Infinite Regress 1e: Relative Distance: Part 1
by Anne Clements
Disclaimer: The "Angel" characters and situations belong to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, and Warner Brothers, and the "Babylon 5" characters and situations belong to J. Michael Straczynski and Warner Brothers, except for the Pauls, who are fanfic characters from the Virtual Sixth Season of Babylon 5 (http://www.connect.ab.ca/~dgolding/vs6/VS6.htm).
This story is written purely for private, nonprofit entertainment, with no intent to infringe on anybody's property rights.
Author's Notes: We are, obviously, somewhere near the end of the first half-season of "Angel" here.
The B5 part runs concurrently with IR1b (for non-IR-enabled B5 fans, mid-2264, right before the Telepath Crisis blows up). For the other IR stories, see http://members.aol.com/irwebsite/.
A sleek man spoke softly into his sleek communicator as he looked out across the sunset city.
"Is everything ready?"
"Yeah, boss. Another hour and the bitch'll never bother us again."
"Good. Call me when it's done, and I'll notify Mr. Hart."
* * *
On a cool Los Angeles evening near the turn of the 21st Century, in a timeline where many of our oldest nightmares do indeed stalk the night, a beautiful young Human maiden was humming softly to herself. Warm antique lights brought out reddish highlights in the woodwork and in her long, dark hair as she moved through the empty office, swaying gracefully to the music in her head. Every so often, as if drawn by an irresistible magnetism, she would dive into one of the shopping bags that stood on the desk and come up with another garment, with which she would dance around the room, delighting in the fabric's softness and bright color.
A vampire and a half-breed demon entered the stately old building, their desultory conversation trailing into silence as they drew closer and closer to the unsuspecting girl. They stopped outside the office door, their shadows looming against the frosted glass. Oblivious, she swirled around the inner rooms, holding a richly- patterned shirt against herself lovingly. The door opened, and the tall, slightly hunched figure of the centuries-old undead predator stalked into the room. His slighter companion closed the door carefully behind them.
The girl turned, her mouth opening in a quick-drawn gasp of outrage.
"Well it's about *time* you two showed up!" she cried. "Do I have something special to show *you*!"
The half-demon's face lit up -- figuratively speaking, since he was in Human mode.
"Don't get your hopes up, Doyle," the girl shot him down without even looking. "Anyway, after the last couple of jobs we had -- you know, the ones we actually got *paid* for? I had enough to pay the bills -- including my totally insignificant salary -- *and* enough left over to do a little...investing."
"You bought stock?" asked the vampire, his habitually solemn expression showing a little confusion but no surprise.
"Angel, get real -- here!" She tossed him the shirt. It was a soft silken thing with a stylish banded collar, in subtly-brocaded shades of deep green. "Now, I know you're not into the whole 'color' thing, but I thought with this you could sort of...ease your way into it. Well? Go ahead, try it on! It's a *shirt*, not a hand towel!"
"Cordelia, I..." he protested helplessly, looking at the rich cloth spilling out of his hand. He waved it around a bit, as if hoping it might fly away while he searched for words. "...this is an *investment*?" he ventured at last. "How do you figure that?"
"In our *image*, of course! People need to not just feel *safe* when you're on the job, but also like they're in good company, fashion- wise. Sort of a James Bond thing, only without the fancy gadgets and the tacky names. So, I invested in some work clothes for you. *And* for me," she added, a little sheepishly.
"These are all 'investments?" Doyle asked skeptically, peering in the nearest bag. Cordelia slapped his hand away.
"*Those* are mine," she snapped. "*This* is for work." She pulled out a generous handful of pastel spandex that the knowledgeable might possibly identify as a dress. "And maybe next time we'll have enough left over to start addressing *your*...um...deficiencies," she finished diplomatically.
"And just what 'deficiencies' might those be?" the slender, dark- haired young man (or reasonable facsimile) asked, cheerfully enough, in his lilting brogue. As Cordelia began to enumerate them, however, his jaunty grin turned to a frown, then to a grimace as he cringed, holding his head and moaning.
Cordelia stopped in mid-scathe, and ran to grab a cup of water and the Tylenol bottle as Angel eased their stricken colleague into a chair.
"Either he's having a vision or my bitch-o-meter just went *way* off-scale without me even noticing -- he's usually not that sensitive," the girl observed. She thought over what she'd said, then decided, "No, he's definitely having a vision."
Doyle confirmed this once the worst had passed -- this time the Powers That Be (or, as Cordy called them, the 'PTBs') had sent him an image of a woman, taller and more assertive-looking than most of Angel's rescuees and dressed in some kind of military-looking uniform, struggling valiantly but hopelessly against an assortment of demons and vampires.
"Could you tell where she was?" asked Angel anxiously.
"I think so," replied Doyle.
Not much later, in a seedy neighborhood of warehouses and grimy factory buildings, Doyle told Angel to pull over. They parked the black convertible under a sputtering light and made their way into a maze of alleys and receiving docks. Soon enough they heard the unmistakable sounds of a struggle, and came around a corner to find Doyle's vision already in progress.
