Eternity Legion
Book One - The Gathering

© J.C. Lords

Chapter One: Getting Together

Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, formerly of London, Empire of Great Britain, and loyal subject to Queen Victoria, rose from the dead with a yawn and a stretch. It took him one heartbeat to ascertain he was no longer falling to his death, locked in mortal struggle with his arch-foe, the diabolical Professor Moriarty. In the space between that heartbeat and the next, he surveyed his surroundings and his current state, and reached the only possible conclussion.

"Most remarkable!" he exclaimed out loud, amazement and delight clear in his voice. "I awake from the dead, in what must surely be the far future!"

A door slid open, powered by some unseen mechanism, and a man entered the sparsely furnished room. Holmes had awakened wearing some kind of bathrobe, made of a silk-like material, lying on a white table of unknown make and design. The only other furnishings in the room were a smaller table with a device that flashed words and numbers somehow projected onto a screen, and a large mirror.

The newcomer was a young man, wearing an unusual grey, black and white one-piece suit that would, except for the unusual pattern, have easily passed for underwear in Queen Victoria´s time. His green eyes flashed with intelligence and confidence, and his smile, though friendly, was somewhat guarded. "Mr. Holmes! I´m glad to see you awake, and already making inferences about your current situation."

"I merely observe the obvious," Holmes replied dryly. "Neither the table I rest upon, nor that electrical device there could be the products of my time; they are far too alien in character, and too plain in design. Given that the trend in human affairs has been towards the betterment of Man´s station on this world, I can but conclude that this place must lie sometime in the future, and that I have been transported -- or more likely reconstituted in some fashion, for I see some scars and sign of aging in my body seem to be gone – to the future, which means that even in ages to come there will be need for someone with my talents."

The stranger bowed. "Very well done, sir. Your current location is over one century ahead of your own time. And we have need of your talents. One could say that the whole of humankind, past, present and future, is in need of your talents, and of several other men and women."

Holmes nodded thoughtfully, his impassive face masking his growing eagerness. Challenges such as this were what he lived for, the time in between a mere eking out of a boring, indolent subsistence.

The game was afoot.

****

At the end of every slide waits a hard landing.

Quinn Mallory, former college student and inventor, now wanderer between dimensions, was catapulted out of the vortex, and barely missed knocking down Maggie Beckett, formerly of the U.S. Army, now fellow Slider. Rembrandt "Crying Man" Brown, a once-famous R&B singer before his accidental stumbling into dimensional wandering, had landed far away to avoid the humiliation of serving as a landing mat for his two companions.

"That wasn´t too bad," Rembrandt said, dusting himself off. Pretty soft, actuall…" He caught himself. Maggie and Quinn were already looking around in amazement.

They were in a large, featureless white room with padded floors and walls. Insane asylum, was the first thing Rembrandt thought of. There was no visible door, however. The room was about twice the size of a racquetball court.

"What is this place, Cueball?" Rembrandt asked.

"Remie, you tell me. I just hope that it´s not a…"

"Don´t even think it, Quinn," Maggie said. "If this was a Cro-Mag facility, they wouldn´t have given us a chance to get our bearings."

"Then what..?"

An opening appeared in one of the walls, and a woman entered. She was wearing a form-fitting bodysuit, in a black white and gray pattern. She was blonde and blue-eyed, and could have made a living as a professional model if she had been a little taller, and skinnier. She was built like an athlete, however, lithe and strong. Quinn and Rembrandt were somewhat taken aback, while Maggie became instinctively defensive.

"Greetings, Sliders," she said with a smile.

"Uh, greetings back," Quinn said uncertainly.

"Where are we, and who are you?" Maggie said, rather more directly.

"You are at New Hope Base, at a somewhat improvised landing facility for parachronal traveling. My name is Lydia Worldwalker. My brother Lucian and I manage this facility."

"Okay," Maggie said, not very mollified by the answers. "A nice chunk of information that still tells us very little."

"Maggie, let´s take it easy, okay?" Mallory broke in. He stepped towards the woman, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you." My name is Quinn Mallory, and these are my friends…"

Lydia shook his hand vigorously. "I know your names and careers, Mr. Mallory, and it is a pleasure to meet you face to face." She let go of him, and Quinn surreptitiously rubbed his hand; she had a grip like a pro wrestler. "In fact, we just extracted somebody you may want to see. She looked at the opening and two people rushed in.

Wade Wells and Professor Maximillian Arturo. Two fellow Sliders, one dead, the other captured by the barbaric Cro-Mag. Alive and well.

For several minutes, Quinn and his companions did their damnedest best to make five people occupy the same space at the same time. There was much laughter and many tears of joy. Maggie, the newest addition to the group, was a little less moved. She glanced towards Lydia, who had stood away from the reunion. Her expression was happy and satisfied, and her blue eyes were misty. She seemed genuinely happy to get the Sliders back together, and Maggie´s suspicions dimmed. She hugged the Professor, and tried to enjoy the moment.

In the back of her mind, however, she kept one fact in mind: few people perform acts of kindness without expecting something in return.

Whatever their benefactress expected from the Sliders, Maggie suspected it would not no be neither easy, nor safe.

 
***
 

"This doesn´t look good," the short man in the robe said. His name was Pug, and, unlikely as it was, he was also the most powerful wizard in the world of Midkemia.

His companions were an attractive woman who stood behind her, her aura glowing with magical power; a bald, homely man in a blue robe; and an imposing warrior in golden chain mail. They were Miranda, a powerful magician in her own right, and Pug´s lover; Nakor, one of the wisest – and craziest – humans in the Universe; and Tomas, part human, part Vallheru, the last remnant of a godlike race of world-makers and world-destroyers.

"Nope, not good at all," Nakor said in agreement. He looked down. "You know, I don´t think I´ve ever been this high up in my life."

Midkemia floated below the four friends, a blue and white disk suspended in black space, with stars dotting the darkness beyond. A protective shield Miranda had erected protected them from the cold and lack of air at this altitude.

It also barred the swirling energy ball they had come up to investigate from consuming them all.

"I´ve cast a containment spell upon the -- energy sphere," Pug explained. "The sphere is trying to expand, and it may yet break free."

"That´s nice," Miranda said pertly. "And what exactly is it?"

"I´m not sure," Pug replied. "But it seems to be the exact opposite of matter."

"Uh-oh," Nakor said. "That´s not good. When matter touches its opposite, they destroy each other, and they explode."

Pug nodded. "I can sense that. Even the small particles that have hit the sphere have unleashed energies that would devastate a city. If the containment shield and Miranda´s defenses were not in place, not even Tomas could survive the energies being released right now."

Tomas looked thoughtful. "It seems I am of little use to you, my friend. There are no enemies for me to strike."

"Not necessarily. I may need to use your power to do what I´m planning."

"And that is…"

"Open a Rift and send this thing back to where it came from."

"Yes! That´s a good trick," Nakor said.

"What about me?" Miranda asked.

"I may need to lower the containment field. You are going to have to protect us from the worst of the heat and… I don´t know exactly what else, small particles too small to see, but which will play havoc with our bodies if allowed to pass through us. The shield must be so dense that nothing can pass through. Think of something very heavy – gold, or maybe lead – can you make a shield with a similar consistency?"

"Why don´t you ever ask for something easy?" Miranda said, and the protective bubble around them became thicker and more opaque. She concentrated. "All right, I hope that does it."

Pug´s left hand took Nakor´s and his right grasped Tomas´. "Lend me your strength, my friends." They both nodded, and Pug sent forth mystical energies, surrounding the negative matter, even as he carefully opened a hole in the fabric of reality, a Rift that would connect to another world.

A random Rift would never do. This thing had the potential to lay waste to entire planets. Instead, Pug tried to forge a link between the anti-creation globe and the Rift, using contagious magic to send it back to its place of origin. If its creators were able to dispel it safely, all well and good. If not, they, and not Midkemia, would pay the price for their actions.

Pug felt pressure, as an alien force resisted him. He redoubled his efforts. The power he had been able to drain from Nakor and Tomas had melted away. He took from his own reserves, regardless of the cost.

For an instant, he touched the mind responsible for the globe of anti-creation, and he screamed in despair. In all his years, he had never encountered such naked malice, such hungry, blind power reaching out to devour all before it. With the last of his strength, he pushed back.

The Rift opened and the anti-creation globe fell into it. A final burst of searing energy burst from the Rift as it closed, battering the protective shield.

"Too much!" Miranda cried out. The shields grew red, and the inside became intolerably hot. "It´s… breaking… through…" She looked at Pug, who had been brought to his knees by the power expenditure. "I´m sorry," she said, followed, in what she thought were her last words. "I love you."
"Look!" Nakor shouted, pointing behind them.

A swirling vortex of blue light had opened right up against the protective bubble. It was like a Rift, and yet unlike one, but Nakor immediately sensed that it offered them a shred of hope. "Jump towards it, everyone!"

Tomas grabbed Pug with one hand, Miranda with the other, and leaped, a prodigious bound that would have gone over a castle wall. Miranda opened the rear of the bubble even as she focused the last of her strength on the front, to keep the heat and radiation from overwhelming them. Nakor jumped last, and experienced a thrilling ride through a insanely shifting tunnel of light and color. He landed next to the others in a white room. A man in an unusual costume awaited for them there.

"Welcome, Pug of Stardock, and your companions as well," the stranger said. "You have just confronted our common enemy."

Pug rose wearily to his feet. "Then I believe we have much to discuss."

"This is beginning to get interesting," Nakor said.

Miranda and Tomas gave him a disbelieving stare, but Pug merely nodded.

 
***
 

Jean-Luc Picard, Captain, United Federation of Planets, Starfleet division, was irked beyond measure.

The Federation was barely recovering from the Dominion Wars and the Borg invasion. Its fleet was a mere shadow of its former self, and the Romulans were already beginning to test the waters, seeing what they might snap up in the chaos and anarchy that reigned over much of the Alpha Quadrant. The Enterprise had been on an extended patrol – a "show the flag" cruise, to be more precise – with just the aim to discourage the Romulars (and the Ferengui, and the Tholians) from becoming overly ambitious, when a peremptory summons back to Earth had arrived.

The orders themselves were galling enough. The fact that no explanation had been attached to them made it worse. Unfortunately, orders were orders. Picard could have been an admiral many years ago, but he was not ready to command away from the bridge of a ship. Thus, he was at the mercy of those who were willing to do so.

The bridge crew studiously avoided noticing his cloudy expression as he joined them and sat down. Commander Riker´s grim face seemed to mirror the same emotions, at any rate. Data was impassive, despite his still-new emotion chip, but he had much more practice at keeping a straight face.

"We are five minutes away from Earth orbit, Captain," Data reported. "There are no signs of disturbances or anomalies." Picard relaxed minutely; at least, this wasn´t another emergency situation. His last visit to Earth had been extremely stressful. "However, sensors confirm the presence of the Defiant on Earth orbit."

"The Defiant?" That ship´s station was very far indeed, at Deep Space Nine, where it had played a vital role in the war against the Dominion-Cardassian alliance. Its presence here could only mean that something urgent and dangerous was at hand. And secretive to a fault, as well. Picard did not like being caught unprepared.

"We have received a request for two to beam up, Captain," Data added. "Admiral Corliss and one other. They wish to brief you and the command element."

"Very well. Have the Admiral and his companion escorted to the ready room. Number One, Counselor Troi, Doctor Crusher, Mr. Laforge, and Data, to the ready room, if you please." Riker greeted the order with a slight frown, but nodded in agreement. By rights, Picard should have greeted the Admiral himself. This breach in protocol was a not very subtle show of displeasure. An ordinary ship captain would never have dared do this, and, if he did, could expect a short and unmemorable career ahead of him. But Picard, with all due modesty, was no ordinary captain.

"This," he said as the turbolift doors closed behind him and his command team, "had better be good."

"Aye aye, sir," Riker agreed.

The Admiral was accompanied by a young woman, dressed in a patterned bodysuit of unfamiliar make. "Ah, glad you could make it, Picard," Admiral Corliss said. "This is Lydia Worldwalker. She, a few other people, and an acquaintance of yours met with assorted members of the Federation and Starfleet."

"And who was this ‘old acquaintance´ of mine?" Picard asked dryly.

A man appeared in the ready room in a flash of light.

"Picard! Surely you haven´t forgotten me!"

"Q!" Picard spat the name out like a curse. And Q it was, complete with sardonic smile, near-omnipotence, and annoying personality.

"Well met, old friend," Q said. "I wish I had time to chat, but your presence – and that of your boon companions – is urgently needed elsewhere."

"Urgently? What could be so urgent that it moved Q to honor us with his presence?" Riker blurted out.

"No just Q," the Admiral said. "The delegation we received included an Organian, and a Bejoran Prophet."

"The Organians are such dreadful bores, aren´t they?" Q said. "And don´t get me started on the Prophets. Try getting a straight answer out of those people."

Picard did not scare easily, but the mention of three of the greater powers of known space in the same breath did little to set his mind at ease. None of those beings had cared a whit about the Borg´s rampage across the galaxy. Whatever brought them together had to be something worse and more far-reaching.

The Admiral continued, doing his best to ignore Q. "The delegation convinced the Federation to fulfill its requests. You, Captain, and assorted other Federation personnel – you will probably be happy to see Lieutenant Worf again, I´m sure – are going to go on detached duty. You, and the Enterprise, that is."

"The entire vessel? On detached duty to this mysterious third party?" Picard could hardly believe it.

"Relax, Picard," Q said. "If it´s any consolation, you won´t be seeing much of me where you´re going."

"That is no small consolation," Riker retorted.

The woman, who had remained silent until then, finally spoke up. "I want to apologize in advance, Captain, to you and to the rest of your crew. At this point, I would like you and a number of your officers to come with me for a full briefing. After that, anyone who wishes to decline our invitation can do so. And I hope you will extend the same right to the rest of your crew once you know what the situation will be."
"The Enterprise… Admiral, is this wise?" Picard said. "This is hardly the time to remove a capital ship from our order of battle."

"Believe me, Captain, the Federation did not come lightly to this decision."

"Very well, then. We are at your disposal, Ms. Worldwaker."

"Thank you." Lydia stood up and gestured. A tunnel-like structure appeared out of thin air. "If you and your officers would step through? My brother is currently leading the other personnel through another vortex."

Picard glanced at his people. They were clearly filled with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, but they would follow him into the unknown. "Let us go, then," Picard said, and boldly went through the vortex.

 
***
 

[RESET.

Systems Reboot. Stand By.

Systems Activated. Visual scan initiated.

Designation: Cyberdine T-100 Anthropomorphic Combat Unit, "Terminator."

Status: Operational. All systems 100%.

Retrieving Memory.]

The man in the robe sat down slowly, with the economy of motion of an athlete – or a predatory animal. As he scanned his surroundings, he remembered – and remembering, he felt pain.

His last memory, as recorded in his cybernetic brain, was of searing heat as he was lowered into a vat of molten iron, hot enough to dissolve even the reinforced alloys of his humanoid chassis. He had been terminated, by his own choice if not by his own hand.

[Status: Operational. All systems 100%.]

One logic switch tripped, then another, before the third shunted questions about his current state off to a closed loop where the lack of answers could not impair the T-100´s performance. He turned to the matters at hand. The room he was in contained a bed, made of a synthetic composite. His sensors found the material to have twice the tensile strength of industrial steel. Attempts to fashion a weapon out of it would fail, however; if enough force was applied to exceed its structural strength, the material would collapse into harmless powder. Another table of the same material contained a processing device with a visual interface screen. The symbols flashing across the screen did not translate into meaningful information, even after running them through the linguistic sub-routine. A door slid open. The Terminator turned towards it.

"I am not armed, and I mean you no harm!" a male voice said. "I am coming in. Please do not attack me."

A humanoid entered the room. The T-100´s sensors scanned him.

Human variant. The thermal readings showed a metabolism rate 60% higher than a normal human, with abnormally high reaction timing likely. Bone density was almost 40% higher, and muscle-to-fat ratios exceeded human maximums. The man held his hands open in an appeasing gesture, but his stance was that of a trained hand-to-hand fighter. His combat sub-routine ran a quick analysis.

[Probability of Success, Hand to Hand Engagement: 73%, +/- 10%.]

If Terminators could be impressed, the T-100 would be. No organic bipedal being he had ever encountered had rated such a high possibility of failure, and such a great uncertainty rating.

"State designation and purpose," the T-100 demanded.

"Lucian Worldwalker. My purpose is the preservation of the human race, and of the Universe."

[Voice Stress Analyzer: Subject is being truthful -- probability 87%.]

"Purpose compatible with T-100 mission," the Terminator said. "I will not initiate hostilities until proven otherwise."

Lucian relaxed minutely. "Glad to hear it. There are two people outside just dying to see you." He looked towards the door. "Come in! It´s safe."

The door slid open again, revealing the last two people the T-100 had seen before his termination. Sarah Connor and her son John. Sarah looked grim and reserved. John, however, shouted happily and embraced the Terminator. "You made it! I´m glad to see you again, you big lug!"

"I am back," he replied. Joy was alien to him; it took him a moment to recognize it.

Sarah Connor turned to Lucius. "Okay, we´re all together again. Now I hope you can tell me what the hell is going on in here." She did not appear joyous at all.

Lucius dipped his head. "My apologies, again. I know you were hoping for a normal life after the Cyberdine incident – as normal as being on the run from the law could be, of course – but believe me, you were not safe."

John turned around. "Hey, as far as I know, I owe you one for saving Arnold, here."

The T-100 looked dubiously at John. "Arnold?"

"You need a name, pal, and for some reason, you look like an Arnold."

Sarah shook her head. "Whatever. I´m still waiting for the explanation."

Lucian nodded. "If you follow me, I will take you to someone who will explain everything."

***

"As a reunion, this sucks!" Ioalus shouted, barely making himself heard in the din of the battle.

Clawed fingers sank on his back, and smashed him head first into the ground.

"Shut up and keep fighting!" Xena of Thrace, Warrior Princess, hissed. Her chakram leapt from her hand and decapitated the fanged, scaly monstrosity that had grabbed Ioalus. He rolled, leapt to his feet, and stabbed a creature about to tear open the throat of Gabrielle, Xena´s friend and companion. The monster twisted and gibbered as Ioalus stabbed it again and again. Gabrielle looked sickened, but said nothing to stop him.

Hercules Son of Zeus swung a two-ton column stone like an oversized mace, smashing three of the reptilian creatures. That mighty blow gave the monster pause, allowing the four companions to withdraw a little further into the cavern, gaining some breathing space.

The demigod lowered the column and leaned against it. He was exhausted; they all were. "They are taking a short break," he announced, peering into the darkness. "When they attack again, I think they will be more careful."

"We should attack them now," Xena said, wiping clean her bloody sword with a rag. "If we give them time to regroup, they will hit us all at once, and we´ll be finished."

"Xena, we are finished," Gabrielle said wearily. "I mean, aren´t we?" If she was hoping for empty reassurances, she got none. Ioalus avoided her eyes and sharpened his own sword. He had done more killing in this day than in his entire career with Hercules, and it would not save them in the end.

The creatures who called themselves the Scions of Set had appeared suddenly off the coast of Thebes, slaying all who came near them, be it men, women or children. Every time one of the retilian monsters killed a humam being, it split off into two identical warriors. By the time Hercules and Ioalus arrived to the site of the massacre, there were dozens of them. When Xena and Gabrielle joined them, there were over a hundred of the monsters. The men of Thebes had fought well, but for every monster they killed they had lost two or more warrors – and the Scions´ numbers had increased with every battle.

Hercules and Xena had concocted a desperate plan. Lead the creatures towards the Tarterssian Caverns, and set off a bag of the Chinese black powder Xena had brought back from her travels and stashed away from an emergency. The explosion would trap the creatures inside, while the four companions escaped through a narrow secondary tunnel that Hercules would collapse after they exited.

The plan had worked, mostly. They had fought the creatures and beat a hasty retreat, a hundred monsters howling for their blood. The Scions had not noticed the bag with the lit fuse crawling towards it, and the explosion had sealed the cave´s entrance and entombed the demonic army.

The same explosion had also caused the escape tunnel to collapse, trapping the four companions with the Scions of Set.

For hours, they had fought the creatures to a standstill, and killed over a dozen of them. The narrow confines of the caverns had prevented the creatures from using their numbers and size to their best advantage. Still, the four companions were bloody and battered, and they had been pushed steadily into a wider part of the cavern, to a forgotten temple to Zeus.

During a lull in the battle, Hercules had asked his father for help. He only did it for his friends; he would have rather died than ask Zeus for a favor. The god had remained silent, in any case.

Xena knelt to Gabrielle, who was sitting with her knees drawn back against her body. "Here´s some water," she said, handing her friend a flask. "Our last, so take only one sip."

"You drink it," Gabrielle said bleakly.

"It´s not over yet," Xena said.

"Yeah," Ioalus agreed. "We still have some fight left in us."

"It´s all right, guys," Gabrielle said. "You don´t have to sugarcoat it for me. There are too many of them, and they don´t seem to tire as much as we do, and we have nowhere to run. What...?" She paused as light flickered over them.

Hercules hefted the stone pillar again. In the light, he could see the Scions of Set gathering themselves for another charge. There were at least sixty or seventy down there, although they could only come in ten or twelve at a time. Twelve would be enough; they would lose Gabrielle, at least, in the first charge, and then Ioalus. Then it would be a tossing match as to whether he or Xena fell next. Hercules would bet on Xena, himself. And then there would be none.

The Scions advanced tentatively, their scales glittering in the light.

Wait a moment. What light?

