Shaddyr's Eclectic Collection > Buffy Fanfiction > Alternity:The Warden
Alternity: The Warden
by WhiteJazzSummary: .The Scooby Gang is hurled into the future by a powerful amulet that leaves some Enterprise crewmembers stranded in Sunnydale. With one hundred and fifty years separating them, both groups must find a way back home and discover the secret of The Warden. A secret that will change the world of one Scooby forever.
Rating: PG-13 for Language and Gore
Disclaimer: Enterprise characters belong to Paramount. Buffy/Angel characters belong to Mutant Enemy.
Feedback: is appreciated!
A/N: Yes, this is a crossover between "Enterprise" and "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer." I want to blame Scott for the initial ideas and the Inner Circle for encouraging me
~*~*~
2001
If the officials of Sunnydale had any common sense, they would have installed streetlights in the numerous dark alleys that dissected the small Southern California community. As it was, they hadn't and probably wouldn't. Besides, anyone with an iota of common sense would avoid dark alleys after nightfall.
Unless you were being chased into one.
The aged man stumbled over his own tired feet as he tore down yet another alley. He knew he was lost, but all his fear-addled brain told him was to run. Run from the monster that was chasing him.
His navy blue robe fluttered like a bride's train around his ankles, threatening to send him tumbling. Robes weren't designed for running, after all. If he'd known his arrival would have been greeted in such a manner, he would have brought protection with him. As it was, he had no one and his energy source had been tapped out for the moment. He wasn't even positive the one he sought was in this town. But this is where he had been led. And time was running short.
The man turned another corner and skidded to a stop. A ten-foot brick wall blocked his path. He stood for a few moments, panting hard to regain his breath. A sharp chill etched up his spine. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.
"I know you're there," he said. He had a lilting British accent, softened by decades of being away from his homeland.
A deep, gravely chuckle seemed to envelop him from all sides. It was taunting, harsh and joyful all at once. The old man turned slowly to face his pursuer.
The demon stared back at the old man, its large eyes glowing purple in the dim light. Its skin was black as pitch and shiny as oil. Both arms ended in a three-prong claw that twitched in anticipation. Its mouth was a hole below the eyes, with neither lips nor tongue. Yet it was somehow able to speak.
"You have it," the demon grumbled, its voice reminiscent of metal scraping on metal. "Give it to me."
"No," the old man said automatically. Time was running out. He had to find the James boy.
The demon wailed a thick, grating yell of rage and launched itself at the old man. Its claws snapped at his robe. The man ducked and managed to dash past the hulking thing. But his old feet tangled and he fell hard to the pavement. The amulet bounced from the folds of his robe and landed in a small puddle.
"The Warden," the demon rasped.
Its purple eyes fixed on the necklace, ignoring the old man completely. It walked right across his back, its sheer weight snapping his spine in several sections. The old man wailed softly
"It's mine," it said, reaching down to pick it up.
A sneakered foot slammed into the demon's back in a hard high kick. It went flying forward, over the talisman and up against a dumpster. The creature shook its head, trying to right itself.
A shadow fell over him and a young voice taunted, "Don't you know it's not nice to steal?"
Buffy hurled herself at the demon, who dodged the kick moments before she connected with the dumpster. It rolled away, then came up in a crouch. Buffy stood, ready to fight it. But the creature was once again fixated on the necklace. The old man gave another soft cry and breathed no more. The demon's eyes never left the talisman and it did not see the body of the old man fade into nonexistence.
"The Warden," it rasped again.
"What, this?" Buffy asked, bending to pick up the talisman. It was the size of a silver dollar, made of solid gold. In the center was a gemstone the size of a dime. The colors of the gem seemed to flicker and swirl in the dark light. A thin ring of writing surrounded the gem.
The demon growled, its rage sending chills up Buffy's spine. Purple eyes flashed almost black. It charged, its claws slashing the air in front of it. Buffy ducked its charge, spinning around with a backward kick. The instant her foot touched the demon, she felt a surge of electricity from the talisman. It traveled instantaneously from her hand, through her body and into the demon.
It shrieked and howled, the sound of a thousand machines being twisted into scrap. She stepped away and the demon slowly melted into a large puddle of black goo. It bubbled like hot tar, its scent nauseating in its strength.
