Disclaimers: There are lots, please be patient.
First, the mythos of BtVS, it's history, creatures, Slayers/Watchers/etc, plus all of the "historical" characters are the creation of Joss Wedon and belong to him, Mutant Enemy, the WB, Fox TV, and everyone else in the know universe except me.
The Third Imperium; it's history, astrography, politics, peoples, technologies etc, etc, etc, were created by Mark Miller et al; formerly of GDW, now belonging to Imperium Games.
Br. Gerard's first name and his order are borrowed from Walter Miller Jr.'s novel "A Canticle for Leibowitz", his last name borrowed from Joss again. (Note: I'm really bad at naming people; you'll find a lot of slightly twisted BtVS tie-ins and puns used as character names- if you can't stand them, throw only fresh fruits as it's hard to get the smell of rotten ones out of my hair and clothes.)
Several quotes from "Welcome to the Hellmouth/Harvest" have been lifted from AleXander's transcripts- they are as required in an origins story as the "Bond, James Bond" line is for a 007 film.
There is no intent to infringe anyone's copyrights. This project is undertaken for love, not money. I'm not stealing anything, just borrowing them for awhile- and I promise to put everything back where I found it when I'm done playing.
* * *
About the setting; try not to get hung up about what's happened between now and then, I'll explain anything critical in the text. For the hopelessly lost, e-mail me (and if necessary, I'll post a FAQ file).
Finally, (Yeah!) this IS a Buffy fic, old friends WILL turn up in time, and in some unusual ways and places.
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Part One A
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April 21, Anno Domini 5,632
Day 111-1111 Year of the Third Interstellar Imperium
Br. Gerrard paused just outside the exit door, savoring several deep breaths of fresh air. It was his first taste of the natural product - unfiltered, unrecycled, un-conditioned-to-death, in over five months. Five months that had formed, (hopefully) the final phase of the star-spanning search which had consumed the energies of both him and his fellows for the last twelve years.
He ignored the thump and whoosh of air-cabs arriving and departing at the roof-top pad behind him. Until more funds caught up with him, he would have to watch expenses very closely. Which meant, for starters, sticking to ground transport. He straightened his upper body, rebalancing the weight of the worn leather satchels in his hands and the computer case slung across his back, and strode firmly into the growing morning light to where he could board a wheeled bus into the main part of the city.
Several brisk strides brought him to where he could see past the nearest corner of the sprawling arrivals terminal, into a service plaza where a row of tawdry night-spots teed into the shuttle- port perimeter. The police activity in there caused him to look that way, and the nature of the activity made him divert from the direct path to the bus stop.
There was a marked city police 'raft grounded across the mouth of the alleyway, main power off, but the beacon lights still flashing. The two officers were simply standing around looking bored. A plainclothes detective was using the engine cowling of an unmarked grav vehicle parked near the fence as a desk, entering data into a battered laptop with two fingers. Completing the triangle, and closest to Gerrard, was a wheeled lab van, most likely directing the actions of the three oddly jointed robots that were combing the crime scene for trace evidence with the unhurried precision of machines. It was the victim, not the trappings of investigation that lured Gerrard close and impelled him to stand and watch for a while.
She had been young, and even pretty, in life. From her clothing and location he suspected she'd been a crewmember off one of the ships in orbit, looking for a night of fun before finding something else. The body lay crumpled on one side, the twin puncture marks over the external jugular quite prominent in the strobes from the robot's cameras, as was the waxen pallor and marked lack of blood on either her coveralls or the pavement.
Just as one of the uniformed officers started to move him along, Br. Gerrard shook his head and resumed the trek to the bus kiosk. His earlier feeling was confirmed. He'd indeed come to the right place.
* * *
"COMPILE COMPLETED. ZERO ERRORS.", the machine generated voice sounded unusually loud in the almost empty computer lab.
"Run: 'Lab Three'," Anne Winters said into the pick-up built into the workstation she was using in the battle with her computer science homework.