Hercules turned, and saw his companions gaping at a tunnel of light that had appeared in the back of the cavern temple. Hercules had seen a similar apparition; that tunnel had led him to another world.

No choice. "Run towards it!" he shouted.

They did.

After an unsettling and chaotic trip, they landed on a white room, where a smiling woman awaited.

***

The natives were restless.

Dr. Henry "Indiana" Jones knew that because they had been doing their damnedest to kill him, with machetes, spears, and a few Martini-Henry rifles some enterprising British supply sergeant must have "lost" for a tidy profit some decades ago. The tribesmen in this remote area of Central Africa were dedicated to guarding the remains of the temple of Ashep the Devourer, a mysterious deity that only showed up in African lore as a demon of the worst sort. Some tedious research, a gunfight in Egypt, and a great deal of legwork later, Indy had reached the ruins – only to have his guide, a treacherous half-Portuguese, half-Algerian thug, betray him at the worst possible moment, leaving him stranded in the middle of the jungle.

Indy paused behind a large tree and went over his assets. Nine bullets for his .45 revolver. His trusty bullwhip. A good Bowie knife. A couple of chocolate bars, and some dry fruit. A half-full canteen. And his Fedora hat. Not a hell of a lot.

Someone big dropped from the tree and landed behind him.

Indy reacted without thinking, lashing out with a fist. He connected solidly against something, and the newcomer staggered back half a step. A heartbeat later, a fist with the power and consistency of a sledgehammer smashed into Indy's jaw.

Jones could take a punch. He had taken many a punch, as a matter of fact, from the likes of Irish bruisers, Nepalese martial artists, and Masai warriors, and come back swinging every time. This blow planted him on the ground, pretty bright lights flashing all around him. For several seconds, he didn´t care about much of anything.

A strong hand helped him to his feet. "Sorry about that," a deep, powerful voice said. "Here, take this." A large pill was thrust into his hand. Still half dazed, Indy swallowed it. The pounding headache he had not known he was feeling started to fade away, and the pretty bright lights dissipated. "The pill should diminish the pain, and prevent the possibility of a concussion. I apologize again. When you hit me, I reacted instinctively."

Indy blinked and looked at the newcomer. He was a giant of a man, although so well proportioned that if he had not been standing next to him, he would not have thought he was so tall. His skin was deeply tanned, his hair a deep shade of bronze. He was muscled like a Greek god. Indy´s eyes narrowed in recognition. "Doctor Clark Savage, is it?"

Doc Savage nodded. "And you are Doctor Jones. We have a common acquaintance, I believe."

"Yes," Jones said. "William Harper Littlejohn, from Miskatonic University. One of your assistants, if the magazines got it right. How´s Johnny?"

"Very well, thank you. He wanted to come with me on this expedition, but I deemed the risks to be too great."

So this was the Doc Savage, whose fame had spread through a series of pulp magazine articles by Lester Dent. Dent had actually contacted Indy once, offering to write a serialization of some of his activities. Jones had turned him down at once, of course. He was a university professor, and one did not get tenure by appearing on some nickel magazine with scantly-clad gun moll on the covers. He wondered how Littlejohn´s academic career had suffered from his exposure to popular literature. Maybe the folks at Miskatonic were more tolerant of eccentric behavior.

"So, Doctor Savage, what brings you here?"

"The temple of Ashep the Devourer, same as you."

"Oh. I didn´t know you were into archeological research."

"Not exactly. You have heard of the Black Dust of Ashep?"

"Well, according to some of the oral legends, the high priests of Ashep blew the Black Dust onto their victims. Inhalation was invariably fatal."

Savage nodded. "Someone has been using the Black Dust to commit a number of murders in New York. It appears to be a dried fungal agent, but it decays too quickly for a good analysis from autopsy samples. I am here to find the raw materials here, at its source."

"I see," Indy said. "Uh, maybe you can ask those natives."

"Which natives?"

"The ones about to charge us."

"The servants of Ashep had found them.

Indy and Doc sprang into action. The .45 revolver barked harshly, knocking down two of the native riflemen. Doc's machinepistol accounted for the remaining three gunmen, none getting a chance of firing a shot. Then it came down to hand to hand combat. Indy would have been overwhelmed in seconds, if he had been alone. Doc Savage was a living whirlwind of fists and feet, however, cutting a swath through the swarming cultists. With Indy watching his back, it seemed likely that he would fight off the entire tribe.

Some men in elaborate robes moved forward, however, and put long tubes in their mouths aimed at the struggling duo. Clouds of a thin dark powder vomited forth from the blowguns, enveloping both the cultists and the two Americans. All who were touched by the dust fell down almost instantly. The ground rose up and slapped Indy in the face. None of his limbs were working, and he couldn´t breathe. Doc Savage was also on the ground and –

Darkness.

Light. The two adventurers woke up in a strange white room, and were greeted by a man in unusual clothing.

***

Any successful caper has three main ingredients. First, you have to plan it very carefully. Secondly, you have to have the skills and experience for the job. Finally, you have to be lucky, because the best laid plan can be totally ruined by the smallest, stupidest things.

Amanda, also known as the Raven, was perhaps the greatest thief that ever lived. She had been plying her trade for centuries, after all. So the first two elements of the caper had been taken care of.

Not even an Immortal can control the third, however.

The current target was another Immortal, J.P. Carruthers, wealthy and cruel, with a fondness for ancient Chinese jade figurines, which he had developed shortly after the Opium War in the 1840s, and a taste for torturing young women, also acquired during his years in the British Army. Amanda was interested in the former hobby; she didn´t care much for the latter, but she was no crusader.

Every Thursday night, Carruthers spent the night at an exclusive brothel that catered to his taste. This particular Thursday, however, he would find, not a helpless girl kidnapped for his pleasure, but a very angry and well-armed Immortal. Duncan MacLeod, who, unlike Amanda, was a crusader, noble and true.

While Carruthers was getting his just desserts, Amanda would burgle his apartment, and depart with several dozen jade figurines, each worth a few hundred thousand in the collectible market. She was toying with using an Internet auction service for this batch; she might make a few thousand more that way.

For a month, she had watched Carruther´s movements. In the last week, she had discovered where he spent every Thursday night, motivating a call to MacLeod, who took a dim view of Immortals committing crimes. She had planned her moves carefully. Breaking into the apartment had been child´s play; Carruthers had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars in the security system, but Amanda was the best at what she did.

Finding the miniatures had taken all of fifteen minutes.

Amanda was putting them in a case when Carruthers had unexpectedly returned to the apartment, quietly and quickly, so that by the time Amanda felt the presence of a nearby Immortal, he had already entered the apartment and caught her in his bedroom with the loot.

"Why, a thief! And a pretty female one, too." Amanda´s hair was short, recently dyed blonde, but the black skintight suit left no doubts as to her gender. "My good luck, forgetting some of my toys and having to come back."

"Maybe we can talk about this," Amanda said, playing it dumb. She had no sword. If she acted stupid and helpless enough, Carruthers might get careless, and give her an opening.

Carruthers unsheathed his sword, a heavy cavalry saber. "I´d like to play with you first, but Immortals are too troublesome to keep around," he said. "I´m afraid it´s off with your head, m´dear."

He lunged. Amanda dodged away, somersaulted past him, and ran for the door. Before she could unlock it, she had to leap away or be impaled by a brutal thrust. She avoided one, two three vicious slashes; on the fourth, she got a nasty cut on one arm. Amanda staggered backwards, tripped on an armchair, and fell down. Carruthers stood over her, blade pressed against her throat, breathing heavily. "That was mildly entertaining, but it is time to finish this."

"Yes, it is," Duncan MacLeod said behind him.

Carruthers stepped away from Amanda, facing the newcomer, dark-haired Scotsman MacLeod, armed with a Japanese katana blade. "I´ve heard of you, MacLeod," Carruthers said. "Something of an errant knight, no? Pity."

"Let´s see how well you do against an armed opponent," MacLeod replied.

"Oh, I shall do wonders," Carruthers said. Instead of squaring off against the newcomer, he started chanting, a toneless cadence that sounded like no language MacLeod had ever heard.

The world disappeared, replaced by thick, impenetrable darkness. MacLeod looked around himself. He could see but a weak gleam of the sword in his hand, and nothing else.

"A little trick I picked up in Asia, my dear chap," Carruthers said. His voice echoed through the darkness, giving MacLeod no clue as to its source. "There are more things in Heaven and Earth than us Immortals, you know. If an enterprising lad learns how to serve them, the rewards can be quite satisfying."

A tiny glint of metal behind and to his left warned MacLeod just in time to pitch forward. The sword, instead of taking him in the neck, cut deeply into his back. He slashed back, only to hear echoing laughter as he hit nothing.

MacLeod concentrated, but the darkness seemed to deaden all senses, not just sight. He had not heard the telltale swish of steel cutting through the air, or footsteps, or even the breathing of his foe. His only hope was to catch a glimpse of the sword, and try to strike even as he was struck.

"What the devil?" Carruthers shouted angrily. MacLeod felt a rush of heat, and saw, faintly, flames. A figure was outlined against them, holding a blade. MacLeod moved, sword flashing forth. Carruthers screamed in pain.

The darkness vanished. Carruthers was on his knees, run through by MacLeod´s sword. Behind him, a set of expensive curtains burned merrily. Amanda dropped the flare gun she had used to set the fire. "I use it to spoof infrared sensors," she explained.

MacLeod pulled out the sword, and brought it back and down in a sweeping circle. Carruthers´ head rolled away.

When an Immortal died, the unearthly energies keeping him alive – his Quickening – flowed into his killer, often with spectacular results. This time, however, no sparkling arc lights emerged from the body – instead, dark serpentine strands surged forth, swirling towards MacLeod and Amanda.

"Stand back!" MacLeod shouted. Instinctively, he struck at one of the semi-solid tentacles of darkness. His blade flashed, and he felt some of his own Quickening flowing through the sword, burning the darkness, which recoiled as if in pain. Behind him, Amanda screamed in agony as one of the coils touched her. MacLeod slashed at the phantom limb, and it released her.

"It´s cold – burns," she gasped.

"We have to get out of here!"

The two Immortals gave way, pressed by the darkness. MacLeod seemed able to keep it at bay for some time, but, finally, they were cornered, back to back, surrounded by lashing tendrils.

And then a tunnel of light opened on a wall. A beam of energy emerged, striking at the tendrils, and banishing them. A female voice could be heard through the light. "Quick! Enter the gateway if you wish to live!"

"Sounds good to me," Amanda said, and jumped through. MaLeod felt more dubious, but he couldn´t let Amanda go by herself. He leaped after her.

He half stumbled out of the swirling lights, and found himself, with Amanda, in a white room with the woman who had called out to them.

MacLeod studied their rescuer. His Quickening-sharpened senses had never encountered anything like her before. At first, he thought he was facing another Immortal, but there were differences – she was not Immortal, but she had Quickening within her, and she was very old, older perhaps than Methos himself.

"Ah, thanks for doing whatever it is you did," Amanda said.

"You are quite welcome," the woman replied. "My name is Lydia. I am not happy about leaving that situation unresolved for now, but maybe when you return you might help put it to rights."

"What situation? That dark Quickening?" MacLeod asked.

"Yes. A great danger threatens your world. In fact, we are intent in stopping it. We want to make you an offer, to join an organization that deals with this type of situation."

"I´m not much of a joiner," Amanda said apprehensively.

"We only ask that you hear us out. You will be free to make up your mind."

"That seems fair enough," MacLeod replied. "We will hear what you have to say."

***

Qui-Gon Jinn staggered from the pilot´s seat, smoke and fire everywhere around him. Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing, his flight instructor had told him, all those many years ago. It remained to be seen if anyone would walk away from this one.

The modified fighter´s inertial shields had saved the two passengers from being crushed on impact, but the ship had been wrecked. The main control panels were on fire. Young Obi-Wan Kenobi was scrambling for the emergency extinguishers. He extended his hands, and the extinguisher leaped into them. A few short sprays killed the flames.

"Are you all right, master?" Obi-Wan said between coughs.

"I will live, the Force be thanked." He examined the wreckage. Not even the Force would make this vessel fly again. "It appears that our diplomatic mission to the Trade Federation has been postponed indefinitely."

"What happened, Master Jinn? And where are we?"

"As to the second question, I believe when we were thrown out of hyperspace we fell into the gravity well of the third planet of star Kellebar. Unfortunately, the planet is not friendly to human life. As to the first," Qui-Gon rubbed his forehead, and tried to marshal his thoughts. "It appears that my suspicions, my fears, have been confirmed in a most definite way." He looked at his student. "My only regret is that it appears I have doomed us both in the process."

"I sensed you were worried and disturbed about something, Master Jinn," Obi-Wan said. "But since I am to be schooled in patience, I waited until you saw fit to tell me what had upset you so."

Qui-Gon nodded approvingly. "Well done, my friend." His expression grew grimmer as he continued. "The conflict between the Trade Federation and Naboo was manufactured by someone within the Republic, someone who seeks to weaken and destroy it. And this attempted murder has identified the traitor."

"And he was..?"

"Senator Palpatine. I had my suspicions about him. The exact time of the trip, and the vessel, were known only to him and Master Yoda, but we led him to believe that others knew of it, so he felt he could strike with impunity. Now, Yoda and Master Windu will deal with the traitor as he deserves."

"And what about us?"

"We, I fear, are doomed. Life support will not last very long, and then the searing cold and poisonous gases of the planet will have their way with us. Using the Force, we may survive for a few days, a week at the most. Then we shall succumb."

Obi-Wan considered his own mortality in silence for some time. "I believe this was a worthy sacrifice. Senator Palpatine is one of the most powerful men in the Republic. If he has fallen prey to the Dark Side, he had to be found out, or he could have done untold harm."

"I miscalculated," Qui-Gon said glumly. "I thought that Palpatine would try to strike in more direct way. The explosive device he hid on board was effective enough, I´m afraid."

There was little else to say. The two Jedis sat cross-legged and waited for the end.

Neither was prepared for the vortex and the appearance of Lucian Worldwalker, but both were willing enough to go with him.

***

"What should we do now?" Annalee Call, android, LM7 Class, former crewmember of the starship Betty, asked.

"I don´t know," Ellen Ripley, former Lieutenant of the Space Merchant Marine, now a cloned Alien-human hybrid, replied. "I´m a stranger here myself."

They had just had the same exchange, a few days ago, on Earth. Things had gotten nasty, after their narrow escape at the Auriga. First, the authorities had arrived, and they and their companions had had to run for it. They had lived as fugitives, Call an illegal android, able to feel emotions and behave independently, Ripley, a hybrid the government would pay a fortune to capture.

Then, in a flash of light, they had been transported into a featureless white room, where a woman awaited for them.

"Hey," Call said, looking at herself. "All the damage in my body has been repaired."

"It´s the least we could do," Lydia said. "Since we wish to ask you for help."

Ripley looked at the woman much like a cat considers a mouse. "What do you want?"

"First of all, to thank you, on behalf of all of humankind. On four different occasions, you prevented the xenoforms from spreading towards Earth and obliterating our species. You have made the ultimate sacrifice once already, and then were brought back to life. Governments and corporations have tried to use you, time and time again, and you have fought against them as fiercely as you battled the aliens.

"Yes. So?" Ripley had seemingly reverted to the emotionless creature she had been before Call and her had fought for their lives.

"So we would like your help. Both of you. All we ask is that you listen to what we have to say. Should you refuse, we can send you back to Earth, or anywhere else you´d like to go."

"Soup and a sermon, eh?" Ripley said. "Well, you fixed my friend," Call smiled a little bit at that, "so I guess that counts as the soup. We´ll listen to the sermon."

Call nodded in agreement. "As long as we can change our minds later."

"Certainly," the woman said. "We consider freedom of choice to be a sacred right."

***

The last stand of the Scooby Gang had begun.

"Stay behind me, and just cover my back!" Buffy Summers, a.k.a. the Vampire Slayer, shouted as she smashed a demon´s face with a devastating kick. Rupert Giles, her Watcher, student of the occult, and all-around fountain of wisdom and moderation, shouted wordlessly and fired a crossbow bolt into the chest of yet another demon. Xander Harris, nice guy, friend of Buffy, smart-mouth who had magically gained skill in all military hardware, emptied a clip of his AK-47 assault rifle (which he had stolen from a survivalist hoard a few days back) into the demons. The hail of bullets took down half a dozen of the demons and forced back the rest. Things were not looking well, though. The hordes of hell were loose, and the only hope for Sunnydale – for the entire planet -- lay in the hands of the three newcomers who had arrived a few days ago.

Tha Haliwell sisters – Phoebe, Prue and Piper – had come calling on Willow Rosenberg – Buffy´s best friend, budding witch, and loyal member of the Scooby Gang. Apparently, Willow and Phoebe had met each other at a Wiccan chat room, and struck a fast friendship. Turns out that Phoebe and her sisters were the Charmed Ones, another mystical title that, like Vampire Slayer, involved getting into a lot of trouble for little or no pay, and certainly without any benefits or medical plans. Phoebe´s precognitive powers had sensed the imminent opening of the Hellmouth, the dimensional gate that led into the homelands of all manner of nasty critters. Unless the Hellmouth was closed, some 666 billion demons were going to pour out into the streets, and proceed to eat everything alive on the planet.

A few hurried introductions later, the seven of them had gone into the Sewers of Sunnydale, which as Xander said sounded like the title of a really lame song, or an even lamer movie. They had been attacked by vampires and demons along the way, and the Haliwells had earned Buffy´s respect; Prue´s telekinesis had knocked down almost as many demons as Buffy´s kicks, Piper´s ability to freeze creatures in time had saved Xander´s life, and Phoebe had predicted the attack just in time. They had made it to the Hellmouth.

And found a horde of demons waiting for them.("How many demons in a Horde, Giles?" Willow had asked. "One hundred and sixty-nine," the Watcher had replied right away.) In an epic struggle, they had cleared enough room for the Halliwells to open their Book of Shadows and try to use the Power of Three to shut down the dimensional gate. The Hellmouth stood in front of them, looking like a circular gateway made out of flames. Buffy and her friends had to hold the demons off until the spell was complete.

Xander slammed another clip in his rifle. "Last one!" he shouted.

"I´m down to three crossbow bolts," Giles announced.

"I´m still doing all right with the incense," Willow reported. "But the aversion spell isn´t quite as good as I hoped it´d be." The little incense burner´s smoke touched a demon who hadn´t pulled back far enough, and it hissed in pain, but seemed relatively unhurt.

Buffy wiped sweat and blood off her forehead. "Well," she panted. "Nobody said this would be fun."

Xander glanced behind him. "Hey, twisted sisters! Are we there yet?"

"Don´t rush us!" Phoebe said. "We are gathering the power to do it."

"Less talking, more concentrating," Prue hissed.

"Don´t push me, Prue," Phoebe hissed back.

"You know, neither of you is helping here," Piper said. The three nodded, and resumed the soft chanting.

The demons charged again. Buffy did a double spin kick, which snapped a demon´s neck when it connected. Upon landing, she drove a stake into a vampire´s heart, and on the follow-through stabbed another one. "Now that´s a 10!" Xander shouted, and fired a short burst into another demon. Willow fanned the incense burner, and the smoke prevented the creatures from swarming, and forced them to come in a few at a time. Giles shot a vampire that tried to do just that.

"Hey, we´re doing okay," Xander marveled. "Better than okay, we´re kicking royal ass!"
Phoebe screamed in pain. Dark energies flowed from the gates, striking at the sisters.

"Oh-oh," Willow said. "The force behind the Hellmouth is attacking them."

Without another word, the young witch dropped the burner and made a pattern in the air. The hostile energies were diverted away from the Haliwells – and struck her. She collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"Willow!" Buffy screamed. A demon knocked her down with a punch that would have killed a normal human. Giles took it out with his last crossbow bolt, and knelt over the Willow. "She´s just unconscious!" he shouted as Buffy recovered and took out two more vampires.

"By the power of Three!" the Holliwell sisters shouted – and Piper froze time for everyone but the seven of them. "Oh, no," Piper said.

"Oh no what?" Xander said.

"We´ve shut down the Hellmouth. For good. Most demons on Earth will be destroyed, and many vampires. And they´ll never get reinforcements, ever," Phoebe announced.

"I´m still waiting for the ‘oh, no´ part," Xander snapped.

"The resulting backlash is going to kill us all," Prue replied. "As soon as Piper lets time flow again, we´ll be fried."

"Can´t we run for it?" Giles asked.

Phoebe shook her head. "Either we cancel the spell, and the Hellmouth opens up, or we finish it, and this entire section of sewers is going to become hot enough to melt steel."

"Jeez," Xander said.

"It appears we have no choice," Giles said.

Buffy knelt over Willow, who was stirring feebly. "There has to be another choice, there has to! Cancel the spell, so that Gilles and Xander can escape with Willow, and I´ll stay."

"We can´t," Piper said, as gently as she could. "It´s all or nothing. If we cancel it, the demons win and we die. If we don´t, the demons lose."

"And we die," Xander said.

"And we die," Prue repeated.

Willow stirred feebly. "Did we win?"

Buffy held her tightly. "Yes, Will. Now hush, hush and go back to sleep."

"´kay," Willow muttered, and closed her eyes.

"Well, old chap," Giles said, shaking Xander´s hand. "It´s been an honor."

Xander hugged him. "Been an honor, you old windbag, you."

"Yes, quite," Gilles said, a bit taken aback.

The Halliwells looked at each other. "No choice, is there?" Phoebe said.

"I love you both very much," Piper said as her answer.

Prue blinked away some tears. "When?"

"A few more seconds."

Gilles put his hand on Buffy´s shoulder. Xander knelt next to them and hugged them.

