day. He was big into nexuses and quantum physics and all sorts of things I never paid any attention to in school. But I’ll bet you paid attention. I’ll bet Cade’s pet scientists did, too. And I’ll bet they figured out the one thing that Leighton never put in his notes: what the hell the ‘key’ is that will turn an Einstein-Rosen wormhole into an artificial nexus,” said Xander.
Pitts looked at him unblinkingly and said, “My, how disconcerting it is when you make an attempt at intellect. It’s a bit like hearing a rhesus monkey suddenly expounding on Hegelian dialectic. Very disturbing, and not at all in accordance with the natural order of the universe.”
Xander leaned forward and said quietly, “It’s probably even more disconcerting and disturbing to know that I’m pointing a nine millimeter handgun at your midsection under this table right now.”
“A not unexpected development,” said Pitts, shrugging. “Your psychology is rudimentary at best. Our statistical models have consistently proven ninety three point six two percent accurate at anticipating your actions. That is why I know that you will not kill me.”
“I wouldn’t be so smug about it, Pitts. I can always try my luck with Gantz if I get bored with the notion of keeping you alive.”
“Gantz is a tool. He does what he is instructed and is privy to nothing beyond that. But you know that already. You are merely attempting to gain some psychological leverage over me. You have failed in that regard. In fact, the advantage is all mine. Check and mate, Mr. Harris.”
Xander’s gaze went to the convex mirror and scanned the entrance, where two dark suited men were shouldering through a crowd of patrons waiting for their orders at the counter. Shit.
Pitts dabbed daintily at his mouth with a napkin.
“You need me alive, but Mr. Funt and Mr. Preen have no particular operational imperative vis-à-vis your continued material existence,” he said. “I expect they will be more than willing to terminate it if you fail to act in an appropriately accommodating manner. Good day, Mr. Harris. A shame you couldn’t have been a more entertaining adversary.”
“Not very subtle, killing me in a public place,” said Xander.
“Oh, that really isn’t the immediate objective. For the time being, my employer is more interested in learning the true extent of your knowledge, and how you acquired it.”
“This won’t work. I can still take you out, whatever your statistics might say to the contrary.”
“Do please try to behave, Mr. Harris. I’m quite certain you could inflict no end of damage were you to set your limited mind to it, but that would, I assure you, result in a certain degree of collateral damage I believe you would find most regrettable. I know how you feel about the whole notion of innocent victims. It is a strange trait for a mercenary, but an advantageous foible from my perspective.”
“Pitts?” asked Xander.
“Yes?”
“You talk too damned much.”
* * *
This is not good, thought Xander as he found himself being directed across the parking lot toward a beige Dodge sedan by Mr. Preen and Mr. Funt, who despite fairly monolithic stupidity had been endowed by natural selection with the physical size and criminal psyches to compensate, along with a certain native cunning that made it difficult for Xander to spot an opening for action.
It was going to have to be when they opened the door to the sedan. That would be the moment.
They reached the car and Xander readied himself to make a move. He didn’t get the chance.
Mr. Funt reached out to open the car door and his head slammed into the roof. Hard. He collapsed in a heap on the blacktop, revealing a pretty blond woman standing behind him, an angelically innocent expression on her face.
“Oops,” she said sweetly.
Mr. Preen hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden turn of events. Xander hesitated too, but not for the same reason. In Xander’s case, it was simply because he couldn’t believe his eyes. Then his reflexes kick-started and dropped Preen with a quick aikido takedown, locking the man’s gun arm and twisting the weapon out of his grasp. Xander pocketed the little Walther smoothly, opened the car door, and shoved the goon inside.
“Buffy?” he asked finally.
She couldn’t restrain a broad grin. “Yeah, Xander. It’s me. For real.”
“But … how … ?”
“Let’s get out of here before either these guys come to their senses or someone around here brings the cops down on us, then we can talk,” said Buffy. “Mine’s a long story and I have a feeling yours isn’t exactly a tale that would fit on a Bazooka Joe comic either.”
“Not by a long shot,” said Xander.
Buffy looked at him for a long moment, then threw her arms around him and gave him a rib-crushing hug.