The display screen blipped once, then filled with columns of numeric output. Output that showed the same incorrect values as her last dozen attempts.
"Damn. It runs, but it runs *wrong*! What is this with this stupid thing anyway?", asking equally herself, the machine and the world in general. "Grrr. Arrrgh."; she snorted in disgust and frustration, slamming her pen into the pile of papers next to her notebook. "Display: Source Code: 'Lab Three'," Anne instructed the machine. She'd give it one more try, then pack it in. Two hours of no progress was enough for one day. There was always tomorrow, and then an entire weekend that could be sacrificed to this project.
Anne was so intent on scrolling through her balky program that she didn't notice the stranger until he sat heavily in the chair next to her. She reacted with a startled "Whup!"; pushing her chair away from the workstation and him, wheeling to face him about a meter away.
"C..Can I help you? Are you looking for someone?..." The stranger was a guy, man - about her mom's age or a little older and at first glance, dressed for bed. On second glance, the bathrobe and slippers resolved into some sort of kimono thingee and sandals. His face was heavily shadowed by a battered, broad- brimmed hat, but from what she could see he seemed about as un- nutso as any adult.
"I was looking for you, actually. You have been rather hard to find, I must say."
"I've been here in the lab all afternoon.", Anne objected, becoming confused.
"No, I didn't mean today. I and my colleges have been searching for you for nearly twelve years."
"Whaaaat? Twelve years? I'd've been a little kid back then, not even in school yet. What's this all about? I couldn't have done anything that long ago to have people coming after me." She could see more of the stranger's face now, and while he looked kindly enough, Anne decided that the non-nutso label seemed to be fraying a bit around the edges.
"It's not about anything you *have* done Ms. Winters; this is about what you must do *now*"; Gerrard felt the excitement at finding her at last boil over before he could stop himself. "It's about accepting your destiny, about taking on the role to which fate has ordained you . . . "
"Destiny? Fate?? Excuse me, but who are you and what are you talking about?" Anne was standing now, still facing him but prepared to bolt.
Br. Gerrard reined in his enthusiasm and changed to a more conciliatory tack. "I'm truly sorry that all this has had to land on you at once this way. Ideally, you should already have had many years of training and preparation before now, but there simply hasn't been time."
"Please, let me try to start over. I am Brother Gerrard, and contrary to my probable first impression, I'm a scholar, not some sort of maniac. You, Ms. Winters, are the Chosen One of your generation. I've been leading the search for you ever since my fellow researchers became aware of your existence twelve years ago. By late last year we had narrowed things down to seven possible candidates and I began traveling between the stars to confirm or discount each one, since I was assigned to be your Watcher as soon as you could be found. Time was short and becoming more critical as you advanced closer to activation."
"That plan has been overtaken by events," he continued, "because two months ago, when Sarabeth died, you were called to become the next Vampire Slayer . . . "
She'd heard his spiel with growing disbelief, then at the mention of 'vampire' Anne started backing away from the stranger, one hand held up to both point at, and ward off the man.
That's it. I'm convinced.. That you're totally CRACKERS. Watcher huh? I'll bet. You're probably one of those disgusting perverts who try to do nasty things with young girls. And the v-word, please. 'I vant to suck your blood..' Get a life, but not mine. And exactly how DID you get in here anyway?..."
"Ms. Winters, please calm down. I can assure you that I am not any sort of deviant, that I harbor no lustful intentions of any kind toward you. Nor am I a violent lunatic, or any other sort for that matter." Gerrard carefully ignored the topic of how he'd gained access to the school building.
He continued, seeing that the girl was beginning to relax a little from confronting him, and possibly open to listening again; "I really am basically a scholar. A seeker of knowledge, truth, and understanding. As for my thinking that you are the Slayer I've been looking for, well, the signs could be wrong. I could be mistaken . . . " Certain that he *was* right, Gerrard bet everything on one clinching proof. "It's not like you've been having the nightmares."
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