The temporal freeze faded away.

They woke up, each of them lying on a table, in a white room, wearing something nicer than a hospital gown, but not that much nicer.

"Where are we?" Willow said sitting up.

"What is this? Heaven for poor people?" Xander said. "Where are the angels with the harps and the wings and the harps..?"

"Shut up, Xander," Buffy said, and leaped from the table.

A man entered the room, and things got even weirder.

***

Chapter Two: Introductions and Explanations

They were sitting at a round white table – a fact that stirred some commentary on the part of some of them – a huge table that could accommodate dozens of people, with several chairs to spare in between. In the middle of the table, a flickering globe of light seemed to float lightly up and down.

They arrived singly or in groups, each through a different door. Their guides asked them to sit themselves quietly, and they all did, sometimes whispering among themselves.

Quinn Mallory and his friends sat to the left of a tall, thin man with the aquiline nose wearing mildly outdated clothing. Professor Arturo kept glancing at him, and finally introduced himself.

The other man accepted the proffered handshake. "Delighted to see another British citizen in this gathering, sir. I am Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective." Holmes was mildly surprised at the gasp of amazement his introduction incited.

The people to the right of the Sliders were wearing really outdated clothing – leather and homespun woolen garments. They also had swords and other medieval stuff. Maggie looked curiously at them, pausing admiringly when her eyes slid over the big guy with long hair.

"Hi," said the younger of that group, a girl with short blonde hair. "I´m Gabrielle of Podadeia."

"Hi. I´m Maggie of the United States. These are my friends Quinn, Rembrandt, Maximillian and Wade." The other Sliders, still stunned by the revelation they were sitting next to the Sherlock Holmes, sort of waved half-heartedly in their direction.

Gabrielle smiled. "Well, this is Xena," Xena looked coolly towards Maggie. In her life, Maggie had met few women – and not that many men – she couldn´t handle in a fair fight; she added Xena to that list. "And these are Ioalus and Hercules."

Professor Arturo started coughing.

"Hercules?" Maggie said incredulously. "As in, son of Jupiter, strongest man in the world Hercules?"

Hercules looked embarrassed. Gabrielle and Ioalus nodded. "We usually call Jupiter by his Greek name, Zeus," Ioalus said. "Are you from Rome, perhaps?"

"Canada," Rembrandt said blankly. "We´re from Canada." Quinn elbowed him on the side. "Snap out of it, Remie." He extended his hand. "Pleasure meeting you, Hercules." Well, his grip was even worse than Lydia´s, so maybe he was the Hercules.

Ioalus turned to his right, where people dressed more appropriately were sitting quietly. One man was almost as tall as Hercules, and wearing gilded chain mail. He was also looking intently at Hercules.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Ioalus said.

The smiling bald man waved at him. "I´m Nakor. We were just admiring your demi-god friend. I bet he can do some great tricks."

"Well, I don´t perform publicly, but have entertained at some children´s parties," Hercules said. Nakor introduced his companions. Pug and Miranda seemed to be in a bit of a daze, examining their surroundings. Tomas gripped Hercules hand. It was a friendly test of strength, and left both men impressed and respectful of each other.

Sherlock Holmes turned from the gaping people to his right. He was mildly disappointed in Professor Arturo´s loss of composure; the customary English stiff upper lip, it seemed, had not kept well through the ages. To his left sat a balding man and several companions, all wearing a uniform not very different, except in color, from the clothing his host had worn. The older man – the leader, clearly – turned towards him. "Did I hear correctly, sir, when you identified yourself as Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" he said in perfect Queen´s English.

"You heard correctly, Mr…"

"Captain Jon-Luc Picard. I am quite delighted to meet you, sir. I have been an avid reader of Dr. Watson´s renditions of your adventures, as published by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle."

"Ah, yes, Sir Arthur. I am surprised to hear those somewhat exaggerated accounts have survived the centuries. I always thought they would be the wonder of the day, swiftly forgotten."

"Quite the contrary, sir. In fact, one of my crewmembers, Mr. Data, prides himself in his knowledge and emulation of your adventures." He turned towards his companions. "Mr. Data..?"

Data was looking to his left, to yet another group. He seemed to be most interested in the tall, almost hulking man in a leather jacket, clearly of 20th century make and style. "Captain," Data said, almost as if speaking to himself. "I believe that this man is a cybernetic organism. Quite remarkable."

The T-100 stared back. His sensors had swept through the room. Finding several non-humans, humans with unusual energy readings about them, and – this one. It was a synthetic organism, highly sophisticated and resilient. Although it wasn´t a Cyberdyne product, the T-100 felt some sense of kinship towards the organism.

John noticed it, and the strange yellow man. "Hey, who´s the pale-face?"

"A synthetic organism," the Terminator (Arnold, as he was beginning to think of himself) replied. "Complex polymers for skin and muscle, a heavy alloy chassis, tensile strength 20% greater than T-100 standard combat endoskeleton. Power plant of unknown characteristics but highly energetic."

"That is quite correct," Data said, offering his hand. "I am Data, an android."

"I am Arnold, designation Cyberdyne Model T-100, Terminator."

Behind Data, Mr. Riker´s eyebrows rose. "Terminator? That´s a disquieting title."

"Very accurate, sir," Data continued. "The T-100´s frame and specifications indicate he was designed for a combat role, with an emphasis on infiltration. The outer humanoid shell is a marvel of bio-engineering. It required a deep tricorder scan to see below the façade."

"My bud´s the best, you mean," John said.

"He does seem to be the product of a highly sophisticated civilization," Data agreed.

"Sure," Sarah Connor said bitterly. "A highly sophisticated civilization that all but wiped out humanity."

While the command crew of the Enterprise mulled over this, the second largest group, after the Starfleet people, was sitting relatively quietly, looking every which way.

"Hey, those guys talking to the big biker look a bit like the cast of Galaxy Quest," Xander said.

"I think they are for real," Willow replied.

"What do you think, Giles?" Buffy asked her mentor.

The Watcher was looking every which way. "If I had to guess, I would say that some of the people in this room lead roles similar to yours, Buffy. They may not be Slayers, but nonetheless I feel – I hope – that they are on the side of the angels.

"You´re right, Mr. Giles," Phoebe said. "I´ve gotten a few psychic flashes already, and some of these people have led some very strange lives."

"I guess we are about to join the Super Fiends," Xander said.

"It would be nice to share fighting evil critters with more people," Willow said. "Maybe Buffy can get a few days off every once in a while, and so on…"

A couple of chairs down, two other groups were engaged in a lively discussion.

"Amanda?"

"Indy?"

"McLeod!"

"Dr. Jones."

"Are you going to deck me again?" Jones asked of MacLeod. The two men faced off tensely.

Amanda turned to MacLeod. "Duncan! You didn´t?"

"You are to blame. You are the one who slept with him in Egypt," MacLeod said, and then shrugged, looking almost amused. "Dr. Jones – Indy – I was behaving foolishly then, and you have my apologies. Besides that all happened a long time ago."

"What do you mean, a long time ago," Indy said angrily. "Two months is a long time?"

"It´s been sixty years for us," Amanda explained.

Indy blinked, and paused. "Well, then, you look very well for someone in her nineties."

"Oh, Indy." Amanda looked sad. She glanced at MacLeod, who indicated their strange surroundings and shrugged. "Actually, Indy, I am over a thousand years old. MacLeod is about four hundred."

Indy started to stammer something out, when Doc Savage put a hand on his shoulder. "Dr. Jones," he said softly but firmly. "I think that this particular situation can wait until after our hosts explain their actions to all of us." His piercing eyes met MacLeod´s and Duncan felt a will as indomitable as any Immortal´s facing him. They all sat down quietly.

Ripley and Call also looked about themselves, quietly. "Well, whatever this place is, it´s not a government facility."

"I´ve never seen anything like this," Call replied. "A few of them don´t even seem to be human."

"Neither are we, though," Ripley said with a quirky smile. "None of them smell wrong, though. But those two over there," she gestured towards Data and Arnold, "they smell like androids to me."

"Cool," Call said somewhat bitterly. "Maybe we can form a band, or something."

The last two sat quietly and spoke softly to each other. Qui-Gon smiled a bit. "Don´t fret so much, young Jedi," he told his student. "Savor this moment. Never have I seen such an unusual gathering, and likely I never will again. I wish Yoda was here."

"Yes," Obi Wan agreed. "The Force is so strong here, but it has such unusual hues – the man and the woman there," he said, gesturing at MacLeod and Amanda. "They have tremendous energies coursing through them, keeping them alive. And the ones to our left – I have never felt such raw power. They are godlike beings."

"They are merely highly skilled in some applications of the Force," Qui-Gon said confidently. "More importantly, there is no darkness here. These peoples – even the strange droids – are not evil. I feel that most of them, under different circumstances, would have been honored members of the Jedi Orders. A couple of them have the potential – I might train them myself."

"I think I understand, master."

"Good. Now let´s be quiet and listen."

***

The light sphere at the center shimmered, and coalesced into a face of a woman. She was neither young nor old, but had a dignity that impressed Hercules, who had rubbed elbows with gods, Picard, who had dealt with his share of rulers, cosmic entities and alien beings, and MacLeod, how had experienced a great deal in his centuries of life.

"My name is Mother," the woman said. "Once, I was a corporeal being. I was born on Earth, on the year 1973 of the Christian Era. I Transcended in the year 4118 of the Christian calendar, although at that time we referred to it as the First Stage of the Synergy. After Transcendence, years cease to be a meaningful measure of time, any more than any of you would count seconds an put them in a date. Time itself ceases to be wholly linear, except in its most important elements, namely that there is a beginning, and there is an end."

Some of the people in the group looked sceptical – the Sliders, the Connors, a few of the Enterprise crew. Others – Pug and Miranda chief among them -- appeared impressed. As soon as the woman appeared, Counselor Troi leaned over Captain Picard. "The power of her mind – I´ve only felt something of this magnitude when we´ve encountered Q," she whispered. Picard nodded grimly. Nakor looked delighted, Data curious. Amanda and MacLeod both felt as in the presence of another Immortal, but one who made them feel like children. The two Jedis, even Qui-Gon, were awed.

"You may be wondering why I´ve called all of you here," Mother continued. "Your qualifications, of course, are the main reason. Each of you is a unique individual, survivor, idealist -- hero." Some of them – Indiana Jones, Quinn and his friends -- squirmed uncomfortably at that. "A few of you have tremendous powers and abilities far beyond those of normal humans. The rest of you have a great deal of courage, resourcefulness, and luck. All of you have a great deal of experience dealing with new situations and places. We have need for that flexibility of mind and spirit." She paused. "All of humanity, and to some degree the entire universe needs you."

"That is a very large claim you make, madam," Duncan MacLeod said. Several people – Quinn Mallory, Miranda, Commander Riker, and Sarah Connor – nodded in agreement. Nakor just smiled confidently.

"Yes, it is, Duncan MacLeod of Clan MacLeod," Mother said. "A tall tale, and one that spans a near infinity of times and places.

"To begin, some of you are familiar with the concept of time travel."

People nodded all around. The Connors and the T-100 quite vigorously, Pecard with a pained look in his face. Others looked dubious. Professor Arturo piped in. "Your pardon, madam. I may speak out of ignorance, but my research show that true time travel is an impossibility that violates the laws of causality and produces irreconcilable paradoxes."

"And you are partially right," Mother said with a smile that made Arturo feel absurdly pleased with himself. "There is an alternative, however."

"Quite correct. My colleague, Quinn Mallory, developed a means to travel between parallel but separate realities, as predicted by quantum theory."

"An impressive development," Data said. "Especially given that you may have made your discovery without the benefit of the Suraci-Tavek Tensors, or the Spock Parachronic Equations."

"Very impressive indeed," Mother added. "And, in over a trillion timelines, only a handful of people, almost half of them versions of Quinn Mallory, ever made the discovery in the late 20th century."

"Excuse me," Miranda said. "You are speaking not of travel between times, but between worlds, is that correct?"

"Yes," Mother agreed. "Chronolines are universes where events took a different course. In the beginning of time, there was one chronoline. Within seconds of the Big Bang, there were hundreds of thousands of them. When humans achieved civilization, there were billions, perhaps trillions. Some are wholly different from your own – Mallory´s device allows travel across a relatively narrow band of worlds, all of them nearly identical, except for minor details."

"I wouldn´t call some of those details ‘minor,´" Wade whispered. The Professor hushed her with a gesture.

A few seats down, Gabrielle leaned towards Xena. "Do you know what she is talking about."

Iaolus answered. "I think I do. Remember me telling you about the world where Hercules never was born, and Xena ruled the world?" Xena nodded; that tale had not amused her greatly. "And the one where Hercules turned to evil? She is saying there are many worlds like that."

"The reason the vast majority of you are from Earth, or from worlds with a strong connection to Earth, like Midkemia," she looked towards Pug and his group, "and Gea/Midgard," now she looked at Hercules, Xena and their sidekicks, "is that humankind is among the handful of races that plays a major role in a majority of all timelines. Of trillions of worlds, humanity plays a fundamental role in many billions of them.

"That is why the Enemy wishes to utterly destroy humankind."

Tomas nodded grimly. "Ah. Now we come to the heart of the subject," he muttered.

"My people first encountered the Enemy some 3.2 billion years after the rise of humans on Earth. At that point we had Transcended, and we dwelled in several million galaxies. Our primary goal at the time was to halt the expansion of the universe, which was due to occur."

There were blank stares from many of the people at the table. "I realize that the time and space scales I am talking about are beyond the experience and knowledge of many of you. Let me just say that it was important, difficult work...

"The Enemy appeared at the very edge of the expanding universe. It attacked our outposts there, and took us by surprise. We had not had to fight a war for millions of years. The attack took place on a myriad of levels, from the physical, in the form of supernova detonations and hurled singularities, to the temporal and what most of you would call metaphysical – the realms of soul and magic. The main thrust of the attack was temporal, or para-temporal, to be precise.

"You see, just as at the beginning of the universe there was only one chronoline, towards the end most timelines will join together into one. By the time of the attack, the number of possible worlds had narrowed to a few thousand, and decreasing fast, as the universes "melded" into each other. We were approaching Unity.

"The Enemy was attacking the past, arriving to earlier timelines and altering them, usually by destroying humanity. That weakened us, made us vulnerable to direct attack. The number of timelines where no Transcendence took place, where entropy was allowed free rein and the universe expanded into oblivion, grew in number. It became clear that the enemy would win, unless we interfered with their attempts to destroy humankind. A few of us volunteered, and we set up bases in the empty timelines where the expansion of the universe destroyed all life and consciousness. You are in one of those bases, a planetoid-sized fortress, the only concentration of matter larger than a hydrogen atom in the entire universe."

Mother paused, and let the group digest the news.

"As you well know, the expansion of the universe is an observed phenomenon, Captain," Data reported in a whisper. "It would take an immeasurable amount of power to stop it. It would appear that humanity´s descendants have access to abilities beyond those of the Q collective and other cosmic-class entities."

"And yet something defeated them," Riker said glumly.

"And they intend us to do something to prevent this defeat," Picard added. He turned to Counselor Troi. "Could you sense if she is telling the truth?"

"She seemed sincere, Captain," Troi answered. "And I feel no signs of manipulation, although a being with enough power would not need to be subtle to force us to do anything. The fact that she is trying to convince us rather than force us to do as she wishes is a good sign in itself."

A few chairs down, MacLeod took a deep breath. "Well, that´s something you don´t hear every day." He looked thoughtful. "I wonder if Transcendence has something to do with the Quickening."

"Maybe," Amanda said doubtfully.

Not too far away: "Transcendence must be the final development of the Force," Obi Wan said.

"You may be quite right," Qui-Gon said. "And this Enemy is certainly the moral opposite of the Force."

"Well, we are safe here, so I can speak of Sarig, the enemy of all reality, with you," Nakor said.

Pug, Miranda and Tomas blinked a few times. "Yes, I remember his name now," Pug said. "Yes, this place is probably protected from even his powers."

"He must be behind this attack on Mother´s people," Miranda said.

"It´s Dahak," Gabrielle said a few seats down. "He is the Enemy."

"Or maybe Dahak is a servant of the Enemy," Hercules said. "Either way, it´s bad news."

"How about that stuff about humans becoming like gods," Ioalus said. "I wouldn´t mind seeing that happen, one day, at least."

"Hopefully by then we´ll be wise enough to handle such powers, unlike our gods," Hercules muttered, thinking of Zeus and Ares.

"We couldn´t do much worse, I hope," Xena agreed.

Further down, Rembrandt looked like someone waking up for a dream. "All right, Cueball," he muttered. "Can you make any sense of this?"

"Well, the basic astrophysics check out – the universe has been shown to be expanding, but that´s not really my field. And the idea that someone is using Sliding technology to attack the past – it is possible, especially if timelines eventually converge into one, or a few."

"If that is the case," Arturo said, "It would appear we have no choice but to do what we can to prevent this."

"Quite right, Professor," Holmes said. "Although the metaphysics are quite beyond me, I believe that our personal skills are uniquely suited to prevent these unknown adversaries from altering the course of history much as we would alter the flow of a river." He turned toward Mother. "I presume, Madam, that our adversaries cannot use direct force to attack the myriad paths of history."

"That is correct, to a certain degree, Mr. Holmes. The Enemy´s resources are limited. Like my people, it finds traveling to other timelines, especially in the objective past, to be nearly impossible. It works through agents, although on occasion It – or they, if you prefer -- may manifest directly on a reality, usually with utterly devastating consequences."

Picard raised his hand, feeling somewhat foolish about it. "So, what do you know about the Enemy? How do we combat it?"

"The Enemy appears to originate in a reality alien to us. It has many guises; a 20th century author called them the Outer Gods. Call It Sarig or Yog-Soggoth, Dahak or Nyarlathotep, if you will. You have more in common with the Borg, the Q continuum, or the Vallheru than you do with these beings. Even the transdimensional beings some of you would call demons belong to this reality, while the Enemy and Its many avatars do not.

"It does rely on creatures from our reality, however -- people from diverse species, human and non-human, demons, and others. Many of them serve It unwittingly – the Borg, for example, who represent a dead end in evolution, or the demon hordes that threatened Midkemia during the Serpent War, who destroy for destruction´s sake, or the Cro-Mags, who in all timelines are doomed to destroy themselves in ceaseless war, or the alien xenomorphs who only seek to breed and destroy all living beings."

Sarah Connor muttered "Or the Cyberdine computer." John nodded and squeezed his mother´s hand.

"This is big," Xander said in a low voice. "Really big."

Giles gathered his thoughts. "Our benefactor is talking about evil in its most primal form. Something that makes even demons seem normal."

"And somehow, I don´t think a stake through the heart is going to do the trick," Buffy said.

Mother continued. "The reason I called you here is to ask for your help. We need people with the skills, courage and luck to deal with the Enemy´s attempt to destroy humankind. In some cases, covert, subtle operations will all that´s needed. In others, all-out warfare may be in order. All of you have already saved humankind several times." Indiana Jones looked dubious at first, then remembered the Ark of the Covenant. "The battlefield will span galaxies and aeons. I wish I could tell you the missions will be easy, or the outcome predetermined, but that is not the case.

"There will be some rewards for those who accept our offer. Between missions, you will be allowed to live in almost any timeline of your choice, including your own. You will be compensated very well, and able to lead prosperous lives, and you will be allowed to rest between missions. But the jobs will be many, and dangerous.

"I call this group the Eternity Legion, for we fight for stakes that may influence the course of the eons. Our numbers are not great, but we come from a myriad of worlds. My two assistants, Lydia and Lucian, come from a world that was near Transcendence, until the Enemy destroyed it, condemning their timeline to oblivion. You are the first group of candidates. They will search for many more, from many times and places.

"Those of you who don´t wish to join us will be returned to your place of origin, with our thanks." She paused for a moment. "I know such a decision should not be made in haste. My assistants, Lydia and Lucian will show you to a dining hall, where food and drink will be served. You will then be shown places where you may rest and talk, among yourselves and with your fellow candidates. Take all the time you need. At any time, you may tell Lydia or Lucian that you wish to leave, and your wish will be granted." With that, the head disappeared.

"Wow," John Connor said into the silence that followed.

"Anyone for dinner, or lunch, or whatever?" Maggie said. "I´m starving."

***

It was a large dining hall, which was fortunate, since there were almost forty people in the room.

Picard examined the Starfleet contingent: himself, Riker, Data, Troi, Geordi, Worf – a welcome sight indeed – Dr. Bashir and Ezri Dax, formerly from Deep Space Nine, and Kira, the current Deep Space Nine commander. They were by far the largest group in the hall. The remaining candidates were still clumped in small groups, but they were beginning to speak to each other, as a buffet-style dinner was served. There was a dazzling variety of food, all of it of human make, many of them dishes any 20th or 24th century person would recognize, others very unusual, catering to any taste or preference imaginable. Lucian was currently tending the bar, where a variety of alcohol, synthehol and soft drinks were available. At the moment, people were going for drinks, and not eating yet.

"I suggest we mingle for a while," Picard told his companions, and headed out to do just that. He found Sherlock Holmes in a lively discussion with Professor Arturo. As he approached, Holmes made introductions for both of them. "A pleasure Professor. From what little I´ve gathered, you have seen almost as many versions of Earth as the Enterprise has visited worlds."

Arturo gave a slight bow. "It has been an often dubious honor, Captain. I am glad to see that humanity was able to break free of the limitations of light and gravity, and that we were eventually able to see the stars."

"Well, if we are to work together – assuming of course we accept the offer – then you may have the opportunity to visit us at the Enterprise."