"Okay," Buffy muttered. "That' so gross."
~*~*~
2152
The ship drifted dead in space, kept centered in the view screen by Enterprise's sensors. It looked like a souped-up boxcar with a small propulsion system thrown on for decoration. It certainly couldn't travel very fast.
"Still no response to hails," Hoshi reported.
"Life signs?" Captain Archer asked pensively. He perched on the very edge of the command chair with his eyes fixed on the screen.
At her station, T'Pol peered into her viewer. "Inconclusive," she finally said.
Archer's intense gaze swung toward T'Pol. "What does that mean exactly?"
"I am uncertain, Captain," T'Pol said. "There is an unusual form of radiation coming from inside their ship. It is making it impossible for sensors to fully determine if there are life signs aboard."
"It looks like a boomer ship," Mayweather spoke up, his eyes also fixed on the listing ship. "But a very old one. It's been out here a long time."
"Can you find a name or registry?" Archer asked.
"Not yet, sir," Lt. Reed reported from his console. "There doesn't appear to be any hull damage. No signs of weapons fire or collision damage."
"Nothin's runnin', either," Tucker said. "Except life support, and that looks like it's at minimal levels."
T'Pol's view beeped softly. She spun in her chair and gazed into it. Her left eyebrow twitched once, and then she looked up. "There does appear to be one life sign, Captain. Human and very faint."
Archer shifted on the seat, almost slipping off the soft leather. He found his bridge crew gazing at him, waiting for a decision. After a moment's deliberation, he stood up.
"Mr. Reed, comm Dr. Phlox and both of you meet me in the Launch Bay," Archer said. "We're going over there."
~*~*~
Life support was functioning on the boomer ship, so there was no need for the EV suits. But the temperature was unusually low. Archer watched his breath puff out in front of him in small clouds of vapor. Soft blue lights lined the bottom edges of the corridor, providing a bit more illumination than their flashlights.
Archer led his team down the long corridor toward what should be the bridge. Phlox followed close behind, his medical tricorder activated and recording. Reed brought up the rear, the only person wearing a weapon. If the crew was dead, there were no bodies so far.
The corridor ended with a large door. Archer pushed a button and it slid open. Beyond it was a small rectangular room, less than half the size of his own bridge. It was very dark, pulling in a little light from the stars and their own flashlights. A navigator's console and communication station sat in the center of the room. Along the walls were various other stations. One long window lined the front of the room, instead of a view screen of any kind. A recessed seat, what could only be the captain's chair, was situated in the wall opposite the window. All of the consoles were dead, powerless.
And there were no people.
Archer walked over to the captain's seat. A brass plaque was mounted above it with the simple inscription SS WARDEN, 2043.
"Pre-warp," Archer said.
"How long do you think it's been drifting?" Reed asked, wandering over to what was probably the weapons console. A very tiny one.
Archer wiped his finger over the nearby surface. No dust. "Not very long," he replied, remembering the blue track lighting "There's still some power left."
"Captain?" Phlox asked. He stood in the middle of the room, gazing down at his tricorder.
"What is it?" Archer asked.
"I believe I have isolated the life sign, sir," Phlox replied. He pointed to the captain's chair. "Behind that bulkhead."
"Behind the bulkhead?" Archer repeated.
"Yes," Phlox said. "Perhaps a bit below, also."
Reed walked over and knelt down by the chair. He and Archer felt along the edges of the chair. It seemed to be one large piece of metal. There was a seam there. Archer dug his fingers under it and felt something give.
"On three," he told Reed.
Both men wrapped their arms around the chair, ready to give a hard tug.
"One," Archer said. "Two.three."
They pulled. The square seat came out of its space with a screech of metal against metal. Both men fell flat on their behinds, quickly pulling their feet away before the chair could come down and crush them. Phlox touched a small depression in the console left of where the chair had been. A latch popped.
"I believe that may have saved some effort," Phlox said.
As Reed and Archer scrambled to their feet, Phlox peered into the space created by the removal of the chair. A steel ladder led down into darkness.
"Curious," Reed remarked.
Archer shined his flashlight down the hole. It hit a smooth floor less than six feet down. But whatever was down there seemed to stretch out in all directions. They got a whiff of stale air, sweat and excrement.