Cordelia hung back, taking shelter behind a dumpster as the two males ran to join the fray. Angel had just enough time to notice that there was something oddly familiar about the way the woman moved, before he was distracted by a demon with a bicycle chain.
* * *
Captain Elizabeth Lochley shifted uncomfortably in the atmosphere shuttle's cramped seat, trying in vain to track the tiny font on her datapad. Outside her window, the sun set redly over the Pacific as the shuttle sped away from the Greater Los Angeles Metroplex.
The week she had just spent visiting her family had proven more harrowing than any given month on Babylon 5, the city-sized station in neutral space that had been her responsibility for the past two and a half years. Well, maybe not *any* month, but it was definitely up there. To take her mind off her 'vacation', she was going over some classified reports that a special task force had gathered on the growing unrest among Human telepaths, specifically between the authoritarian Psi Corps and various groups of militant renegades.
The reports had been summarized at a conference of government and Earthforce VIPs in Geneva, which was the official reason for her visit to Earth. At first Lochley had felt out of her depth there as a lowly Captain, but she had quickly realized that her experience with Byron Gordon's people two years ago, as well as various incidents since then, had given her a unique and valuable perspective on the telepath problem. She hadn't had a chance to go over the reports in detail until now, though, and she was hoping to get a good start on them before she made her connection with the ship that would take her...well...*home*.
The dispatch she was currently reading -- or trying to read -- told of a recent clandestine meeting between two men named Paul. One was Dr. Paul Frost, a particularly well-connected rogue telepath, and other was the man who had once been the leader of the disavowed and officially disbanded Earthgov organization 'Bureau 13'; the mysterious Mr. Paul Molyneux. Lochley herself had run afoul of both men several times in the past year and a half, and she was deeply disturbed by this evidence that they might be joining forces.
This headache wasn't helping, either, she realized. Maybe the flight attendant had some PainEze. She looked up, and the cabin seemed to spin around her. Dizzy and suddenly faint, she sank back into her seat...and fell forever.
When she came to herself, she was lying in an alley. It was night, but she could see city lights over the rooftops. She seemed to be in a complex of industrial buildings, and there was a half-open door leading into the nearest one, at the top of a flight of stairs. As she headed towards it a pale face peered out for a moment, then disappeared. The door slammed.
Puzzled, and still not sure how she had come to be here -- or even if she really *was* here and not hallucinating -- she made her way to the end of the alley. Before she had gone more than a few meters down the adjoining alley, however, she became aware that she was being followed -- surrounded, in fact. Threatening, shadowy figures drew closer, and she realized that she was not going to make it out into the open before they attacked.
she thought,
Putting her back to a brick wall, she hefted a handy length of scrap wood, as half a dozen unpreposessing specimens of what looked like at least two separate species came oozing out of the shadows. Two of them looked fairly human, but their brows extended thickly down over their eyes as if the bones in their faces were overgrown, and long fangs peeked out of their snarling mouths. The rest were clearly humanoid aliens, with hugely developed musculature and horned, distorted features.
Dire as the situation might seem, her diplomatic experience reminded her that she might, just possibly, be misinterpreting it.
"Excuse me," she began. "I seem to be lost -- could you direct me to the nearest comm unit?"
Two of the fanged humanoids looked at each other and grinned. One of the horned creatures snarled and leaped for her. She managed to deflect him, but found herself in the clutches of his littermate. Stomping hard on an oddly-shaped foot, she managed to wriggle out of the alien's grasp, and turned to crack yet another attacker across the head with her makeshift pike.
Lochley knew she was outnumbered and outweighed, but she was *not* about to give up. Just as she was going down for what she feared was the last time, two more dark figures came flying onto the battleground. The larger, clad in a sweeping black duster, pulled two of the thugs away from her and cracked their heads together, giving her time to send another one flying with a powerful kick. Soon the three of them were fighting like a team.
For a moment, after one of the horned aliens slammed the guy in the duster against a wall, Lochley thought she saw him somehow...*change* into one of the fanged creatures, but the next time she got a look at him he was Human again.
The smaller man wasn't doing as much damage as the other two, but he was definitely holding his own. At one point he thrust a splintered board into the chest of one of the fanged guys, and Lochley gaped in surprise as the creature burst into a cloud of dust and disappeared.
After that, the others unanimously decided to retreat, and in moments the alley was deserted -- well, almost. A young woman stepped out from behind a dumpster and ran to them.
"That was a nasty one! Is everybody okay?" the girl called, helping the slighter man to his feet.
"Yeah, I think so," said Lochley, and the tall man nodded. Eyeing his long coat, Lochley asked, "are you...a Ranger?"
"Excuse me?" said the man.
"He's Angel," the girl supplied. "And I'm Cordelia, and this is Doyle. We're Angel Investigations -- we help the hopeless. Which... it looks like you're not," she finished awkwardly.
Lochley looked at her suspiciously, provoking a nervous smile. The tall man was still hovering, watching her with a rather tentative combination of sympathy and curiosity. His forehead *was* rather broad, lowering over shadowed but surprisingly sensitive-looking eyes, and his hair was doing a sort of stand-up thing that a Centauri might have considered respectable, but all in all, he seemed quite Human. Maybe she'd imagined seeing anything else...