"I would be delighted," Arturo replied. "I´m sure she is a fine vessel."

"The best," Picard said, setting false modesty aside.

At the other side of the room, Counselor Troi and Commander Riker were talking to Qui-Gonn. "I sensed your powerful psychic abilities as soon as you walked in the room," Troi said.

"Yes, I also sense the Force is strong in you, my dear lady," Qui-Gonn said. "But your abilities are unusually different, untrained and undeveloped in some areas, very refined in others."

"She is quite refined indeed," Riker said, putting a semi-protective arm around her.

Qui-Gonn glanced towards his student, who at the moment was speaking to MacLeod, Amanda and Nakor.

"What is this Force, exactly?" Amanda asked the young Jedi.

"I believe it is something like the Quickening," MacLeod said.

"Force, Quickening, they are just other names for the stuff that makes up everything in the universe," Nakor said. "If you know how to work the stuff, you can do some neat tricks. In my world, people call those tricks ‘magic,´ which is as good a name as any, I suppose." Nakor looked at Obi Wan with a critical expression. "Yes, I can see you can do all kinds of neat tricks." He turned to MacLeod. "It´s too bad you have so much good stuff in you, and the only trick you know is how to stay young."

"That seems like a pity," Obi Wan said. "With your potential, I think either of you would have been famous Jedi Knights."

"I´m not exactly fond of knights," Amanda replied.

Giles had approached Sherlock Holmes, and the two were talking. "I hope all this talk of supernatural activity hasn´t unduly upset you," Giles said.

"Quite the contrary, Mr. Giles. When one has eliminated every other possible explanation, the one that remains, however improbably is the true one. Mr. Data has intimated that magic is related to mentalism, and abilities such as Mesmer demonstrated not that long ago – from my point of view, that is."

Not too far away, Doctor Bashir was chatting with Doc Savage. "I fear that many of the medical procedures used in the 20th century are considered barbaric in the 24th, Doctor," Bashir said.

"I wouldn´t expect anything else, given the rate of change I have seen during my life. I would expect that invasive surgery is a thing of the past, and contagion all but eradicated by your time."

"You are right about both. Perhaps you will have a chance to study some of our techniques."

"I would like that very much."

Data had approached the other android in the room. After politely asking for Call´s permission, he ran a tricorder scan on her. "Remarkable," Data said. "You are a very sophisticated organism, with a logic and emotional set of algorithms that surpasses mine."

"Be nice," Ripley said behind Call. "She doesn´t like to be reminded she´s not human."

"Ah. My apologies."

Willow looked a little lost, until she saw a blonde girl, maybe a little older than her, but with a friendly smile, for all that she was dressed like an extra from a Robin Hood movie. "Hi, I´m Willow Rosenberg."

"Greetings, I´m Gabrielle from Podadeia."

"I feel like we should have little stickers with our names on them."

"Stickers? Um, that sounds like a good idea. You mean like little pieces of parchment with some resin or tar on one side, that we could stick on our tunics?"

"Something like that," Willow said, a bit more dubiously. She looked for Buffy, and saw her talking to a woman in a red uniform.

"Major Kira, from the planet Bajor," the woman said.

"Buffy, from planet Earth," Buffy said with a serious face.

"I´m in charge of Deep Space Nine, a space station."

"I´m in charge of destroying vampires and demons."

"Demons – yes, we have creatures similar to demons in Bajor. Our Emissary from the Prophets fought them, and defeated them, not too long ago. You must be the Emissary from Earth."

"Well, kind of."

Miranda and Pug approached the Haliwell sisters.

"Uh, hi," Phoebe said.

Pug bowed lightly towards her. "Pug of Stardock."
"Miranda of Kesh," his companion said. "We sensed your auras, and realized you were magicians of some sort."

"Witches, actually," Prue said. Piper clutched the Book of Shadows protectively.

"Perhaps we may learn much from each other," Pug said. "I have seen magic worked in many worlds; there are many different styles and applications, each with its own strengths and weaknesses."

"That sounds good," Piper replied. "Although we still have a lot to learn about our own style of magic."

John Connor wanted an arm-wrestling match between Arnold and Hercules. Hercules was mildly embarrassed, but the kid insisted. Worf, Ioalus, Tomas, Sarah Connor, Wade and Rembrandt watched as the two big guys sat at one of the dinner tables arranged around the buffet table.

"Boys will be boys," Sarah Connor said with the hint of a smile.

"You´re telling me?" Wade said. They had been talking for a bit comparing their experiences of time travel and dimensional travel. Neither was particularly eager to undertake any more of it.

The T-100 and Hercules gripped each other´s hand and went to it. Demigod muscles strained; mechanical servos beneath false flesh pushed. "Go, Arnold!" John shouted.

Hercules had met few people who could make him work up a sweat. Arnold proved to be one of them. He had to really push himself, but, slowly, inexorably, he forced the T-100´s hand down.

The table, stressed beyond its design parameters, shattered into powder just as he was about to make Arnold´s hand touch the tabletop.

"Cool!" John said. "You really are Hercules!"

"Wowza," Iaolus commented. Even Worf looked impressed.

That little incident seemed to signal dinnertime. People grabbed a plate, and sat in one of the nine (formerly ten) tables set up for that purpose. The old groups were back, more or less. Holmes sat with Doc Savage, who had studied with an older version of the great detective. Quinn and Arturo had invited Giordi over, and were trying to wrap their minds around the concept of warp engines, while explaining the principles of Sliding. Wade and Rembrandt found the whole thing too tedious for words, but found Indiana Jones to be good company. Maggie was listening to Sarah Connor´s tale of the rise of machines over man, while Bashir listened sympathetically and spoke of the Borg threat, with some help from Ezri Dax.

At Starfleet´s main table, Picard, Data, Riker and Troi were conferring in private. "Your thoughts, Number One."

"For one, it seems we will be asked to violate the Prime Directive, especially the Temporal Prime Directive."

"True, but this is unavoidable, seeing that a third party is already doing so, and to the detriment of humankind and the Federation," Picard replied.

"So you will go along with this."

"Do I have any choice? The Federation has already detached the Enterprise to this duty. I´m sure they will find someone willing to captain her, should I turn down this offer. Even if that were not the case, Will, I would choose to go. I have fought the Borg and the Dominion. Faced with a threat of this magnitude, I cannot but do the same here."

"I will also go," Data said. "The mission, the nature of our benefactor, and our would-be allies are all rather… intriguing."

Riker looked at Troi. "Deanna?"

"Will… What will you do?"

"Go, I suppose. For much the same reasons as everyone else."

Deanna took his hand in hers. "Then you will not go alone."

Picard cleared his throat and pretended to look away. Everyone at the table chuckled.

Two tables away, Pug and Miranda observed the rest of the gathering. "I believe most of them will accept," Pug said.

"Even Tomas?" The big half-Valheru was sitting down with Hercules, Xena and their companions; he seemed to have developed a fast friendship with them.

"Even Tomas, I think. Oh, he will wish to return to Elvandar as often as he can, and probably lament the necessity, but he has a strong sense of duty, and enough Valheru left in him to crave the challenge."

"And I believe that includes you, too."

"Could I do any less? I was already pledged to fight beings such as Sarig. This "Mother" seems to have powers and resources that surpass the gods´. It would be foolish to turn her down."

"How much could you tell about her?"

"Very powerful, although I feel she had to forgo much of that power to be able to communicate with us. Her job must feel like some terrible exile, away from her kind. Our companions are more interesting, in many ways."

"Yes. They are quite the motley crew, aren´t they? I think my old employee, Boldar Blood, would have felt at home with them."

"True. The two Jedi Knights are living proof of Nakor´s theories about magic. They have enormous power, unbound by rigid spells and rituals. They remind me of Gamina, my adopted daughter." He paused for a moment, reliving the old pain. "There are three mechanical people," he continued, "made with some clockwork-like mechanism, and no magic to it. And so much more. What we have here is a gathering of heroes the likes of which has never been assembled."

***

After dinner, the guests were shown a long hallway, each wall covered with doors spaced a few meters apart. There were enough rooms for each candidate, but each individual room could accommodate as many as ten people comfortably. For several days, the candidates slept there, going out to eat, and visiting the multimedia library – well stocked with books, videos and holosuites – that they were shown on the next morning.

For many, the decision was made in minutes. Holmes took a single suite, to smoke a pipe and meditate about todays´ events. His decision had been made almost instantly: the stakes of the game, and the challenge involved made it impossible to turn down the offer of that most unusual woman. He had asked but one thing, and one thing only. In the morning, he would pay a visit to one Dr. Watson, and make him an offer his old friend would find difficulty in refusing.

Pug was right about his companions. They all joined the Legion right away. Picard and his crew were already committed, and said so. The others took some more time.

Even those who wished to sign up immediately were asked to wait. Take a few days to think about it and discuss your decision with your friends, Lydia and Lucian said. Relax and smell the roses. Most did.

***

The Sliders spent some time catching up on each other´s adventures. Professor Arturo, it turned out, had been left behind when the Sliders met up with another world´s Arturo. The "fake" one had died heroically trying to save them, even as the "real" Arturo worked feverishly to build his own sliding device.

Wade had been captured by the Cro-Mag. Mercifully, she had few memories of her ordeal. She was a bit quieter, and she kept staring at Quinn.

"So, here we are, all together, and we don´t have to stare at a timer," Quinn said.

"Don´t mind that last part one bit," Maggie replied.

"From what Lydia and Lucian said, they can drop us off anywhere in the Multiverse. If we choose not to join them, that is. Even if we do, we can find a home somewhere out there."

"So what are you doing, Cueball?"

"I´m not sure yet." He looked at them. "You guys are the only family I have left. I don´t want to lose any of you, and I don´t want to risk your lives, either. I think I will join the Legion, though. But I don´t want the rest of you doing it just because we want to stick together. Wherever you go, I will visit you."

"Well, my boy, you will not visit them alone," Professor Arturo said. "For I am joining this Legion. Our world has been destroyed, and I can find of no better cause than to prevent such disasters from happening."

Rembrandt sighed. "I need to think about this for a while. I have already fought in the war against the Cro-Mags. I don´t know if I want to fight another war."

Maggie shrugged. "I´m joining up. I´ve been in the military before, and this Mother looks like she knows what she´s doing."

Wade remained quiet. Quinn wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

Two days later, Wade said she would also join up. She and Quinn started spending a lot more time together. If Maggie thought anything about that, she kept it to herself.

***

Sarah Connor´s life was divided into two halves. The first half had belonged to an innocent, happy girl from the ‘80s, whose only worry had been to pay for her apartment and finding a decent date. The other half had been shaped by the arrival of the Terminator; it had been a decade-long nightmare, the only bright spots in them being her time with Reese and the birth of her son.

Now, she seemed to be approaching a new era.

"So, what did you find?" she asked the T-100. Jake was sitting on a bed, listening quietly.

"I accessed the databanks in the library. You and John Connor are central to hundreds of thousands of timelines. The Enemy will try to destroy both of you, wherever you go."

"The Legion can protect us."

"Affirmative. Probability of survival, if we join the Eternity Legion: 68.71%. If we refuse: 34.2%."

"Mom, we have to, anyway. They saved Arnold, and now we don´t have to hide from other Terminators. Besides," he said with a smile. "That Willow chick was kind of cute."

"She´s a bit too old for you, Jake."

"Mom!"

She smiled. "Besides, if we join up, you are going back to school full time."

Jake grimaced. "Great."

Yes, they would join the Legion. She had once already committed herself to surviving World War Three and forging her son into a weapon to free humankind. Now he – and she – would not be alone.

***

Giles returned to the common bedroom the Scooby gang had staked out. Buffy looked intently at him. "What´s the hopefully good word, Giles?"

Giles sat down. "Well, I spoke with Lucian. First, what the Haliwell sisters did closed our world´s Hellmouth once and for all. All vampires and demons in our world are dead. Except Angel," he hurriedly added when Buffy started rearing up. "His curse protected him from the closing of the Hellmouth."

"But if the curse is broken…" she said sadly.

Giles nodded. "… he will die as well. I´m sorry, Buffy."

"So it´s over? The Slayer business, demon of the week, all of that?"

"There may be a few minor outbreaks, but without a Hellmouth, the forces of Darkness have been crippled. Other groups, like that organization that friend of yours belongs to, can take care of them. Our world no longer needs a Slayer."

"Then maybe this Slayer can quit for good," Buffy said.

"Yes. Even if you join the Legion, Lucian says you can live on our Earth between missions, leading a normal life. If you don´t, you will no longer be a Slayer."

"But now there are all these other worlds, like the one where Willow was a vampire…" Buffy sat silently for a while. "I guess I have no choice. I´ll join their Legion." But I want you guys to go home."

"Not I," Giles said. "I´m still your Watcher, and truth to say I would have stayed nonetheless. The prospect of working with the likes of Sherlock Holmes, and to study the lore of hundreds of worlds – well, it´s too tempting for me."

"I´m there too, Buffster," Xander added. "I don´t have that much going for me back home, anyway."

"And I´m staying too," Willow said. "I mean, we´ll still be able to go to school, and see our parents, and do fun stuff, right?" Giles nodded. "Then, it´d be real ungrateful not to help them, you know, since they saved our lives and all."

"There is that, too," Giles agreed. "And, if I understand the metaphysics correctly, the triumph of evil in a related timeline might cause ours to simply – disappear." He paused at their startled expressions. "My apologies. Lucian explained a great deal. It appears that some timelines play pivotal roles in the development of several others. An event in them will result in the disappearance or merging of dozens, even hundreds of them. The Legion, using techniques beyond my understanding – calling them magic or technology is equally inaccurate, it seems – can detect those Primal Lines and any possible threat, and send agents to the right time and place to prevent the Enemy from triumphing there."

"And the best part of that," Xander mused, "is that when we trash a place we don´t it in our own backyard. Where do I sign?

***

Chapter Three: Back to School

For six months, the new Eternity Agents endured a grueling and very peculiar training program.

"Parry, riposte, step back," McLeod repeated over and over, walking past the students arranged in a staggered line. Quinn, Rembrandt, Professor Arturo, Maggie, Xander, Picard, Riker, Geordi, Kira, Bashir, Sarah Connor (looking mildly annoyed), John Connor (having fun) and Annalee Call were in the oversized dojo, holding practice swords, following MacLeod's instructions. They were wearing form fitting off-white jumpsuits that absorbed sweat and kept the wearers cool and fresh. "Step, cut, parry, riposte. Sarah, you're putting too much weight on one leg. Good stance, Professor -- your college fencing is coming back to you. Remember that a fighting sword is heavier than a foil, though. Geordi, don't grip the sword so tightly."

"Waste of time," Sarah muttered to herself -- not softly enough to avoid being overhead by MacLeod.

"Waste of time, is it?" MacLeod said.

"Guns made swords obsolete," Sarah replied.

"And if you are sent to a primitive timeline, no guns allowed, what then?" Louder, to the rest of the group. "All of you need to qualify with at least one hand weapon. Swords are fairly common, and very effective. You'll get to train with the staff, improvised weapons, and bow or crossbow, too, but it'd be a good idea if you know which end of a sword to pick up." He smiled. "Perhaps some sparring will help convince you." He looked up and spoke into thin air: the Fortress' computer would rely his words to their recipient. "MacLeod to Amanda: would you please bring the advanced class in here for a little one-on-one?"

There were groans all around. "Don't worry, the room projects force fields that will spare you from most of the damage. Most, but not all -- pain is a good teacher, and I'd rather you hurt a little now than see you trying to pick your entrails off the floor."

A door opened. Amanda came in followed by Ioalus, Gabrielle, Worf, Ezri Dax, Buffy and Sherlock Holmes. Gabrielle had a staff; the rest were carrying swords. Bashir wasn't thrilled at seeing his girlfriend come from the advanced sword class, but he reminded himself she had Curzon Dax's skills inside of her.

MacLeod considered the situation. "Eight to thirteen -- doesn't seem fair."

Amada smiled back. "It should be thirty to eight, but my class could use the exercise."

MacLeod nodded. "I'll spar with the Connor family."

John mock-grimaced. "Thanks, mom."

"Mr. Holmes and Professor Arturo?" The two Englishmen nodded and took positions. "Ezri, take Xander and Geordi, Worf versus Quinn and Rembrandt. Buffy versus Maggie and Kira, Ms. Call and Gabrielle. Captain Picard and Riker versus Amanda. Doctor Bashir versus Ioalus. Places, everyone. Try to avoid tripping over the other teams. All right, on my mark, now!"

The training room exploded in a flurry of motion. John Connor charged, giving a half-assed kung-fu shout. MacLeod, sidestepped the slash and delivered a crippling blow to John's neck, and turned just in time to parry a wicked thrust from Sarah. She was fast, and had some training in stick fighting, but not nearly enough. Their swords locked, and Sarah tried a snap-kick to the groin, but MacLeod was expecting it, and his thigh blocked it even as he sent Sarah's sword flying with a quick disarming twist. Sarah was not done yet, however. She tried a takedown, fingers reaching for his eyes, body bearing down on him. It almost worked. MacLeod twisted, avoided the eye-gouge, and tossed Sarah over his shoulder. She landed in a Jiu-jitsu position, started to kick -- and felt MacLeod's sword against her throat.

"You have speed, and you have viciousness, but it's hard to make those count against someone with a yard of steel in his hand," MacLeod said.

Sarah leaped to her feet. "Made you flinch, though." Her smile was not altogether unfriendly.

MacLeod observed the rest of the melee. Holmes tapped Arturo's chest with the tip of his sword after a brief flurry of parries and ripostes. "Touche," Arturo said. Further down Amanda and Picard were still sparring, Riker was already "dead." Buffy was showing Maggie some parrying techniques after the swift victory. Ezri was helping up Xander, who had a stunned expression in his face. Worf had wiped the floor with the two Sliders in a few seconds. Only Bashir was -- barely -- holding his own, matching his bio-engineered reflexes against Ioalus' experience. It couldn't last, and it didn't; Ioalus beat aside the doctor's blade, and scored a killing blow.

"I hope this is sinking in," Duncan said. "Some of you have some skill in empty-hand techniques, but swords are better than empty hands. They give you reach, striking power, and the ability to disable your opponent quickly."

Most of the students nodded thoughtfully at that.

"All right, then. Places, everyone -- and step, parry, step back…"

***

"This is highly irregular, master," Obi Wan Kenobi said in a low voice.

"It is what the Jedi Council has decided," Qui-Gonn replied.

The meeting had been interesting. Qui-Gonn had insisted on gaining the approval of the Jedi leadership, and several members had been invited to the Fortress, where they met with Mother. It had been -- refreshing to see so many old and powerful Jedi become rattled and confused in her presence. In the end, they had agreed to let Qui-Gonn and Obi Wan go with Mother. More importantly, they had given the Jedi permission to train any promising candidates at his own discretion. The new students were too old, and had not been properly raised in the ways of the Force. All but one of them seemed to have overdeveloped one of the paths of the force, to the detriment of the others. And all were women, a relative rarity in his world, although not forbidden.

The four students were sitting cross-legged in the training room. Wade Welles -- the one with the most potential to develop into a true Jedi. Counselor Deanna Troi, whose empathic abilities might be sharpened to enable her to manipulate the emotions of others. Phoebe Haliwell: her precognitive power might be developed and combined with lightsaber training. And, finally, Prue Haliwell, who could project the Force with her mind. Their sister Piper's abilities were beyond Qui-Gonn's ken, so he had not invited her. In any case, he could only devote half as much time training the Haliwells as the other two students: they were also undergoing magical training under Pug and Miranda, along with another young woman, Willow.

Qui-Gonn wished he had more time. Given but six months, he had chosen the four most promising students. He and Obi Wan would do their best to develop their potential in that time. Then they would have to act.

"Empty your minds," he began in a clear voice. "Feel the Force within you…"

***

Xena attacked, a living whirlwind of violence.

Buffy retreated from the onslaught, parrying, dodging, blocking punches and kicks. Xena might not be a Slayer, but her reflexes and strength were just as good -- if not better. Buffy had not felt this evenly matched since her battles with Faith.

Well, time to start giving a little bit back, she told herself as she ducked under a high spin kick. She moved in, landed a hard punch in Xena's midsection, followed up with a side-kick to the chin. Xena went with the blow inertia and somersaulted away. Buffy started to follow -- and Xena suddenly reversed her leap and caught her with a scissors-kick right. Two muscular legs clamped around Buffy's neck, and the Slayer was twisted and smashed against the floor. Without the safety force-fields, a normal human -- maybe even a Slayer -- might have suffered a broken neck.

As it was, it hurt quite a bit.

Xena prepared to strike at her prone body. Buffy raised an open hand. "Time out," she said. With a fierce smile, Xena offered her a hand up. Buffy accepted it.

"Got too eager there," Xena said. "You had me worried for a second."

Their current score was 5-3 in Xena's favor, counting this probable broken neck (which Xander would have called, in his worst Mortal Kombat imitation "A Fatality!!"). Buffy had won the first two matches, until Xena had gotten a feel for her fighting style and figured out how to counter it. The warrior woman had been stomping bad guys for a lot longer, after all.

As Buffy got her second wind, she surveyed the other matches. Hercules and Tomas were mixing it up. They were the strongest two in their merry band, and each time one connected a solid punch, the other went flying a good twenty yards. Buffy had sparred with both of them, and been on the receiving end of those punches -- even with the force fields, it was like being hit by a car. Fighting them was definitely a "don't try this at home" experience...

"This is very realistic training," Xena said. "Without those invisible shields, we would have had many serious injuries, even deaths."