“Damn, it’s great to see you again, Xander. More than great. You just don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”
* * *
“So, let me see if I’ve got this straight,” said Xander. “You’re immortal. You’ve spent the last seventy five years in a parallel universe. You’re here with a woman who looks exactly like you who’s really an exiled, formerly near-omnipotent being called an Elder Power. There are two vampires with you who have souls and can walk around in broad daylight and who, by the way, just happen to be Cordy and Spike. You’re part of some big cosmic scheme to change the course of history across multiple realities so that the good guys stand a better chance of winning during some final showdown with evil at the end of time. Am I missing anything here?”
“Nope, that about sums it up. Turn left, into the parking garage. I sent Lillith back to wait for me there,” said Buffy, directing him back into the DH Group parking structure.
“I don’t know, Buff. This story of yours is pretty out there. How do I even know you’re the real you, anyway?” asked Xander, suddenly suspicious. “I’ve run into a doppelganger or changeling once or twice in my time, you know.”
Buffy sighed. “I don’t know how to prove it to you. And don’t ask me to tell you something only I would know about. It’s been what, close to ninety years since high school for me. The details start to fade on you after you’ve been around for a century, plus I’ve got a few dozen Dark Hunter host engrams running around in my head. I get confused sometimes.”
“Well, you do sound a little like Buffy Summers.”
“I’ll take that as your ringing endorsement of my pedigree. So what’s the deal with you and the psychotic duo of … Pitts and Gantz you called them?” asked Buffy.
“That’s a very complicated story, and it’s really not about those two or the other two goons. It’s about the asshole they work for, one Colonel Marcus Cade.”
“I take it this guy’s not on your Christmas list?”
“You could say that,” said Xander, his voice growing cold. “During the M-7 conflict, I sort of knocked around as a hired gun. Seems years of fighting against vampires and demons gave me great job-experience for fighting aliens too. Anyway, I found myself down in Central America with a black ops group. They were nominally independent, but they were on the payroll of the CIA. Cade was commanding officer.
“Things started out okay, but as the Morphology X series of pathogens started creeping into the general population, things got messy. This was before you and the DH Group developed the antigens. To make a long story short, we were out in the boonies with no ability to screen civilians for infection. Over the course of just a couple of months, we lost about a third of our company to M-7 pathogen infected hosts who were under control of the M-7 collective mind. So Cade gets paranoid. Next time we come across a village where there’s evidence of M-7 contagion, he destroys the entire village. Kills everything and everyone and burns it to the ground.
“We parted company after that. I tried to let his CIA paymasters know what was going on and was told quite plainly to ‘let that old dog lie, son, if you know what’s good for you.’ I stayed plugged into the rumor network, found out the village incident was only the beginning. By the end of it, he’d practically set himself up in the jungles of Central America like Brando in Apocalypse Now. I’ve been after him off and on since the war ended, but the guy’s like smoke sometimes.”
“But why are Pitts and Gantz here, Xander? That’s what I want to know. If they’re poking around the DH Group, it can’t be for anything socially redeeming,” said Buffy.
“I don’t have the answer to that. Angel might know,” suggested Xander.
“He might, but I can’t ask him.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I don’t want Angel to know I’m here.”
Xander pondered that for a full thirty seconds, then said, “I don’t get that, either. In fact, there’s a whole lot of ‘not getting’ going on here.”
“It’s pretty simple. You know about what went on out in Oregon? About the Saber Sequence?”
“Yeah. You collapsed all the Nexuses that linked this plane with tourist spots like Hell. Cut us off from demons, non-corporeals, and magic all in one fell swoop,” said Xander.
“Right. Well, apparently somebody wants to open a new, artificial Nexus.”
“I know,” said Xander.
That caught Buffy by surprise. “You know?”
“Yeah. It’s Cade. He found something called the Leighton Geometry, one of the metaphysical equations that nutcase Iain Leighton came up with when he was working on the Saber sequence …”
“How the heck do you know about Iain Leighton?” asked Buffy as she pulled into a space on the third level of the garage, next to the gray BMW Xander had seen earlier. Next to the car stood a woman who looked exactly like Buffy, except that she had reddish hair.