"Angel?" she repeated. "That's funny, you don't *look* Vorlon."
* * *
Doyle assured Cordelia that he was fine, reluctant as he was to lose the gentle touch of her hand on his arm. As usual, he hadn't acquitted himself as well as hero-guy over there, and he had to admit that even the lady they were supposed to be rescuing had done more damage than he had, but he'd gotten a few good licks in. And he hadn't even had to go demon, which was a very good thing since Cordelia had been watching.
He dismissed that thought and turned his attention to the cause of all the fuss. She looked to be in her middle thirties, maybe an inch or two taller than Cordelia with long auburn hair still mostly caught in a businesslike updo. Her cheekbones were wide and high, her mouth generous, her gaze level and direct. Doyle suspected that her slender, strong figure would verge on the spectacular in something more flattering than that uniform. Again, he had the distinct feeling that he had seen her -- and the uniform -- somewhere before.
"The odd thing about this is," she was saying, "I thought I'd seen just about every kind of alien in this part of the galaxy, but I didn't recognize *any* of those guys. But then..." she looked searchingly at Angel, who returned her gaze with serene complacency -- "oh, never mind."
"Aliens?" asked the vampire.
"*That's* a new one," observed Cordelia.
An idea bubbled to the surface of Doyle's mind. "Are you by any chance an actress?" he asked.
"An *actress?* Hardly!" The woman laughed -- a rich, throaty sound. "No, I'm just a soldier -- and a grateful one, believe me! Captain Elizabeth Lochley, Earthforce," she added, putting out a hand to be shaken by the bemused young man, "Currently in command of..."
"Babylon 5!" Doyle chimed in as the memory clicked into place, and suddenly he knew what he had to do.
"Do you know where you are?" he asked sharply, and she admitted that she did not. "You're in Los Angeles," he informed her. "Granted it's not one of the more *scenic* neighborhoods..."
"That makes sense," said the woman. "The shuttle was over the Metroplex when...whatever happened, happened."
"And do you know what *year* it is?" the young man pressed.
"2264," she replied unhesitatingly.
"Wrong! It's 1999. Now look, you may not believe this, but...well, for now let's just go on the assumption that there's been some sort of...accident and you've gone back in time, all right?"
"What?!?" squawked Cordelia.
"Doyle, are you sure this is the right way to handle this?" asked Angel, quick on the uptake as always.
The woman was nodding thoughtfully, though. "I never did get the whole story on those incidents in Sector 14, and I've certainly never heard of anything like this happening on *Earth*, but I suppose it's possible..." she looked up at Doyle sharply. "Of course, it's also possible that you're pulling my leg -- or just plain nuts! 1999, of all years? If you want me to *believe* that, you're going to have to show me some pretty convincing proof!"
"All right," agreed Doyle. "I think it's time we got out of here, anyway."
* * *
On the way back to the car, Doyle pulled Angel aside.
"I've got an idea," he said. "I've got this cousin who lives up near the Valley, and I think he can help us."
"He's a psychiatrist?"
"No, an actor. I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but Brendan Doyle was actually my *stepfather* -- he was from this big family in New York with connections in the old country, which is where he met my mum. At any rate, he had a cousin who's one of these guys who can't seem to figure out what he wants to be when he grows up -- you know the kind. Anyway, a few years back this guy decides he wants to be an actor, and what do you know, practically the minute he sets foot in L.A. he gets snapped up by this sci-fi TV show that ends up bein' a big hit with the trekkies and suchlike. And it just so happens that one of the *other* characters in the show was a certain lady Captain name of..."
"Elizabeth Lochley," chimed in Angel.
"Bingo. So what I figure is, either this is the actress that played her, and she's been playin' a little too *hard*, if you know what I mean, or she's a fan who's, sort of, um..."
"Lost touch with reality?"
"Something like that. Either way, I'm sure Cousin Jerry can help us out, if anyone can!"
* * *
A couple of alleys over, a woman sat waiting in a dark car. This was the fourth night in a row that she'd been watching the place -- with no results.
She let her head fall back against the headrest, her shoulder-length golden hair curling softly around the porcelain-doll features that were the bane of her existence on the force. If it weren't for her dad, she sometimes wondered if she would have even *been* a cop. But her dad was a cop, like his father before him -- even her aunts and uncles, on both sides, were either in law enforcement or career military. She wondered what it would be like to grow up with normal people -- hell, she didn't even *know* any normal people! She smiled then, thinking of one of the more *ab*normal people of her acquaintance.
She wasn't sure what it was about Angel that intrigued her so. Maybe it was the combination of vulnerable naivete and deep-running, ageless wisdom, or that incredible sweetness contrasting with the tormented dark streak that he could never quite submerge...a buzzing sound came from her chest.
She pulled the phone out of her jacket and flipped it open, feeling, as always, a little like Captain Kirk.
"Lockley here," she said curtly.
"Kate, we've got movement," a voice advised her. "Two cars, heading north -- looks like one of them is following the other, and doesn't want to be seen. Could be our suspects."
"I'm on it," she said, starting the car.
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