"Yup. Hurts almost as much as the real thing," Buffy agreed. Some distance away, Ripley and the Terminator were squaring off. Ripley scared Buffy a little. Her strength and speed were amazing -- not quite Hercules, level, but close -- but that wasn't what bothered her. There was something -- inhuman about her. It reminded her a bit of Spike, or Angelus, and she didn't like it. The quiet woman seemed quite willing to hurt people. At that moment, she and the Terminator were exchanging killing blows. Nothing sportsmanlike about those two, Buffy thought; they were just trying to tear each other to pieces as fast as possible. Hercules was your basic Boy Scout -- Buffy won their first match together because he was unconsciously pulling his punches. Tomas was a bit more pragmatic, but was a regular knight in shining armor unless his battle rage consumed him. The T-100, on the other hand, did not care who he fought; unless told otherwise, he went for the kill, quickly and efficiently.

On the other side of the room, Doc Savage took Worf down with a devastating punch. The Klingon still looked surprised; few humans had been able to match him in hand to hand, and none had bested him consistently -- until now. The man called Savage was not only stronger and faster than most humans, but he was a superb tactician. He lacked the bloodthirsty ferocity of a Klingon, but more than made up for it with his physical and mental abilities. He would be a worthy comrade at arms. He saw Buffy looking at him, and gave her a curt nod. The Slayer was another dangerous opponent, despite her small size. In fact, though Worf was loath to admit it, he was probably the lowest-ranking fighter in this room. It was a humbling experience, and one that drove him to greater efforts. "Another match, doctor?" The Man of Bronze nodded.

Mr. Data entered the sparring room. His trans-quantum mechanics session with Professor Arturo had run longer than expected, and he was running late. Once the Professor had been disabused from a number of 20th-century misconceptions, he had been capable of amazing insights about parachronic phenomena, and his discussion on paradox had been quite intriguing. He saw Xena and Buffy talking, and approached them. "Sorry for my lateness. Perhaps the two of you would care for a sparring bout?"

Buffy groaned. Data was the third strongest guy in the group, or maybe the second, depending on the type of strength test, and punching him was like hitting a brick. She looked at Xena. Xena grinned. "Two on one?"

"Sounds good to me," Buffy replied, and the fell upon the android like twin avalanches.

***

Cool, I get to be an instructor, Xander thought.

Well, junior instructor. Arnold -- the cyborg pronounced his name 'Ah-nold' for some reason -- was the lead instructor, with Xander and Maggie as assistants. The course was 19th to 21st Centuries Firearms 101. Xander was an expert -- a small side effect of dressing up like a soldier on a Halloween night when people had turned into their costumed identities. Maggie, with her military training, was another. Sarah Connor was better than either of them, but she was teaching an explosives course -- or, more accurately, Ordnance Disposal 101 -- next door.

The "ancient" guys and gals -- Xena, Gabrielle, Hercules, Ioalus, Tomas and Miranda; Pug had excused himself -- were there. Obi Wan Kenobi was reluctantly there as well. The Galaxy Quest -- sorry, Starfleet -- people were mostly not there; their holodeck experiences had given them more than enough training in firearms. Only Geordi and Ezri Dax had shown up. Xander thought she was cute, but she was already dating a doctor, so no hope there. Gabrielle was mega-cute, too, but he suspected she and Xena had something going on, and trying to find out might get him in trouble with Xena. Xander had no intentions of pissing off someone for whom the expression "tear your head off" was, well, not really an expression. Maggie was way out of his league, too -- after Faith, he'd pretty much sworn off on macho women, unless Buffy saw the light…

"Pass the ammo around, will you?" Maggie said behind him, startling him out of his daydreaming.

"Sorry," he replied. People had a number of semi-auto pistols in front of their firing booths in the 25-yard range. Man-shaped paper targets floated in front of the group.

"Ready your weapons, but keep them in safe," Arnold said. There was a ragged chorus of clicks as the students loaded the weapons. "There, you didn't pull the slide all the way back," Xander told Gabrielle as she fumbled with a Beretta 9mm. She gave him an embarrassed smile as he helped her, and he felt warm and tingly all over. Like Willow, but with extra muscles, he thought. Or like a cross of the better attributes of Willow and Faith…

"Take aim, and ready the weapons," Arnold continued. "Five shots. Fire."

The students fired away. Xena eschewed the two-handed Weaver grip they were teaching most of the students, and fired her .44 Magnum revolver with one hand, as fast as she could pull the trigger. Xander opened his mouth to criticize -- and then closed it firmly. No sense making trouble.

The targets floated towards the firing line. Gabrielle had hit hers twice with her five shots; she was pulling high and to the right. Xena's target had five holes at in the middle of the forehead, less than an inch apart. "Nice grouping," Xander said.

"Guns make killing too easy," Xena said contemptuously. "If killing's to be done, you should be close enough to look into a man's eyes as you do it."

"But if you do that, they can kill you too," Xander blurted back.

Xena fixed him with a cold glare. "Exactly."

Well, so much for starting a 'starts with an X' club, Xander thought to himself.

***

"A big problem," Lucian Worldwalker said, "is the release of non-congruent energies."

He was addressing a full room. All the Eternity agents were there. Lucian was going over some of the basics of the Legion's work.

"Most of you have already determined that Mother's power is godlike. She can create and destroy matter with a thought, and manipulate energies of stellar magnitudes with ease -- her basic form of attack has roughly the same energy output of a nova. All of which begs the question 'Why does she need us?'

"The main reason is the non-congruent energies signatures she would create. Basically, if energies that are unusual for the local chronoline are released, there is a chance the Enemy will detect them. If that happens, It may attack in strength, with the sole purpose of destroying the planet. Apparently, the Enemy is not as skilled at parachronic travel as we are, so the only way for it to detect major nexus points -- places and times where the future of humankind is at stake -- is to hunt for noncongruent energies and home in on them."

Riker raised his hand. "So, other than our leader showing up and firing up supernovas, what else constitutes noncongruent energies?"

"It depends on the world in question. A starship firing all weapons in the 20th century would probably cause enough of a "blip" to be detected. Firearms or energy weapons in Ancient Egypt would have a small but noticeable chance of doing the same thing. Large applications of magic or psychic powers in worlds were such abilities are weak or unknown. Weapons of mass destruction in times and places where they were not supposed to be used."

"So we don´t get to play with nukes," Rembrandt whispered sarcastically. "Breaks my heart."

"Sometimes you need nukes," Ripley said behind him.

"We may have to risk discovery if the stakes warrant it," Lucian continued, "But for the most part we will try to use local-equivalent weapons and equipment. There are some pieces of equipment you may safely use in any world, however." He held up a small silver ring. "These rings," he explained, "are the product of a very advanced civilization, as far ahead of the world of Starfleet as that world is ahead of Hercules' civilization. It is not overly powerful, but has the virtue of being virtually undetectable at the proper power levels."

"So what does it do?" Maggie asked.

"First, it extends a skin-tight force field around the wearer which activates when a sufficiently energetic object or current is detected headed in your direction. It is similar to the training shields, and will provide a measure of protection against impacts, heat and other forms of energy. It is not perfect -- heavy firearms will punch through with enough energy to wound or kill, and energy weapons or large explosions will overload it; a phaser on setting Seven will defeat the shielding with a shot or two. Even if it doesn't penetrate, an attack may produce enough jarring to hurt -- in other words, a .45 bullet or a hit with an ax may not get through, but you may still get bruises or even a broken bone."

"Still, a very useful item," Picard mused.

"Better than a suit of armor, and a lot easier to lug around," Miranda agreed.

"The ring also has limited offensive capabilities," Lucian added. "It can project kinetic force -- basically, it takes the energy of any movement you make with the hand it is on, and directs it against one target up to 50 yards away. About as powerful as a punch, modified by the strength of the wearer."

"In other words, if I use it, I can make someone laugh at fifty yards," Xander mused. "And if Buffy uses it, she can kick someone's ass at fifty yards."

"Finaly, the device provides a secure method of communication at up to fifty thousand miles. It projects thoughts directly onto other users, allowing for mental communications.

"Since the ring cannot be detected anywhere at these power levels, you can use it in every world you visit. In some chronolines, the power level of the rings can be greatly increased in safety. For the most part, they will work as I've outlined."

"This is totally phat," John Connor said. "Arnold is going to kick butt like Superman with that ring."

"Who is Superman?" Arnold asked.

***

"Three months down, three to go," Quinn mused. He and Wade were having a drink at the common lounge. It had been a hectic three months, with all the new agents studying and training as hard as they ever had. It had been, as Professor Arturo had put it, "like final exams at Oxford, initiation into the Druids, and Marine boot camp wrapped into a compressed, disagreeable package."

"It feels strange to stick around one place for this long, isn't it?" Wade said.

"It does, but in a good way," Quinn said. "It's not a real home, but it may become one."

"Our old home… it's almost like a dream now," Wade said absently. She still wouldn't talk about her experiences with the Cro-Mags. Counselor Troi was helping her heal, but she still couldn't open up to Quinn.

"So are you learning anything from those Jedis?" Quinn asked hoping to snap her out of her reverie.

"A few tricks," Wade said, a bit of her playful smile returning. She pointed at Quinn's glass -- and it slid across the table into her hand.

"Not bad," Quinn said.

Wade's smile was replaced with a worried expression. "It doesn't scare you, does it? I don't want to scare you away."

Quinn gripped her hand. "The only thing I'm scared of," he said steadily, looking into her eyes, "is losing you again."

Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. "You'll never lose me again." She stood up, her hand in his, guiding them towards her bedroom.

"Never again."

Quinn went with her. For the first time since the Sliding began, he felt true joy.

And, underneath, fear that the joy wouldn't last long.

***

The party had been the Scooby gang's idea. Willow, taking a break from the practical magic classes she and the Haliwell sisters were taking under Pug, was the chief organizer. Phoebe, Gabrielle and Xander had been enthusiastic supporters, as well as Giles, to everyone's surprise. The fabricators at the Fortress had produced the required props, food and music. And the Legion Trimester Bash had begun.

A buffet table held all kinds of Earth and alien dishes. Xander got to try Blood Wine, and discovered it was an acquired taste, much to Worf's amusement. John Connor wanted to, but it's hard to get any underage drinking done when your mother is at the party. The Background music was eclectic, from Classical to alternative to even a (mercifully brief) round of Klingon Opera. Soon people were dancing on. Indiana Jones and Amanda, Quinn and Wade, Maggie and Iolus, Riker and Troi.

Xander looked hesitantly at Gabrielle. "Well, are you going to ask her to dance, or not?" Buffy asked him.

"I'm gathering courage," Xander replied. "Can I borrow some from you? I'm all fresh out."

"Xander, it's time to stop being a dork and start being a man."

"All right then. Buffy, would you like to dance?"

Buffy's eyes widened in surprise for a second. "Sure." As they walked to the floor, she added. "Don't look now, but I think Gabrielle looks a bit disappointed."

"That's all right, I'll ask her to dance on the next set. And then Willow."

"I think I've created a monster," Buffy said.

Not too far away, Phoebe had half-dragged Obi Wan Kenobi to the dance floor. The strait-laced Jedi was visible uncomfortable at first, but after some time he started to have fun. Phoebe's sisters watched her from the sidelines.

"Phoebe never wastes any time," Prue said. "I think we need to launch a recruiting drive for more cute guys."

"Well, there's Data over there," Piper said, and waved the android over. "He's smart, he's cute…"

"… he's a machine," Prue replied.

"Not a problem," Piper said, as she and Data walked to the dance floor hand in hand. Prue rolled her eyes.

And the Eternity agents danced, ate drank and were merry. New friendships, and a few romances, were forged anew. It was the calm before the storm.

***

Chapter Four: The First Mission

"The code name for this timeline is Wormwood," Lucian Worldwalker said. The Eternity Legion sat in a medium-sized auditorium, listening intently. After months of grueling training, studying, and beginning to get to know each other, they were finally being sent out on a mission. To Captain Picard, it felt like his first time on board a real ship, all those many years ago -- the same mixture of apprehension and excitement, his mind racing to try and grasp every aspect of the briefing. He felt young again.

"This is an Earth-based timeline. Local year is 1999."

In the middle of the auditorium, a holographic rendition of Earth sprang to life, along with the moon, and started to rotate.

"Eight months ago, it started." The floating planet was replaced by news footage. TV news, showing…

"Great, Night of the Living Dead." Xander muttered uneasily. The footage showed a cemetery -- and corpses clawing their way out of their graves.

"At first, the reanimated corpses just shambled along, attacking only those who strayed too close. Panic started to spread, however. The nations of Earth started blaming each other, and were on the brink of war. Then, a large object approaching the Earth was spotted. The discoverer named it the Star Wormwood, after the star from the Book of Revelations. It proved to be a strangely fitting name."

An object appeared over the Earth's image -- an amorphous mass with something like… tendrils writhing around it.

"Attempts to greet the newcomers produced no results. A manned vessel, the Xiaping/Truman, set out to make contact, as the object began to move into a stable orbit around the planet."

The images changed. Now the agents could hear radio transmissions and some visual telemetry from the international spaceship sent towards the star. Enthusiasm among the astronauts soon turned to terror, as they saw the object was full of wormlike, things that flew towards the ship, broke through the hull -- and tore the crew limb by limb. The footage was unedited, and quite gruesome. Even battle-hardened agents like Xena and Tomas were sickened by the carnage --worm-like things that ripped through metal, flesh and bone with terrifying ease, eating the still-living men and women in the space station.

"The worlds' governments tried to destroy the object," Lucian continued. The Earth's image -- and the thing orbiting it -- came back into view. Missiles rose from the Earth and reached out towards Star Wormwood. Picard watched the battle with clinical detachment. Primitive chemical rockets, probably tipped with thermonuclear warheads. The Thing above the planet dodged them with ease, altering its orbit so that the relatively slow missiles flew harmlessly past. Then an array of satellite-based weapon system tried to engage the object, and failed catastrophically.

"The object did not crash on the Earth. Instead, it continued pumping energy in a unique wavelength into the Earth's atmosphere. The effects were quickly felt."

More news footage followed.

"The dead rose in greater numbers. Where before they had been content to shamble around, they now actively hunted the living. Those killed by the Undead were in turn possessed by Wormwood's energies, and rose up as yet more Undead." The news footage showed pitched battles in the streets of New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Moscow -- street fighting, fires raging out of control, the walking dead overwhelming their enemies through sheer numbers. "Billions died in the fighting and the chaos, famine and plagues that followed the breakdown of society. They joined the ranks of the living dead. Now, less than a hundred million humans -- one in sixty of the 1997 population -- survive around the world, huddled in fortified strongpoints and remote islands, holding out for as long as their ammunition and food lasts."

Commander Riker spoke up, interrupting the briefing. "Excuse me, but why did we let this happen? We exist outside time and space in this Fortress. We could send the Enterprise and intercept that… thing before it kills billions of people." There was a loud murmur of agreement among the other Eternity agents.

Lucian's face looked sad but determined. "I wish we could. But temporal nexus points don't work that way. If we intervene at this point, our actions will affect the fates of 3.9 million timelines. If you go back ten minutes before our planned insertion time, the number of timelines affected drops by a factor of 10 -- we'd have to repeat the same mission ten times to save them all. Go back to the appearance of Wormwood -- and we'd have to perform the same mission 1.3 million times, to save every timeline affected." He looked over the stunned agents. "Now, with the Earth about to be utterly depopulated, is the time to move, and save humanity millions of times over. The survivors, if we prevail, will spread through the galaxy in a few centuries, and in a few thousand years will dominate hundreds of galaxies.

"This set of timelines has been large depopulated by the Adversary. Wormwood has struck at almost every intelligent life form in the galaxy already; Earth and a couple other planets are the only worlds left with a technological species. The creature has been weakened by its millennia of genocide, so our resources will suffice -- barely -- to stop it."

Most of the agents looked extremely unhappy with the situation, but nobody else said a word.

Lucian continued. "The mission is threefold. First, we have to engage Wormwood directly. destroying it through physical attacks is going to be difficult, if not impossible, but a combination of magic and technology might be enough. On Earth itself, we need to find the party or parties responsible for bringing Wormwood to Earth in the first place. It had to be the work of a cult, using arcane means to call out to the Wormwood entity. If we disrupt their summoning ritual, Wormwood will be severely weakened, which will make destroying it a great deal easier. And finally, we must protect a small community in Texas that is about to be overwhelmed by the walking dead. A young girl in it will, if she survives, play a vital role in the reconstruction of Earth, and the unification of the planet and, hundreds of years hence, the galaxy."

"So we must divide our forces into three teams," Picard summed it up. "I believe the Enterprise and my crew must confront the space creature."

"Yes," Lucian agreed. "You will need magic assistance. Pug, Miranda and the Halliwell sisters should accompany you."

"Next, I need volunteers for the second and third teams."

Not surprisingly, everyone volunteered, and Lucian had to select the people for each group. The final lineup, as it were, had Buffy, Giles, Tomas, Maggie, Rembrandt, MacLeod, Obi Wan Kenobi, and Indiana Jones for the second team, and the T-100, Doc Savage, Hercules, Xena, Quinn Mallory and Wade for the third team. The remaining agents were kept as a tactical reserve, aboard the Enterprise. They weren't happy about it, but they grudgingly acquiesced.

"Well, this is it," Xander said as each team headed towards their posts. "Break a leg, everyone!"

***

"Status, Professor Arturo," Captain Picard said from the command chair.

"On line," Arturo replied from the new station on the Entreprise's bridge: he was the Trans-temporal Systems Officer, although he had politely refused to wear a Starfleet uniform and contented himself with pinning a comm badge over his tweed jacket.

"Engage," Picard said, feeling a little strange. It wasn't every day that a ship's captain gave the order to advance while the ship floated inside an enclosed chamber. Arturo activated the large-size Slider device, and soon a swirling portal of light large enough to accommodate the Enterprise opened in front of the ship.

"Go to half impulse," Picard ordered. "Brace for impact." The crew did so. The Sliding process had overcome the inertia dampening fields during a number of training exercises. This was no exception. People staggered as the ship was tossed around in the eddies between dimensions. After several long seconds, the Enterprise emerged at the other side like a fish leaping out of the sea.

"Captain, we have Wormwood on sensors," Data reported.

"On screen."

This wasn't the first time Picard had seen Earth being threatened by an outside force. He had seen the Borg hovering over the planet twice already -- on one occasion, he had commanded the invading ship, a bitter fact he wished he could forget. But this…

"Dear God," Arturo gasped.

The magnified image was much worse than what they had seen in the briefing room. The thing was huge, and alive -- its writhing tentacles were several dozen miles long, and they rippled as they moved, as if even more unspeakable forms lurked beneath their skins. Thousands -- millions, perhaps -- of long worm-like creatures hovered around the central mass, like diseased wasps protecting their hive.

Picard fought down an irrational surge of panic. "Release the shuttle, as planned, and then advance using attack pattern Delta, Mr. Data. Mr. Worf, do we have a lock on the creature?"

"Most of our sensors are not registering the entity, Captain," Worf replied. "But I have managed to target it. We'll be in optimal range in six seconds."

"Phasers and Photon torpedoes," Picard said. "Fire!"

***

Beams and bolts of light stabbed forth from the Enterprise. Some of them hit Wormwood. Others were intercepted by its myriad offspring, who sacrificed themselves to protect the central mass. Where the phasers and torpedoes hit, the unearthly flesh of Wormwood burned and peeled away, releasing a black ichor that floated into space.

"Kill it, just kill it," Phoebe said from the co-pilot seat of the shuttlecraft. She, her sisters, Qui-Gonn, Pug and Miranda were on board, getting ready to engage Wormwood mystically. "Maybe they won't need our help after all," she said hopefully. She didn't want to get any closer that whatever it was. Just looking at it made her sick.

"Use the Force, Phoebe," Qui-Gon said from the pilot's seat. "Banish the fear from your mind and your heart. The entity is trying to overwhelm our minds, but it will only succeed if we let it."

Phoebe took a deep breath and concentrated. A brief vision -- worm monsters tearing into the ship, biting at her -- came and went; she dismissed it, and regained control. "I'm feeling better. Thanks."

"Wormwood has been hurt, but not enough," Pug said from the back of the shuttlecraft. "It is gathering energies to deal with the Enterprise, even as it sends an army of drones towards it. We have to protect the Enterprise, or it will drive everyone aboard hopelessly insane."

Qui-Gon had taught Phoebe how to see auras -- the life force pattern of all living beings -- by shifting her perception a little bit. She tried it now.

Wormwood glowed with black and purple hues, pulsating with energies that seemed to be the direct opposite of life. The forces were being gathered, and Phoebe could feel that, very soon, a torrent of anti-life would be unleashed on the Enterprise.

The world disappeared, replaced by a grey-and-white vision. Phoebe saw the bridge of the Enterprise. Captain Picard staggered under the mystical attack. Tears of blood started running down his face. Around him, crewmembers screamed and collapsed, dead or dying. The Enterprise drifted through space, and Wormwood rushed towards it…

The vision disappeared.

"Whatever you want us to do, you gotta do it now!"
"I've got something!" Prue shouted, holding the Book of Shadows. "A spell to protect the mind. Get back here, Phoebe!" Phoebe joined her sisters, Pug and Miranda.

"Yes, that will do," Pug said. "We shall pool our power."

The five magicians and witches chanted for several moments, and released the spell. The shuttle buckled under the sudden release of mystical power, but Qui-Gon's expert piloting soon put them back on course.

"It worked!" Miranda shouted. "We have contained the attack."

"Yes," Pug agreed. "But now the creature is aware of our presence."

"That really, really sucks," Phoebe commented.

***

It was too late to save the world.

But maybe there was still time for revenge.