Xander studied the other Buffy — the one the real Buffy called an ‘Elder Power’ — as he answered. “I fought paranormal bad guys for over ten years after you left Sunnydale, Buff. You do develop an intelligence network after that much time. I know guys — all ex-operatives now — from the Van Helsing Foundation, the Levchenko Special Operations Bureau, House Fuchida, even your very own Dark Angels. They keep me in the loop with the latest intelligence. Cade came up on their radar a few months ago. I don’t know how they got wind of this Leighton Geometry thing, but they did.”
“Then you know what the ‘key’ is,” said Buffy as she opened her door.
“No, afraid not. Leighton was a paranoid bastard. From what I’ve been told, he didn’t specify it in his notes, just gave some quantum equations relating to establishing something called an ‘ether conduit’. Why all the questions? Is this why you’re back? To stop Cade?”
Buffy shot Lillith a dark look as she got out of the car and said, “It wasn’t what I came back for, but it appears to be the hand I’ve gotten dealt anyway.”
“Just like old times, right?” asked Lillith.
Buffy looked over at Xander and cocked her thumb in the direction of the Elder Power. “Xander, may I introduce Lillith Prophet, exiled Elder Power and all-around pain in the ass.”
“And you’re Alexander Harris, I presume,” said Lillith.
“As presumptions go, that one has something going for it,” said Xander.
Buffy looked thoughtfully at the DH Group office building.
“Back to what we were talking about, Xander,” she said. “I can’t ask Angel, but you can.”
Xander scowled. “Not a good idea. We had an … um … incident a couple of years ago.”
“An incident,” said Buffy, clearly expecting clarification.
Xander looked down at the concrete floor and absently kicked at a pebble.
“I sort of tried to kill him, but I’m past that now. Honest,” he said.
“You did what?”
“It’s a long story.”
“What is it with you two? I leave you alone in the house for seventy-five years and this is what I find when I get back?” asked Buffy, the exasperation in her voice evident even to her.
“There’s more, actually,” said Xander.
Buffy crossed her arms and said coolly, “Out with it.”
“Willow got hurt by accident. She’s okay, but it was close.”
The Slayer gave him a sharp shove that pushed him against the fender of the BMW.
“Damn it, Xander! What the hell is the matter with you? Don’t you ever think?”
“Lay off,” said Lillith.
“Stay out of it,” snapped Buffy.
“No, I won’t,” said Lillith. “During Angel’s bad year, he sired a vampire that later killed Xander’s wife. So before you get all morally superior on his ass, you might want to think about how you would have reacted if that had happened someone you love, like your daughter maybe.”
Buffy glared at her, then backed off and cursed under her breath.
“Okay. I’m not going to judge this one,” she said. “What’s done is done and no one’s dead. With the kind of things I’ve done in my life, I’m not the best person to start throwing stones. But Xander, if you ever, ever, try to hurt anyone I care about again, you’ll wish to God you never met me. Clear?”
“Yeah,” he said very quietly. “Like I said, Angel’s not an issue anymore. Not for me.”
Buffy paced back and forth for a bit, thinking, then said, “Okay. I need to figure this out. We need to get into the Group’s computers. That hasn’t changed. And maybe we’ll find out why Cade is interested in the DH Group.”
“If Gantz is in on it, it’s bad. Gantz only does one thing well: killing people. He’s an assasin,” said Xander. He offered the statement sheepishly, as if worried Buffy might haul off and slug him at any moment.
Buffy shook her head in frustration. “I don’t like this at all. I don’t think we can afford to play this safe and neat anymore …”
“This just got even worse,” said Xander. He was looking down from the garage at the entrance to the office building. “Gantz is back and he just entered the building. Whatever’s going down, I think it’s going down now. The little parking lot incident with Funt and Preen may have forced their hand, Buff.”
“That nails it. We’re going in,” said Buffy. “Lillith, you take the car down toward the main entrance and keep it running in case we need a quick getaway. Xander, you’re with me. You carrying?”
Xander shook his head. “The dynamic duo of Funt and Preen got my HK. I really liked that gun, too. What about you.”
“No, I left my service Magnum in the hotel. I didn’t want to risk any entanglements with the local fuzz. Okay, we’re just going to have to do this the old fashioned way.”
“You mean make it up as we go along and beat up anything that gets in the way?” asked Xander.
“Right. Just like the old days,” she said with a smile.
Xander smiled back, and Buffy knew somehow that it was going to be okay between them again. Now if only Angel and Willow could be persuaded to see it that way …