He had prevented something like this once before. It had nearly cost him his life, and, more importantly, his humanity, but he had done it.

This time he had failed, and doomed the world.

The man in black leapt from his perch -- the toppled ruin that had once been a mighty skyscraper, and landed fifty feet down. He dashed for the shadows. A few blocks away, he could hear a gang of zombies wandering around, looking for fresh kills. They seemed to have a knack to detect living human flesh from a long distance.

Fortunately for him, he was not fully human.

The man called Blade moved through the darkness like the dark predators he had once hunted. Half-human, half-vampire, he had learned to control the bloodlust that was the curse of Unlife, and had become the worst enemy of the creatures of the night.

He had not been able to stop his enemies this time, however.

It had started a few months ago, as news of the dead rising from their graves started to become commonplace. His investigation had revealed that a cult that included both vampires and human necromancers was behind it. They were trying to summon the entity they called The Eater of Life into this world. He tracked them down, fought a brutal but inconclusive battle with them -- and then the Eater, the thing the media had dubbed the Star Wormwood, had arrived.

The events of the past week few days a blur. He had fought the zombie hordes as they ran amok. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them were destroyed at his hands. But it had been all for nothing. Blade could not be everywhere at once. He had nearly been overwhelmed several times -- and meanwhile millions of innocents had died, and then risen again. Coming to his senses, Blade realized that he needed to preserve, not destroy. Killing the walking dead would accomplish nothing; saving people would.

A few hundred survivors were even now huddled in a blocked-off subway tunnel. They were all he had been able to rescue from the Undead armies. New York had become a giant graveyard. The last spasms of the war between the quick and the dead had been fought in Central Park, where the remnants of a National Guard unit and hundreds of street gang members had made a last stand, destroying thousands of the walking dead before being overwhelmed. After that, people had just died, waiting in hiding places until the zombies knocked down doors and walls and fell upon them.

Food and water were running out. Soon, Blade's band of survivors would perish as well.

Driven by anger and despair, Blade had returned to his efforts to unearth the Cult of the Eater of Life. And now, too late for most of humanity, he had found them.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art stood untouched, like a surviving monument of earlier, better times. Appearances were deceptive, however. The beautiful building had been used to house the cult, somewhere beneath the marble pillars and the works of arts inside. The vampires and their necromancer allies had taken over the utility tunnels beneath the museum, and turned them into a place of human sacrifice and unspeakable rituals.

And now Blade was going to kill them all as they gloated over the death of mankind.

The half-vampire crept closer to his goal. Zombie patrols around the area were far more numerous than in other section of the city, confirming his suspicions. If he could get inside the museum before they spotted him…

The shuffling footsteps around him stopped, then started again at redoubled speed. He'd been discovered! "Shit!"

Blade struck the first knot of undead like a cannon blast, fists and swords lashing out. Zombies were flung about, skulls crushed, heads severed -- only wounds that destroyed or separated the brains from the body could kill the once-dead. Blade became a living whirlwind, a circle of destruction no one could enter and survive.

But there were too many of them.

His sword became embedded in the body of one of the zombies, and it slowed him down a fraction of a second -- enough for one of the dead to grab him from behind. A brutal backward head-butt dealt with that one, but two more grabbed his legs, and he went down. Cold fingers as strong as steel cables ripped into him, tearing off his body armor. He kicked and punched, but now that he was down for every zombie he kicked away another took his place. This was it, the end.

A bright light cut through the shadows of the dead city. The zombies, ready to tear Blade to pieces, hesitated for a second.

"What the fuck?" Blade said, twisting his head to see what was going on.

Men and women leapt out of a tunnel of light, rolled to their feet -- and charged the zombies.

A young girl spearheaded the attack. As Blade watched unbelievingly, she tore into the vampires like a tornado, a sword in each hand, decapitating the dead left and right. A man with a samurai sword protected her left flank, while a tall man in strange gold armor watched her right. They cut through the ranks of zombies in a matter of seconds. A second team covered their backs, led by someone with a sword that appeared to be made of pure energy. Blade was able to break free and join the fray. Soon, there were no more Undead in front of the museum.

Blade faced the motley group who had saved him. Introductions would soon follow, and hurried explanations, surely, before they had to move.

But, for the first time since the Star Wormwood stained the skies, Blade felt a glimmer of hope.

***

"So this is what El Alamo was like," John Trivette said as he finished thumbing slugs into his 12-gauge shotgun. There were precious few of those left.

His partner and fellow survivor said nothing, surveying the ground below . Like Trivette, he was -- had been, before the world ended -- a Texas Ranger. Now, he was one of the remnant, the last living human beings on the planet.

"Walker, we're almost out of ammo," Trivette said. Cordell Walker stayed silent, looking at the landscape like someone in a trance.

"Walker?"

"They are coming," Walker said softly. Trivette looked at the prairie below the strongpoint, the makeshift fortress that held four hundred and sixty people -- all the survivors Walker and Trivette and a handful of Rangers and National Guardsmen had been able to save. The "fortress" was little more than a shanty-town, tin huts, trailers and hollowed out trucks, surrounded by razor-wire and protected by four immobilized (for lack of fuel) armored personnel carriers and two antique M60 tanks, the last survivors of the Texas National Guard. The M60s no longer had any cannon ammunition, and their machineguns had enough for a few bursts. That was true for everything -- bullets, food, medicines…

But there were no zombies in sight. No moving ones, at least. The flats below their position -- the highest ground for dozens of miles around -- were carpeted with corpses. The stench had been overwhelming for several days, until it either died down or the survivors got used to it. Thousands of dead bodies of all ages, races and genders lay around them, torn to pieces by bullets and high explosives. Thinking of that battle, a few days after the frenzied evacuation and resettlement, made Trivette question his own sanity. Unfortunately, it seemed as if the entire world had gone crazy along with him.

"I don't see anything," Trivette said.

"You need to listen," Walker said.

Trivette strained to hear, but all he could hear was the crying of the handful of babies with the survivors, the sounds of work as people tried to improve their makeshift housing, the barked orders of a drill sergeant trying to teach men and women how to fight. And someone climbing up the observation tower. Alex Cahill, former D.A., now one of the leaders of Fort Liberty, as the shanty-town had called itself.

"Walker, Trivette, I wanted to talk to you about the medicine supply situation," she began to say.

"Hush," Walker said, uncharacteristically curt toward her. "Listen."

Finally, Trivette heard it, so faintly that at first he thought he imagined it. But no, it was real, a low rumbling sound. Like a distant roar, or like…

"Footsteps."

"It can't be," Alex said. "There's nobody to be seen for miles."

"Footsteps can be heard over miles around, if they are enough of them," Walker said. "One cow walking makes a little noise. A herd of cows, and you can hear it a long way. One person walking makes very little noise."

"Thousands of them," Alex said.

"Millions," Trivette added. "How many people lived in Texas, in every city, in every town?"

"We'll find out soon enough," Walker replied.

"Oh my God," Alex gasped, almost sobbed. She pointed to the West. "Look."

It was a blurred darkness, half obscured by the heat haze. It came over the horizon and seemed to fill the prairie. Trivette looked around. The wave of dead was everywhere the eye could see. "We're surrounded." He felt sick.

Alex turned to Walker, tears in her eyes. "Walker… Cordell? Is there anything, anything we can…"

Walker hugged her tightly. "Hush," he said, this time gently. He looked at Trivette. "You know what to do."

Trivette nodded. The National Guardsman had brought along quite a lot of explosives. Most of them had been placed as mines around the encampment, but enough had been buried under the camp to blow it -- and everyone in it -- to bits. If the fortifications were overrun, orders were to detonate them. It would be quick, at least, and there wouldn´t be enough left of them to rise after death.

The rumbling sound of the footsteps was loud enough to be noticed by people in the camp. Some people started looking questioningly. Others, guessing rightly what the sound meant, started shouting in fear. Walker grimaced. This might turn into a panicked riot.

A clear, beautiful voice cut through the screaming and the rumble.

"Oh say can you see…"

It was Liz Delgado, fourteen, a beautiful Chicano girl. Despite her age, her charisma, intelligence and gentleness had made her a leader of the fledging community. Her singing stilled the panic, the mindless rage. People stopped, or took the hands of loved ones nearby.

Walker joined in the song. Trivette followed, and, wiping her eyes, so did Alex.

"And the rockets' red glare…"

They all sang -- young and old, men and women, the last living Texans on the planet.

" Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand …"

And the song drowned out the marching footsteps of the hosts of dead.

As the last verses were sung, Trivette felt tears running down his face.

And then the light came, as if summoned by that final act of defiance, bringing in champions from different worlds. Several of them also paused respectfully, until the song ended.

"… O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave."

The Eternity Legion had arrived.

***

"Counselor, you are bleeding," Picard told Deanna Troi. The Betazed had bitten through her lip. The hands clutching her battle station were bone-white.

"The… entity… It's trying to overwhelm us with its madness. The protective shields are giving way. I'm trying to strengthen them."

"Bashir to bridge," the comm system blared out. "All psychically-sensitive crew members are complaining of headaches and hallucinations."

"Sedate the worst cases, keep the others under observation," Picard replied. He turned his attention to the battle.

It had started out well enough, but things were deteriorating quickly. The first volley had done massive damage to the alien creature: one fifth of its surface was a charred ruin. The Star Wormwood had not stayed still, however. It had started to maneuver, not as fast as full impulse, but fast enough to force the Enterprise to give chase. Every few thousand miles, it would then release millions of the worm-creatures, a cloud that the Enterprise had to avoid. Even as it fled, it also rotated, so the phaser beams did not get a chance to concentrate on -- and burn through -- any one part of its body.

The shuttlecraft with the psychics -- Picard still could not bring himself to calling them "mages" or "witches" -- had been attacked by swarms of worms, and had lost some ground avoiding them. It now lagged behind in the pursuit around the Earth.

"Phaser fire only," Picard ordered. "We'll save the photon torpedoes for a better opportunity." The smaller creatures around the central mass were proving to be quite adept at intercepting the torpedoes -- amazingly so, since the photon torpedoes traveled at warp speed. The creatures were using some form precognitive ability, apparently, similar to the Force powers some Eternity Agents displayed.

"The central mass is discharging a large number of the worm entities, Captain," Data reported. "They are obscuring our sensors."

"Fire phasers, wide beam, attack pattern Epsilon."

The Enterprise flashed like a strobe light, and thousands -- hundreds of thousands -- of the creatures were disrupted into nothingness. The ship carved its way through the monstrous host.

Data gave a startled warning. "Captain -- the creature has reversed course! It's on a collision --"

"Evasive maneuvers!" Riker shouted. "Brace for impact!"

The grotesque mass filled the screen like a foul tsunami wave.

***

It was the end of the world, and he felt fine.

"Children of the night -- what music they make," he said in a lousy Bela Lugosi impersonation, and tittered a little.

The members Cult of the Eater of Life gave him sidelong glances, but kept their mouths shut. He did not fit the mold of a cult leader -- he looked like a happy, grinning man in denim pants and work boots -- and yet he ruled the thirteen robed men and women who had helped destroy the world. He had found them, brought them together, and forged them into a cohesive group. On occasion, he'd imposed order the hard way, and the looks from his followers were marred with fear.

They called him Roland Ferguson, but he had many names -- Roger Freemantle, Richard Frye, Ramon Farragutt, Randall Flagg. This latest name, he instinctively knew, was a mockery of someone he had met -- would meet? -- at some point in his long lives. He also had many nicknames: the Traveling Man, the Walking Dude, the Dark Man. He knew -- or, more accurately, he intuited, much like a hyena instinctively knows and cherishes the smell of blood in the wind -- that he had lived many lives, and walked in the back roads of many, many worlds.

He could remember little of his past, but he knew that death always followed in his wake. There had been a plague once before, he dimly remembered. The world -- the worlds, really; there were other worlds than this -- could end in so many wonderful ways. This was but one of them.

Roland Ferguson leaned against a wall of the room, relaxed, and closed his eyes. His senses wandered away, up into space, where the Eater of Life floated above the world. "How goes, big guy?" he muttered happily.

The smile on his face twisted and became a savage grimace. Somebody was attacking the Eater.

That meant somebody might be coming after him.

He surveyed his latest masterpiece. His knowledge of magic was, like so many things, innate and unlearned; the necromancers had done most of the legwork, and most of the piecework as well. Thirteen sacrificial victims, each chosen for his or her piety, strength or will, and near-saintliness. They had been placed in a circle, and then the vampires -- a breed Roland despised, but which had its uses -- had started working on them. The floor was gummy with spilled blood and other fluids; vampires were messy, and they liked it that way. The negative energies -- bad vibes, some of Roland's pals from the '70s would have called them -- had been focused in the circle, and acted as a lens. All the death and horror of the world was being beamed up towards the Eater of life, charging It up like a battery. As long as they kept the juice running, the Eater would be invincible.

Nobody could be allowed to mess with this.

"Hugo," he called out. A large man emerged from the shadows. He was bald and hairless, heavily muscled and yet moving with a grace that belonged to a professional athlete -- or a jungle predator. In life, he had been a Serbian militiaman, responsible for countless atrocities during the latest bout of ethnic cleansing. Then he had been attacked by a vampire and turned into one of the Undead. Roland had handpicked him as his personal troubleshooter -- fast, efficient, and ruthless and cruel enough to impress even the Undead. The only being Hugo feared was Roland Ferguson.

Just the way it should be.

"We've got some meddlers coming this way," Ferguson said. "Get your boys and deal with them. Take all the guns, the grenades, the LAW rockets. I don't care if you bring down the whole museum, but don't let them in here. You got it?"

Hugo nodded. He wasn't a talkative guy. His hand gripped a black stone that hung from a silver chain around his neck. The stone had a red flaw that looked like a key, or maybe a glaring eye. He nodded again, and rushed to round up his gang -- all vampires, all brutal criminals and killers, all now armed with the best military hardware thieves could steal.

Whoever was coming down here, to the chamber room beneath the Metropolitan Museum of Art, was going to get quite a reception.

***

Chapter Five: To Do or Die

Buffy was having a profoundly crappy day.

Her "Vamp-dar" (Xander's term) had gone off the moment she'd seen Blade, but the readings were kind of muddled. Vampire, but not quite a vampire. She figured Giles would love to interview him and figure out how it was possible to be half-human, and half-Undead. Fortunately, there'd been no time for that -- yet. For a fleeting moment, Buffy wondered if she and Angel could have… Better drop that line of thought, she told herself. No time to delve into Buffy's Vault of Romantic Horror.

"You should focus your thoughts," Obi Wan whispered behind her. "Don't let negative emotions distract you now."

"Sure. Whatever. Just don't call me Grasshopper," Buffy replied. She was not in the mood for fortune cookie wisdom right now. Obi Wan shook his head, but said nothing else.

She, Blade and Obi-Wan were on point, leading the rest of the group. Dr. Jones had discovered the secret door leading to the tunnels beneath the museum. Tomas, who wasn't exactly dressed for sneakiness -- gold chain mail was not exactly Ninja-wear -- brought up the rear, with the rest of Team Two sandwiched in between. So far, there were no bad guys in sight.

"Duck!" Obi-Wan shouted. No flies on Buffy -- she ducked.

Gunfire erupted from the end of the tunnel. Bullets cracked over her head. Someone behind her shouted in pain. An agent had been hit!

"Let's go!" Blade said, and charged the shooters.

He's crazy! Buffy thought, but followed.

Obi-Wan somersaulted ahead of them, his lightsaber out and glowing like a beacon. He moved with unearthly speed, catching bullets out of thin air. Unlike energy beams, the bullets could not be deflected back towards their attackers, but they were neatly vaporized by the touch of the energy blade.

Blade ran, using speed and momentum to actually run on the side of the tunnel for several seconds, spraying the attackers with automatic fire. Buffy followed Obi-Wan. All she had was a crossbow -- she really wasn´t a gun bunny.

The ambushing party had set up in a cross tunnel. Buffy spotted one of them aiming a big tube at Obi-Wan -- a rocket launcher of some sort.

"On no you don't!" she said. The would-be rocketeer staggered back, a crossbow bolt right through his heart. The vampire didn't explode into dust; Buffy had been warned not all vampires in the Multiverse did that when they died. But he also didn't shoot, which was the important thing.

Between Blade and Obi-Wan, the three of them reached the shooters, and the fight turned into hand to hand affair -- just the way Buffy liked it. Buffy punched faces, kneed groins, and staked hearts. This brand of Undead were strong and tough, but she was a Slayer, and she was the best at what she did. Although Blade's moves were not half-bad, either. And Obi-Wan…

The Jedi was a killing machine -- the light saber sliced, diced and made Julienne fries out the vampires. He rolled, ducked under a point-blank burst of automatic fire, and thrust his energy blade right into the heart of a vampire. Another one tried to stab him in the back with a wicked-looking knife. Buffy's kick took his head off even as Obi-Wan stabbed backwards and ran him through. Buffy whirled, ready for her next opponent. There were none. Blade rose over the last bloody corpse. "This is it."

The Slayer turned towards the other agents. They were surrounding a figure lying on the ground. She rushed past them.

"Giles?"

The Watcher was on the ground, clutching his chest.

"Giles!"

***

The Enterprise tried to twist away from the path of the moon-sized monster. It didn't quite make it.

A head-on collision would have probably destroyed the ship. It managed to avoid that, but a lashing miles-long tentacle struck it.

One moment, Picard had been on the command chair. On the next, he found himself lying dazedly by a fire control console -- on the other side of the bridge. Blood was running down the side of his face, and his vision was blurry.

He forced himself to sit up, overcoming the pain and the nausea from the head blow. "Status!" he shouted out.

"Aft shields out," Data reported with dispassionate coldness. "Hull breaches on decks eleven and fourteen. Aft nacelle damaged, down to 10% capacity. Casualties…"

"… will have to wait," Picard said. Without shields, the hull breach meant death for anyone unlucky enough to be there. At least twenty, perhaps as many as forty crewmembers had been ejected into space. His heart cried out for the dead, but he kept his emotions buried, and tried to stand up. A battered Worf helped the

Captain to his feet. He saw Riker lying still on the floor. Dr. Bashir was looking him over. "Severe concussion, internal injuries. We need to beam him to sickbay!"

"Transporters are off-line," Data said.

All the crewmembers had the protection rings provided by the Eternity Legion. Without them, Picard was sure half of the crew would have been killed or severely injured by the impact. As it was…

"What's our heading and position?" Picard asked. He half-walked, half-limped, with Worf's help, back to his command chair.

"We have managed to evade the main body of the creature," Data reported. "The smaller symbionts are closing in. At our current speed, they will overtake us in under 5 minutes."

"Weapons?"

"Off-line."

"Picard to Engineering! Giordi, we need power to the shields and weapons!"

Giordi's voice, sounding tense, almost panicked, came back through the comm system. "Impossible, Captain! I just barely managed to prevent a containment field breach in the matter-antimatter reactor! It's going to take me several minutes to put things back together down here!"

Riker writhed into semi-consciousness. Troi leaned over him, ignoring her own bruises, and held his hand tightly. "Try to stay awake, Will."

"Battle… stations…" Will said weakly.

"Picard to all personnel! Prepare to repel boarders. Repeat, prepare to repel boarders!"

On the screen, the worm creatures got closer and closer.

***

"This is bad," Quinn Mallory said. He'd been in tight spots before, but this one was in his personal Top Ten list, easy.

The original plan called for them Sliding in, holding off the zombies for a few minutes -- one hour, tops -- and then beaming up to the Enterprise, with all the refugees on tow.

"Say again, Enterprise," he spoke into the comm badge. Maybe he hadn't heard right.

Geordi's voice came back distorted, and broken up. "Ship damaged… not beam up… hours…" The communication was cut short.

"Great. Just great," Quinn said. He looked up and surveyed the scene around him.

The horizon was chock-full of zombies. There must be hundreds of thousands, if not millions of them. They were advancing from every direction, still some distance away, but getting closer and closer.

Arnold and Doc Savage were setting up the weapons they had brought down. Two high-power phaser cannons; a mini-gun and 10,000 rounds of ammunition; a field mortar with energy grenades, and enough guns and normal grenades to arm a regiment, or close to it. The leader of the community, some Ranger named Walker, was distributing the weapons amongst the men and women of the community. Quinn, Gabrille and Wade also had phasers; Wade was carrying a light saber as well. Xena and Hercules had their traditional weapons, plus a couple of phasers. At least this mission allowed them to use energy weapons.

It wasn't going to be enough. Not if they didn't start beaming people up now, and that wasn't going to happen.

"Er, Xena?" Quinn called out. Xena was the nominal leader of Team Three.

The warrior princess walked over; she, Gabrielle and Hercules had been organizing people into small groups to be beamed up. "Yes?"

"Uh, the Enterprise cannot start transporting people just yet." He explained about the garbled transmission.

Xena´s face grew grim and determined. "Then we´ll have to hold here until they can."

"I don´t know if you´ve noticed there are a million zombies out there," Quinn snapped.

"We hold, or we die, Quinn. Sometimes, life can be that simple."

***

"Take us toward the main body of the entity," Pug said.

Qui-Gon nodded grimly. The shuttle darted towards the huge mass that was Wormwood.

"Please tell me you're joking," Phoebe said.

"We have no choice," Miranda replied. "We have to hurt the creature, distract it somehow, or it will engulf the Enterprise and all aboard."

"All right, all right," Phoebe relented. Piper walked behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be okay," she said. Prue sat quietly, leafing through the Book of Shadows. They needed some powerful magic, and fast.

Qui-Gon let the Force guide him through the wave of worm creatures swarming over the craft. The foulness ahead and around them was the direct opposite of everything he stood for. He had to hurt it badly somehow… "I have an idea." He sketched the plan quickly, even as he piloted through a cloud of worms.

"The timing will be critical," Pug commented. "A second off, and we will die in the process."

"If need be," Qui-Gon replied. Pug looked into the Jedi Knight's eyes and found a strength of purpose the likes of which he had never seen. He dipped his head, a gesture of agreement, and of respect.

And perhaps a farewell as well.

"If Wormwood disrupts the spells or knocks the ship off course, we'll all die," Prue said. She looked at her sisters. For the last six months, she had felt they were living on borrowed time. None of their hosts had commented on it, but it was clear many agents had been rescued from certain death. In a way, then, they were already dead.

"I guess we'll just have to risk it," Piper replied.

***

"Just a scratch," Rupert Giles said, brushing off the hands of their friends. "Let me stand up, if you please." He staggered to his feet.

"Giles, you're bleeding!" Buffy said.

"So I am," Giles said, looking at the red stain on his chest. "But…" He reached into the wound -- and pulled out a deformed slug with his fingers. "The import of the wound, like reports of my demise, have been greatly exaggerated."

"I guess those force fields really work," McLeod said. "The bullet barely had enough energy left to pierce your skin."

"I'm quite sure I'll feel more pain come morning," Giles said. "Now, let's return to the task at hand." He sounded vaguely embarrassed by all the attention.

"There is a second group of vampires deeper in the tunnel," Obi-Wan reported. "They will try to ambush us." Seeing the inquiring look of the rest of the agents, he explained. "I can sense the disturbance in the Force."

"Oh, that makes everything crystal clear," Buffy said sarcastically.

"How far?" Blade asked. "The vampires. How far?"

"About one hundred yards. Two groups of five or six each, I believe, positioned on both sides of the corridor at a crossroads."

"You people might want to cover your ears," Blade said. He picked up the rocket launcher.

"Wait," McLeod said. "What are you…"

Buffy covered her ears.

Blade fired a rocket down the corridor.

The resulting explosion was fairly loud, and pieces of the tunnel were shaken loose. Dust and smoke blinded everyone.

"Watch it!" Indy shouted. "You can bring down the whole…"

Blade had reloaded the launcher. He fired again.

This time, whole chunks of tunnel fell down. A basketball-sized piece bounced off Buffy's head. "Hey!" she cried out, more startled than hurt -- the force field protected from the worst of it.

"I'm coming to get you suckers!" Blade shouted, dropping the spent rocket launcher and charging forward.

"When this is over," McLeod said, dusting himself off. "I'm going to have a talk with the lad."

"Get in line," Buffy said. "And the line starts with me." Blade was not a team player, apparently.

Although from the sounds up ahead, he had taken care of the ambush pretty well.

"Come on, guys!" Buffy shouted. "We can't let him hog all the vampires!" She ran towards the sound of the fighting.

***

Blind and drifting dead in the water, the Enterprise was soon covered in writhing wormlike creatures. The monsters crawled on the surface of the ships. They secreted a powerful acid that burned through walls and bulkheads. In small groups, they entered the ship, searching for live flesh to feast upon.

The surviving crewmembers and the Eternity agents onboard prepared to do battle.

***

"Here they come," Annalee Call said. She was an android, but she could feel fear. The internal wall started to smoke and sizzle. A manhole-size section started to melt.

"Looks familiar, doesn't it?" Ripley said. Not the same acid of her alien brethren -- she could smell the differences, but similar enough to bring out the strange combination of hatred and longing contact with aliens seemed to inspire in her nowadays.

Call raised a phaser pistol and fired as the first worm jumped in. The beam of energy spread the creature into its component atoms. Others followed.

Ripley reached past Call and caught one of the worm-things -- about the size of a garden snake, but able to fly even in the artificial gravity of the Enterprise -- before it could sink its head into the android's neck. She tore the thing in two with her bare hands, angling each half so the acid did not spray back towards her or her friend. Another blow sent another worm spinning into a wall.

Call switched to wide-beam and burned all the worms, and a whole section of the interior wall. "Oh, shit!" she cried out in dismay.

The hull beyond the wall was covered with holes, and dozens -- hundreds of the worms were crawling through them. The only reason they were not being sucked into space was that the structural force fields must be back on line. She aimed her phaser, then realized she had exhausted its power.

"You should get down now," a voice said behind them. Ripley grabbed Call and hit the deck.

A phaser rifle set on wide beam sprayed the hull for a full thirty seconds. All the worms on the walls were consumed.

Ripley and Call looked at their savior. It was Sherlock Holmes, dressed in his old-fashioned clothing and Inverness hat, the phaser rifle clashing decidedly with his clothing and demeanor. "I have been traveling through the service tunnels that honeycomb this vessel," he explained. "They provide some measure of protection against the invaders, and allows rapid movement through much of the ship."

"Let's get there, then," Ripley said. Holmes led them to the maintenance tunnels, reloading his phaser. "I was looking for reinforcements, as a matter of fact," he continued, seemingly unfazed by the carnage around him. "I fear the creatures may try to attack the… boiler room, or whatever equivalent this ship has, to finish crippling her."

"That makes sense," Call said. "We should get to the engine room. I can get us there."

The three agents started crawling through the narrow opening, even as more worms entered the ship.

***

"Report," Picard said, dreading what would follow.

The bridge was clouded by smoke and shrouded in the twilight hues of the emergency lighting system. Several worms had attacked the bridge, and been beaten back by a combination of phaser fire and desperate hand to hand fighting. One third of the bridge crew was dead or severely injured.

"I have restored the structural and atmospheric shields," Giordi reported from Engineering. "Just in time, or we would have lost half of our air -- the ship is riddled with holes."

"How about protective shields? Weapons?"

"I should be able to jury-rig something in five minutes. We came up with an unconventional way to reroute power and bypass the damaged plasma flux modulators. We…"

"Try to do it in three minutes, Giordi," Picard interrupted. No time to hear the details; he had many other things in his mind.

"Mr. Worf?"

"The creatures have taken over Deck Three, Captain," Worf replied. "Security has contained them there with a portable shield generator and heavy phaser weapons. We have sustained over a hundred casualties, sixty-three of them fatalities. There are multiple other breaches, but the creatures are not present in large numbers yet. We have been able to fight them off, for now."

"They are killing my crew!" Picard snapped. "We need power!"

Five minutes, even three, might be an eternity.

***

On they came, in the dawn's early light, the horde of the walking dead.

Xena had fought many battles, but never had the odds been so uneven. Less than a hundred fighting men -- including the Eternity Agents -- against as many as a million, perhaps more, walking dead. Ten thousand to one.

The first blows were struck when the creatures were still over a mile away. Doc Savage fired the phaser cannon, on wide beam. It struck the massed creatures like a water stream cutting through sand. He fired a long burst, moved the weapon to another section of the camp, fired, moved it again, fired. Thousands of the creatures were vaporized. In a few moments, some ten thousand Undead ceased to be.

"We have one power cell left," Doctor Savage reported.

"Save it for when they get close," Xena ordered. She was the informal leader of the group. Arnold had more experience, but had the leadership abilities of an inanimate object. Besides, Xena was familiar with the capabilities of the new weapons they had -- familiar enough to know she didn't like them worth a damn.

She patted the sword at her side. She had the feeling it would come down to cold steel, eventually.

The zombie horde pressed on, uncaring of the horrible damage the phaser had inflicted.

Xena turned to Arnold. "Start with the mortar. Concentrate on maximum casualties, slow fire until they reach 800 yards." The Terminator nodded, and started to rain death upon the Undead.

The warrior princess turned her back on the enemy and toured the camp. After the initial surprise and elation at the agents' arrival, the survivors had been shocked to learn that rescue was not at hand quite yet. Some had just collapsed, unable to bear any more strain. Others were working doubly hard, setting up an interior barricade and obstacles, trying to improve the fortifications and buy the group more time.

A girl caught her eye. She was walking through the camp, pitching in organizing people, both children and adults, encouraging everybody to work harder. The girl walked to a man who had collapsed into a sobbing mess. She whispered something in his ear, and the man stood up, wiped his eyes, and went back to work.

"That's Liz Delgado," Walker said behind her. "She has helped us pull together more than once since this madness began."

"She must be very special," Xena said, thinking of another girl, in another time, in another world. A girl who had seen her parents killed, and who had turned into a monster. Xena had turned that little girl into a monster. Perhaps if she could save this child, she might start to atone for that crime.

"They all are," Walker said in a low voice. He looked Xena in the eye. "They cannot be allowed to get through."

"They won't," Xena replied. "Not while we are alive."

Walker seemed satisfied. Xena recognized a fellow warrior in the man, someone who would could be killed but not defeated.

"They won't get through," Xena declared.

***
 
The tunnel had become narrower, a twisting, almost organic structure. Duncan McLeod had the uncomfortable feeling of being inside a living thing, as if the Eternity Agents had descended into the belly of some colossal beast.

Three times, vampires wielding guns had attacked. Three times, they had beaten them. Tomas' gilded chain mail was smudged, his helmet gone. The human-Vallheru hybrid had survived a near miss from a rocket launcher. Duncan had never seen anything like it before.

They were getting closer. Duncan could feel something lurking on the edge of his Immortal-sharp senses, like an unpleasant if barely audible buzzing gnawing at his mind. All the agents were feeling it; the small group was silent and tense. The agents advanced, ready for trouble.

Vampires exploded from the walls around them.

The creatures had somehow blended with the walls of the tunnel. Magic, or some unknown Undead power? McLeod had neither the time nor the inclination to wonder -- he was too busy fighting for his life. At close quarters, the Undead were not using guns; instead, it was a fight to the knife, claw or tooth.

Duncan shifted the grip of his katana, blocked a wicked knife slash, and neatly decapitated a vampire. On the backstroke, he severed the neck of a second Undead that had knocked Rembrandt down and was trying to bite the Slider's throat. He turned around.

All the vampires were down, except one, a tall, powerful creature, clearly the leader of the pack. As Duncan watched, Blade and Buffy attacked it at the same time. There was a brief flurry of movement, and the vampire fell.

"I think that was the last one," Buffy said. She turned to Blade. "Thanks for the assist."

Blade grinned. "No, thank you for the assist."

From the darkness, someone started applauding slowly. The banter ceased, and the agents turned and faced the approaching noise.

A man in a denim jacket, jeans and work books stepped from outside the shadows. "Not too shabby," he said. "I'm disappointed in Hugo and his gang. I really thought they would be able to hold you off longer. Oh, well. When you need something done right, you've got to do it yourself."

Duncan's senses flashed a warning. This man was neither vampire nor Immortal. He was something worse.

"I'll handle him," Tomas said. He strode forward, sword in hand.

The dark man grinned at him.

Tomas froze. He shuddered for a few moments. And turned around, to face the other agents.

His face was twisted, full of rage.

"Your friend has some issues," the dark man explained. "He's part human, and part something else. All it took was a little push, and now he's one hundred percent something else." The grin widened. "And now he's going to chop all you of into dogmeat."

Duncan had talked with Tomas and his companions a couple of times. He'd heard the tale of the Vallheru, the ancient immortal race of conquerors and destroyers, utterly devoid of mercy or compassion, cruel to a fault. Tomas had been able to exorcise all the mental attributes of the Vallheru, while retaining the physical ones.

No longer. The man was gone, and the monster remained.

With a wordless cry of rage, Tomas attacked his companions.

***

"We are on the final approach," Qui-Gonn reported.

"Did you have to say final?"

"Hush, Phoebe," Piper said. "Let's do it." The three sisters started chanting a spell. At the same time, Pug and Amanda released a different incantation.

The shuttlecraft, under Qui-Gon's control, dodged a giant tentacle and came closer to the twisting, boiling surface of Wormwood. The vessel was surrounded in a red shield of mystical power. The myriad of worm creatures that now flocked too close to avoid exploded in flames whenever they touched the shield, and yet they still kept coming.

"destroy the destroyer, by the Power of Three," the Halliwells chanted.

Qui-Gon fired the ship's phasers at full power, searing the flesh of the planet-sized creature. "Locking ship on course," he announced.

The Halliwell sisters released the spell, focusing all their power. The shuttlecraft shuddered. Where the phasers had merely burned and pitted the surface, the spell blasted a huge crater into the alien flesh of the monster. The sisters collapsed, exhausted.

Qui-Gonn activated the ship transporters, and beamed them into the Enterprise. He hoped things at the Enterprise were not as desperate as they seemed.

"We're next," he said, leaving the piloting station. The ship had its instruction. Its matter-antimatter reactor was set to self-destruct, even as its propulsion system went into warp. The resulting explosion would shatter a starship.

"Our spell should magnify the explosion a hundredfold," Pug said. "Let's go."

No time for transporters; Miranda opened a dimensional portal, and the three stepped even as the ship hit.

Dark energy roared after them, followed them into the gate.

The last thing Qui-Gonn heard was Pug's scream of pain.

Darkness.
 
***

"Worms!"

They charged without warning -- they emerged from a blood-covered turbolift -- a dozen of them, six feet long, half a foot wide, swimming through the air like demonic snakes. One of them speared through Ensign Kivak. The Vulcan crewmember's limbs and head were flung away in five different directions, spraying blood everywhere.

Giordi grabbed his phaser, blasted one of them seconds before it reached him. Another worm tore through the three men of the Security contingent killing all of them before they could fire a shot. Giordi and the rest of the engineers ducked for cover, opened fire with their personal weapons. They had to be careful, though -- a bad shot with a phaser in this section, and they were all dead anyway.

And he had been so close… "Cover me!" he shouted to the terrified engine crew. "I need to finish the reset sequence!" Without waiting for a response, he returned to his workstation. "Come on, come on…" His fingers flew over the keypad. Redlined systems started flashing green. "Just a little more…"

Someone screamed horribly just a few yards away. He forced himself to ignore the sound.

A phaser fired only inches away. He heard a loud thud, a grunt of effort, and a tearing sound. "Watch out, Ripley!" A loud whack, the sound of a heavy body smashing into a computer desk.

Finished. All vital systems on line.

"Computer!" Geordi shouted. "Lock on transporters on all unidentified life forms on the ship."

"Patterns locked. Warning. The number of unidentified life forms is greater than the safe memory capacity of the transporter banks."

"Override safety protocols!" Giordi rattled off his authorization code, fully aware now of the life and death struggle going on around him. Call and Ripley, who had come from who-knows-where, were each wrestling with a worm creature. Ripley was winning her fight. Call's left arm had been chewed clean off, and her synthetic yellow "blood" was flowing freely from the torn limb. "Convert all life forms into transporter patterns, NOW!"

The worms were surrounded by the transporter energy nimbus, and disappeared.

"Specify destination," the computer asked petulantly.

"Hell," Giordi muttered.

"Invalid destination."

"No destination. Computer, initialize transporter memory banks."

"Warning: all patterns in memory banks will be lost."

"Exactly," Geordi said with a savage expression. "Erase them from existence. Wipe them out."

"Memory banks initialized. 12,421 patterns have been erased."

 
All the worms inside the ship had been converted into energy and then consigned to oblivion. The shields were up again, so no more creatures could get aboard. It could not make up for all the death and destruction the Enterprise had endured.

But it was a start.

***

The Cyberdine T-100 opened fire.

The minigun, a Gatling style five-barreled machinegun, was not a good infantry weapon. It was too heavy, and it consumed ammo too quickly. It worked best a vehicle-mounted weapon.

In the hands of the Terminator, however, it was the ultimate assault rifle.

The Terminator fired precise, controlled bursts. His optic sensors were able to predict shot spreads and impact points to within a quarter of an inch. Every burst destroyed 8.45 targets. Every long-burst at close range destroyed 63.5 targets, on the average.

He was firing long bursts now.

By his calculations, the enemy army had lost 174,700 units, plus or minus fifty. That still left an approximate 789,300 enemy units, plus or minus a hundred. The leading elements were already within two hundred yards. Everybody in the camp who had a gun was firing now. The Eternity agents were using their phaser pistols, running back and forth to shoot at any concentration of zombies that got too close. And the T-100 "Arnold" was using up the last of the minigun's ammo, holding an entire quadrant by himself.

The rotating barrels spun empty. All the ammunition was gone.

Arnold dropped the gun, pulled out two sub-machineguns. Fire. Reload. Fire.

Leading enemy units: 100 yards.

The enemy had lost an additional 5,215 units, but they would soon reach the camp. The razor wire would further delay and hinder them, but not stop them. The Terminator estimated the camp's defenders would exhaust their ammunition in 5.5 minutes, plus or minus 30 seconds.

Fire. Reload. A sub-machinegun started overheating. Arnold threw it at the enemy. The gun spun in the air like a hatchet and split open the head of a walking corpse. Down to handguns now. Arnold drew two .45 automatics. Each shot claimed a head.

Walker came up to the position, a shotgun in hand. He started firing as Arnold reloaded. "Figured you could use a hand," Walker said.

"My efficiency has been diminished by the lack of ammo," the T-100 explained.

"Yeah, it's happening to all of us."

Walker left the strange killing-machine guy at his post and surveyed the camp. People everywhere were waving around useless guns. Even the newcomers seemed to have run out of whatever powered those ray guns of theirs.

"Pull back to the inner works!" he ordered. "We'll try to hold them at the wire for a while!"

'We' were him, Trivette, a handful of men with axes and baseball bats, and the strangers. A couple of them were firing the last few blasts of their ray guns. If Walker hadn't been so worried about other things, he might have wondered about them. Now, all he cared about was not letting the creatures get past him.

Even when one of the girls in the new group activated a sword made out of pure energy, he didn't pay much attention.

The zombies were at the wire. The first few hundred of them got caught and tangled over them. The others started climbing over their bodies.

Walker started swinging his shotgun by the barrel, crushing skulls, knocking back monsters. A few steps away, Xena threw a spinning disk -- which beheaded half a dozen zombies before spinning back to her hand. In all his years as a martial artist and Ranger, Walker had never seen such a thing. But he didn't have time to appreciate or wonder at the move. The zombies were crawling over the razor wire, crushing their brethren under their weight.

The broke the shotgun on the head of one, kicked, punched, spun away, kicked. Half a dozen down, a million to go.

A hand grabbed his ankle, pulled. He fell on his back

The undead swarmed over him.

***

Chapter Six: The End of the Beginning

"On screen."

Images wavered a bit before steadying. It had taken over two hours to get the external sensors working -- an hour of flying blind, waiting to be struck at any moment by the planet-sized monster lurking by. It had been one of the worst hours in Picard's career -- to lie helpless before an enemy was the worst situation he could imagine being in.

And yet, nothing had happened.

"Sensors are back online," Data reported. The screen locked on their nemesis.

The Star Wormwood was drifting in space. Half of it was ablaze, burning in bright orange and blue colors. The tentacles were still moving, but weakly. Worm creatures were swarming back towards the central mass, as if trying to smother the flames with their bodies.

"What happened to it?" Picard wondered out loud. "This was none of our doing."

"I cannot find any traces of the shuttle, Captain," Data added.

Commander Riker, half his face covered with regenerative bandages, shifted in his chair. "They rammed it," he muttered. "That's a runaway matter-antimatter reaction burning inside of it."

Picard bowed his head. "They gave their lives to save us." There wasn't much else to say.

Troi spoke up. "Wormwood lives," she said in a deep, unusual voice. She seemed to be in some sort of trance. "It is healing, drawing power from the death of Earth.

"She is right, Captain," Data agreed. "The entity appears to be regenerating, reabsorbing the worm symbionts into its mass. The anti-matter reaction is almost burned out.

"Weapons?" Picard asked, turning to Worf and Giordi, who had come to the bridge.

"One phaser battery. The photon torpedo launchers are damaged."

"That's not enough. We cannot let their sacrifice be in vain," Picard whispered. Out loud: "Prepare to evacuate the ship."

Riker understood immediately. "Sir, I request permission to remain onboard and fly the Enterprise on the intercept vector."

"Intercept...?" Troi said. "You are talking about ramming the creature."

"Permission denied, Number One," Picard replied. "It's my ship. I will command her."

"Captain," Troi retorted. "You could direct it automatically. Nobody needs be aboard."

Data shook his head. "With the damage the ship has sustained, our automatic systems have only a 37% chance of effecting a successful ram against a moving target."

"And with a human pilot?" Riker asked.

"The odds rise to 82%."

"Betting odds," Picard said. "Start evacuating the ship. Wounded first. Use the shuttles if we don't have enough operating life rafts. Mr. Giordi, Mr. Data, you will be the last to go, and any personnel you deem necessary. We need to maximize the damage we will inflict on the creature."

It was almost a relief, to be doing something, even if it led to his death.

Picard was in command of the Enterprise once again.

Even if this was its last voyage.

***

"Pinch me," Phoebe asked in a whisper. "Ow! Okay, I'm not dreaming."

"It may not be a dream," Prue replied, "but it sure isn't the Enterprise."

The Halliwell sisters were in a fog-shrouded place. Dark clouds obscured the sky, and mist billowed at their feet, partially obscuring the dark ground beneath. There was just enough light to see by, but barely.

"I don't like this one bit," Piper said.

"Whatever you do, don't walk into the light," Phoebe replied.

"Shut up."

Light flared up behind them. The Charmed Ones whirled just in time to see Pug, Miranda and Qui-Gonn stumble out of it and collapse on the ground. They all had nasty first-degree burns on their hands and faces, but they were alive.

"Where are we?" Qui-Gonn asked, rising painfully to his feet.

"We were hoping one of you could tell us," Piper replied.

"The Threshold," Pug said, getting up. "Our defensive spells saved us from being killed outright, but the power of Wormwood was strong enough to prevent us from escaping. We are in between Life and Death, trapped here until Wormwood is destroyed, or It collapses our protective spells and kills us off."

"Sounds like fun," Prue said sarcastically.

"You know, this might give us a chance to do something constructive," Miranda said. Everybody, even Pug, turned towards her. "The Threshold exists outside time or space. That means we can actually look anywhere in time and space. We could learn more about Wormwood itself, and perhaps figure out how to strike at it even from this place."

"Cool, we get to watch a VH1 special on the life of Wormwood," Phoebe said. Piper cuffed her on the arm. "Well, I guess it beats waiting to die. Let's do it."

***

Buffy and Blade went medieval on Tomas.

Slayer and half-Vampire waded in, fists flying, holding nothing back. Even the Valheru was staggered by the devastating attack. Kick, punches, knees to the groin. Blade head-butted Tomas, three, four times in quick succession even as Buffy scissors-kicked him to the ground.

One hand grabbed Blade by the collar. Another gripped Buffy by the hair.

Tomas smashed their heads together. There was a sickening hollow impact, and Buffy and Blade collapsed in a heap.

Duncan McLeod stepped forward, sword drawn. Tomas growled and drew his own weapon.

Roland Ferguson roared delighted laughter. "That's right, Immortal! Put on a good show!"

Somebody tapped him on the shoulder. Roland turned.

"Laugh at this," Indiana Jones said, and followed with a roundhouse punch to Roland's face. The dark man staggered. Indiana punched him again and again. At the same time, he started chanting in Latin.

"What the --" punch "fuck --" punch "do you think you're doing?" Ferguson cried out.

"Demon, Begone!" Jones shouted in Latin. Roland screamed in rage and pain. Something unspeakable bubbled out of his skin for a few seconds, as if a hideous shape was trying to tear its way out of his skin.

"Shithead!" Ferguson backhanded Jones and knocked him clear to the other side of the tunnel. "You hurt me! For that, I'm going to eat your brain while you're still alive," he growled.

The point of a stake suddenly sprouted out of Roland's chest. He looked down in astonishment.

"Eat this," Buffy said behind him. Blood was running down her face, but she had a grim and determined expression.

Roland Ferguson staggered a few steps. "You bitch!" He grabbed the stake she had rammed into his back --all the way out the other side of his torso -- and pulled it out. "You've ruined my body! You're so dead!"

"What exactly were you doing to him?" Buffy asked Indy.

"Old medieval exorcism ritual," Indiana explained. "It involved beating the demons out of the possessed."

Giles joined the pair. "I know the ritual. You were off on a couple of stanzas, and you need to try to use Old Church Latin, if possible."

"Sorry," Jones replied. "I'm a bit rusty."

"Guys, let's chitchatting and more problem-solving," Buffy snapped.

The other agents were trying to hold Tomas off. MacLeod had been replaced by Obi Wan. The Jedi was hesitant to use his light saber on his fellow Agent, however, and Tomas was winning.

Roland dropped the bloody stake on the floor. Pieces of his heart were stuck to it. "Come here, you little slut!"

"Buffy, keep beating on him. We will recite the exorcism," Giles instructed.

"My pleasure."

The Slayer waded into the Dark Man while her companions chanted in Latin. It was having an effect. Something was rippling inside Ferguson, as if there was someone else inside -- someone who wanted out.

"We are doing it!" Buffy cried out. "We --"

Tomas' hand closed around her throat. The Valheru had rushed her from behind. She couldn't breathe.

Ferguson rose. "You lose!" He reached out clawed hands towards her face.

Indiana Jones' whip struck him across the face. And again, as the pain made Roland recoil.

A clawed hand ripped out of Roland's back, and something dark clawed out of the collapsing body. The demon looked around, howled, and disappeared.

Where Ferguson had stood, only empty clothing remained.

"We did it!" Giles said.

"Still -- strangling -- me," Buffy choked out.

Tomas had lifted the Slayer off her feet with one hand. His grip was tightening. Buffy's face started to turn purple.

Obi-Wan Kenobi advanced on Tomas. He switched off his light saber.

"Tomas."

The mad eyes looked at him without comprehension.

"Wake up, Tomas. Lock up the beast inside your soul, and become a man."

The hand choking Buffy started to tremble.

"You are hurting your friend. Wake up."

Buffy was released. She fell on her butt, coughing and gasping for air. Tomas fell to his knees next to her. "I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry."

"It's okay," Buffy said hoarsely. "You're not the first guy with a dark side I've run into."

Obi-Wan looked towards the end of the tunnel. "There are some cultists up ahead, but their powers are mostly exhausted."

"Good," Buffy said. "I could use an easy fight."

***

Walker grabbed a zombie by the neck and ripped his head off. An elbow strike knocked another one off him.

A third zombie grabbed Walker left arm and snapped it at a ninety-degree angle. The bone broke with a dull crack.

The pain was horrendous. The Ranger blacked out for a few moments.

When his eyes opened, he felt he was being dragged off. He looked up. Quinn Mallory was pulling him into the second barricade. Xena and Hercules were still fighting the zombies. "You okay?" Mallory asked.

Walker stuck his broken arm into his shirt, buttoned it in place as a crude sling. "Yeah."

"They overwhelmed the north side. I think they took down Arnold. Almost everyone out there is dead."

With a defiant cry, Xena somersaulted over the barrier. Hercules followed a moment later, waving a bloody sword in his hand.

Zombies started climbing the barricade, unmindful of the people swinging baseball bats or shovels or axes at their hands and heads. Many fell. Others kept coming. "Where's Trivette?"

Quinn looked down. "He didn't make it."

Walker suppressed the grief. No time for it now. He grabbed an ax handle and started busting zombie heads.

***

"This is the origin of Wormwood."

The world shifted, and the six Agents were now floating, watching a scene unfold beneath them. A world, rotating around a red star. A red and yellow world, looking like Jupiter, a gas giant. Weird worm-like beings lived there, swam through clouds of gas like fish through water. They built long spider-web-like buildings, and sent ships to visit neighboring planets and moons. The scene shifted. They could see the worm-things close-up now. They had a dozen limbs apiece, and looked like a cross of an earthworm and an octopus.

Things were going on with the worms, but they didn't make any clear sense. "The frame of reference is too alien," Miranda complained. "We cannot understand."

"I'll help," Qui-Gonn said. He concentrated. "The Force will act as a lens: through it, the events we are seeing will be translated into something easier to grasp."

The scene shifted. The outlandish alien shapes were replaced by people, wearing robes and weird suits, but human-looking. The floating ladder-buildings became normal houses and skyscrapers. Things started to make sense.

It all started with a boy. A young boy, quiet, sensitive. His father was a spiritual leader in the community, respected and feared, for he was a harsh man. The boy was abused, berated, beaten. His spirit was broken. His father kept telling him he was worthless, pathetic, cowardly.

The abuse became more extreme. People started to wonder about the boy. Their well-meaning questions sent the father into a rage, and further beatings. Finally, the authorities became involved. They tried to take the boy away from his father. There was a struggle, and the father was killed. He died in front of the boy, cursing him with his last breath.

The boy grew up, forever haunted, driven by a mixture of guilt and rage. He became fascinated with death, and with bringing his father back, to gain his forgiveness and approval. The boy, now a teenager, meddled with things best left alone. An experiment went awry, and the young man died.

And came back, an Undead.

The scene shifted, and the Agents watched in horrified fascination as the boy -- the Undead -- started devouring people, and growing larger. The human façade Qui-Gon had used to help them understand faded away, no longer necessary, as a growing worm creature consumed others, and became a gigantic monster. When the bloated thing left the world, driven by madness, no living thing remained.

The scene shifted once more, and the Agents sensed, deep inside the monster, the scared and confused boy.

"He had an unhappy boyhood, and he became a planet-eating monster," Prue said.

"That's not very nice!" Piper protested.

"I'm sorry if I'm not dripping sympathy over here, but that little boy has killed billions of people."

"Be it as it may," Miranda said. "If we could make contact with the boy within, we might be able to convince him to repent, and abandon this insane quest to beat death."

"I can use the Force to act as a conduit to the entity's brain," Qui-Gon said. "But someone will have to contact the creature. It will be dangerous."

"I'll do it," Phoebe said.

"Are you sure?" Prue asked.

"Well, I know what it´s like to have a crappy father, and I´m good with children."

"Maybe I should do it," Miranda said. "I have more experience dealing with alien beings."

"Perhaps both of you should go," Pug interjected.

"Okay."

***

"Quinn!"

Wade's light saber flashed past Quinn Mallory's head, cutting off a zombie's outstretched hand. Quinn kicked another zombie in the head, knocking him off the barricade.

"It's no good! Back into the last enclosure!"

The second barricade had held the zombies off for a whole five minutes. Gabrielle had a broken leg, and all the other agents had suffered a number of minor injuries. Walker was the only survivors from the other volunteers.

Arnold was still out there. The last time Quinn had seen him, the T-100 had been stripped of all his flesh, a metal skeleton surrounded by zombies, his arms and legs still punching and kicking even as sheer numbers bore him down.

Quinn backpedaled towards the open door of the sheet metal and plywood building that was their last line of defense. Wade covered his retreat, twirling her light saber like a cheerleader's baton. Then she did a back flip and jumped inside; Hercules slammed the door shut and Xena dropped a crossbar in place.

The zombies outside hammered the doors and the walls. Gaps started to appear almost immediately.

Quinn looked at the trench in the center. The women and children were huddled there. They were literally sitting on top of boxes of explosives. Alex Cahill had the detonator, a look of grim determination in her face.

Quinn tapped his comm badge.

"Quinn to Enterprise. We are about to be overrun.

"Enterprise"

***

"That wasn't so bad," Buffy said.

The necromancers hadn't put up much of a fight, like Obi-Wan had predicted.

Dr. Jones and Giles were dismantling the necromantic circles, with Obi-Wan and Tomas to provide a little arcane help. The Slayer's job was done; she could take a break.

She needed it.

Blade walked over to her.

"Is it over?" he asked.

"I hope so. Got any Advil on you? Aspirin? My head's killing me."

"Sorry, no. So, who exactly are you guys?"

"You know, we were supposed to have a recruiting spiel memorized, but I'm too tired to give it out right now. I'll give you the MTV news version. We Eternity Legion. We good guys. We travel from world to world, saving the world. Oh, and this is our first mission."

"First mission?" Blade looked surprised. "You don't handle yourselves like newbies."

"Well, it's not an entry-level job. Before this, I served a few years as the local Vampire Slayer."

"Ah. That explains the staking technique. Sort of like my gig over here."

Buffy nodded. "I think of them as the Good Ol' Days."

***

"We are inside Wormwood's mind."

It was chaotic, disturbing, and profoundly evil. Images and feelings flashed by, and only Phoebe's Jedi training saved her sanity.

"It's even worse than it looked from the outside," she whispered. "It wasn't his father. His race only has one parent, so it was his father and mother doing this to him."

"It's futile," Miranda agreed. "His soul has been tainted beyond repair. Each massacre and act of genocide has alienated him, until he -- It -- thinks it is the only real being in the universe, and everything else is something to be toyed with."

The images around them started swirling.

"I think It knows we are here."

"Then get us out!"

"Too late."

Snake-like tendrils appeared out of nowhere and surrounded them. Miranda started a spell -- and the tendrils rushed her, wrapping her hands and arms, gagging her mouth. The wizard was immobilized before she could save herself.

Other tendrils approached Phoebe more tentatively.

"What do I do?"

Miranda's words echoed in her mind. It thinks it is the only real being in the universe.

A lie. A psychopath's delusion. When people realize that others have feelings, hopes, and fears just like do, it's a lot harder to hurt them needlessly.

"I've got to show him."

Phoebe reached out and grabbed one of the tendrils. She forced a vision, and sent her towards Wormwood.

For the first time in millions of years, Wormwood received a direct message from another mind. Not worship from dark cults, or desperate death cries, but a true message, from someone who shouted "Here I am. I am real, too." Phoebe opened her mind to Wormwood.

She sensed pain and fear on the other side -- the creature had been severely hurt in the battle, but it was far from dead. And rage: it wanted to destroy and kill. But then it paused, and considered what Phoebe was showing it.

Betrayal. It had been betrayed. First by its parent, then by the power that had transformed it.

NO!

Wormwood had few choices. A near-eternity of inhumanity weighed upon its soul. It could continue as it was, or it could surrender its very existence.

Phoebe had a vision of a tired, tired child, letting go and sinking into darkness.

"Wait," she pleaded. "Maybe it doesn't have to end like this."

She felt a wave of gratitude, followed by one of resignation. It is the only way.

GOODBYE.

***

"Time to go, Mr. Data, Mr. Geordi."

"I think not, Captain," Geordi replied.

"Captain, the odds of success increase by 10% if Giordi and I remain at our stations."

"What is this, mutiny? I gave you specific orders."

"With all due respect sir, none of us is going to make it to a court-martial."

Picard could not help a wry grin. "So be it."

Wormwood filled the screen.

"Initiate self-destruct sequence."

"Captain, wait!"

Wormwood started trashing around. Pieces of it tore themselves loose, drifted away, breaking up into smaller pieces. The planetoid-sized creature was shaking itself apart.

Data reported, his eyes glued to the screen. "Captain, the Star Wormwood is initiating a chemical reaction inside its core. An explosive reaction. In 2.3 minutes, it will explode, with a protected force equivalent to a 3 gigaton thermonuclear reaction."

"No sense in dying heroically, then," Picard muttered. "Mr. Data?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Get us the hell away from that thing!"

"Complying. Oh, Captain, we have a priority one transmission from the surface."

"Play it."

"Quinn to Enterprise. We are about to be overrun.

"Enterprise"

"We're on the way, Quinn. You must hold!"

***

"Hold? Hold with what?" Quinn screamed into the comm badge.

One of the walls collapsed. Zombies poured through.

Hercules rushed forward, a big wooden table in his hands. He rushed the gap, pushing the horde back.

"They're on their way!" Quinn shouted. "Just a little longer!" He ran towards the fight, tackled a zombie, and smashed its head in with a rock. "No you don't!" he screamed at the corpse. He flung himself at two other Undead who had managed to slip past Hercules. Quinn punched them with hysterical strength. Xena's sword flashed past him, cutting down another creature. Walker leaped over his prone body and drop-kicked yet another zombie.

"Come on!" Quinn shouted. He'd finally snapped. "Bring it on!"

A beam of light half a mile wide came down from the sky. Where it touched the ground, earth and stone liquefied and turned into glass. The zombies were vaporized by the hundreds of thousands.

"Ships phasers on wide beam," Quinn whispered. His burst of hysterical energy was gone, and he tottered to his feet like an old man. The beam skirted the house with surgical precision, destroying everything within on meter of the walls. The zombies inside the perimeter were quickly dispatched.

Quinn staggered out of the house. The battlefield had been cleansed, turned into glassified earth and melted stone and metal.

"Oh, God, did you get Arnold before you shot up the zombies?" he blurted.

"We transported him just before we opened fire," Picard confirmed. "Mr. Data is tending to him even as we speak."

"And Wormwood?"

"Look up and to the north."

Quinn looked. For a moment, it seemed as if a second sun had flared up in the sky. Then, the glowing fireball broke apart into smaller pieces, raining down. It looked -- beautiful, like Fourth of July fireworks.

It was over.

***

Epilogue

The tropical island was somewhere in the Pacific. It had been chosen because it was totally untouched by the chaos. No humans lived there. No Undead had risen on its land. In short, it was the perfect place to rest, to celebrate, to contemplate the events of the past day.

Not everybody rested, of course. Giordi and his surviving engineers were working on the Enterprise. Dr. Bashir, Ezri and a team of medics were methodically finding and aiding the surviving human communities, providing medical help and supplies. All the zombies had collapsed when Wormwood exploded; that meant the risk of plague until all the corpses were buried or destroyed, and there were literally not enough living to bury the death. There were no nations left on Earth. The recovery process would take decades, at least.

But there would be time to do most of it tomorrow.

A feast had been prepared. The Eternity Legion, most of the Enterprise crew, Blade's survivors and Walker's contingent were all there, those fit enough to join in. Lydia and Lucian arrived shortly thereafter. People ate drank, mingled. Occasionally, some burst into tears, or bouts of laughter, for no apparent reason. Nobody remarked on it; some actually joined in the laugher or crying. They all understood. It was a time for celebration, but also for mourning.

Xander carried a tray of drinks over to the Scooby Gang. "All right, who ordered the virgin pina coladas?"

He sat down between Buffy and Willow. "Well, I'm kind of sorry I missed all the museum action, but if it was anything like the giant worms inside the Enterprise, I'm kinda not sorry."

"It was a rough one," Buffy agreed. "But the guys in Texas had the worst time of all." She gestured with her chin towards a quiet knot of agents and survivors.

"Yeah," Xander agreed. "Quinn is usually a lot more lively than this. Nerdy, but lively. He looks like he's been to Hell and back."

"He'll get over it," Buffy said. "We all will."

"They tried to recruit that Walker guy into the Legion, and he turned them down. Said he had too much work to do here."

"Yeah," Buffy said. "That's cool, too. Not everyone wants to belong to our bunch."

"You got me," somebody said behind her.

Blade smiled. "Mind if I join in?"

***

Not too far away, the Halliwell sisters were talking quietly.

"That was a close one," Prue commented. "Nothing like floating around in space, hoping your starship remembers to pick you up."

"It wasn't so bad," Piper replied.

"Maybe for you two," Phoebe interjected. "You didn't have to talk to Wormwood. It was… It was really sad, that's what it was." Piper gave her an affectionate hug.

"I wonder if we -- okay, you, Phoebe -- did you destroy Wormwood, or was it Buffy and her team, when they took down the necromantic circle?"

"A little of both, actually." Pug and Miranda walked in. "destroying the circle weakened Wormwood enough that the child trapped within was able to make a choice, probably for the first time since the darkness consumed him."

"So I guess we did good," Phoebe said. She knew the image of the boy letting go would haunt her for a long time. But maybe it wouldn't be a bad memory.

***

Walker stepped to the edge of the beach and stared into the darkness. He heard movement behind him. Alex.

"You okay?"

"Yes. No." Suddenly, he turned and hugged her fiercely. Alex could feel tears burning the back of her neck.

"Trivette," she said, and hugged him back. There was little else to say.

"He was my friend."

They held each other, sharing the grief only survivors can understand.

A year later, they would name their first child John Trivette Walker. He would inherit the Earth they would rebuild from the ashes.

***

Riker, his wounds healed, was chatting with Deanna and Worf. He saw Lucian, and his face became grim. "Excuse me a moment," he said, and walked towards the Worldwalker.

Lucian saw him approach, nodded at him in a friendly way.

"So, did the little experiment work?" Riker asked bitterly. "Did we pass the test?"

"This was no experiment," Lucian said. "This was for real. Lives were at stake -- your own, plus more lives than you could imagine." He paused, stared into the night. "You don't know how close we came to defeat."

"So why don't you tell me?" Riker said. His temper was deflating, though.

"This was a key battle in the war. Without a victory here, Mother's people would have lost, sometime in the unimaginable future. And all this would have come to an end."

"It did, for a lot of people. And one must wonder, how should what affects the universe billions of years from now concern us?"

"That's a fair question, I guess. One might wonder, what does anything matter? By Mother's time, you will know the answer?"

"What do you mean, I? I don't expect to be alive in a billion years."

"But you will be. That's part of what Transcendence means. All human beings -- all self-aware beings -- living or dead, will awaken and communicate. Mother likes you a great deal, you know, not the least because your desire to question everything.

"She is your daughter, as a matter of fact."

Riker choked on his drink. "What?"

"You will see, one day," Lucian said. "But trust me on this. What we do -- here, and in missions to come -- matters. Truly matters." He walked away.

Deanna rushed to his side.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"I'll tell you someday," Riker said wonderingly, staring after the Worldwalker. "In a billion years, give or take."

THE END Author Comments

I have more plans for this "series." Future Eternity Legion novelettes will have a smaller cast, as the Agents break up into teams, and each team is sent to different timelines to help save them and recruit new agents. Some of my planned stories (some already being written) include:

* The E-Files: When Aliens (from the Aliens movie series) crash on Earth, Mulder and Scully investigate -- and so does a crack team of Eternity agents, including the Terminator, Sarah Connor, Ripley Call, Dr. Bashir and Ezri Drax.

* Earth: Final War: Boone is brought back to life as an Eternity Agent. He and new Agents Mulder and Scully must work with the Resistance and stop the Taelons' plans, even as the Captain Picard and the Enterprise confront the Taelon mothership and the Dravidian fleet.

* Revenge of the Jedi: A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away -- Luke Skywalker surrendered to the Dark Side, and joined his father in the service of the Emperor. Young Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and other agents travel to this Empire-ruled universe and join forces with Princess Leia and the last survivors of the Rebellion. A possible sub-plot: Indiana Jones meets Han Solo.

* Thus Falls Babylon: The Agents visit Babylon 5. The Shadows are rising, and Sheridan has fallen.

* Forsaken Dragon: Pug, Hercules and Xena fix the Wheel of Time universe (I may not get to do this one, though, since it would require me to re-read the WoT books)…

* Dusk to Eternity: Buffy, Blade, the Scooby Gang and a few others arrive to a little Undead-ridden Mexican whorehouse -- even as Jack Crow (from J Carpenter's Vampires) starts to do a little slaying of his own… This one will probably be R rated because of the language.

* The Man Who Killed the World: As James Bond, the Avengers and Modesty Blaise try to save the planet circa 1969, the E-Agents drop in… This one may be a little too dated for this forum, though…

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