"Looks like some sort of storage container," Archer said. "You think it could be smugglers?"
"It's possible," Reed said. "Let's see if we can't find that life sign. Shine the light for me, sir."
Archer positioned his flashlight to illuminate as much of the compartment as he could. Reed un-holstered his phase pistol and carefully descended the ladder. When he reached the bottom, Archer dropped the flashlight down to him and followed him down.
The compartment wasn't as big as he'd assumed. The walls and floor were made of a slick material that reflected the light and created the illusion of size. But if it was a smuggler's storage, no one was using it now. Phlox joined them, wrinkling his nose. The smells were even stronger.
"Over there," Reed said. His flashlight beam cut through the darkness to the port side of the ship. A blue-robed figure lay face-down in a corner of the room.
The three walked over, Phlox immediately scanning him.
"He's dead," Phlox reported. "His back was broken in several places. But very recently, he hasn't been dead more than a couple of hours."
A low moan startled all three men. They turned in unison, shining their lights toward the farthest corner from their position. A man was huddled into the corner, his back to them. Reed crossed the distance first, Phlox and Archer close behind. He carefully touched the man's shoulder, turning him toward them.
He was very thin, probably in his late forties. He had dark blonde hair that needed a trim and a wash, and a week-old beard. His gray jumpsuit was rumpled. There was an empty water container near his head, but no other food. There were no restraints to prove he had been a prisoner.
Phlox knelt next to the man, scanning him. "He's malnourished and dehydrated, and he's probably in shock." He pointed to a mark on his neck, two small puncture wounds covered in dried blood. "There's also a large amount of blood loss. I need to get him to Sickbay as quickly as possible, Captain." He took a hypospray from his medical bag and depressed it to the stranger's neck. "This should stabilize him for now."
Archer flipped open his communicator. "Archer to Enterprise."
"Go ahead," T'Pol acknowledged.
"Set us up to dock with this ship," he said. "We have a wounded man who needs medical attention. And have Commander Tucker prepare an Engineering team. If we can get some power to these systems, maybe we can find out what the hell happened to the rest of the crew."
"Understood, sir," she replied. "Enterprise out."
As Archer put his communicator away, he heard Reed mutter, "What the hell?"
"What is it, Malcolm?" Archer asked.
Reed knelt down where he stood and ran his finger along the floor. "Looks like ash, sir."
"Ash?" Archer echoed.
"Yes, sir," Reed said. "Just seemed an odd thing to find."
"Add it to the list," Archer said. "Give me a hand. We need to get this man out of here."
Together, they lifted the man up, amazed at how light he was. As the trio moved him toward the ladder, Archer noticed a glint of gold off the man's chest. A medallion hung around his neck. He made a mental note to look at it more closely later. Right now, they had to get him to Enterprise.
~*~*~
2001
"You say it called this 'The Warden'?" Giles asked. He turned it over in his hand as he leaned against the front counter of the Magic Box.
Buffy nodded, then realized Giles wasn't looking at her. She stood up from the small, round table and wandered over to him.
"Yes, the Warden," Buffy repeated. "Then he melted. We aren't forgetting the stinky melting?"
"Yes, of course," Giles said absently.
Buffy sighed. She sent a beseeching look back to the table where Willow and Xander shuffled through a stack of old books. They were already elbow deep in researching and just shrugged at her. At the front of the store, Anya was absorbed in helping a potential customer chose the right crystal necklace for her lover.
"And this other fellow just disappeared," Giles said in his familiar, faraway thinking voice.
"Yep," Buffy replied, tired of repeating herself. "Just poof, and he's gone. Well, not really poof. More like 'blink and you'll miss him' poof. But he looked official, like a priest or something."
"Do you have a sketch?" Willow asked, piping into the conversation.
"Of the priest guy?" Buffy asked blankly, turning to her friend.
"Of the demon," Willow said. "It would help with the whole research thing."
"Oh," Buffy said. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She unfolded it and handed it over to Willow. It was a fairly decent sketch, but Buffy was no artist.
"Big scary guy," Xander said, looking at the drawing.
"Who melted," Buffy added.
"You're really stuck on the whole melting thing, aren't you?" Xander commented.
Buffy smiled ruefully. "Usually things just splatter to dust," she said. "Oozing into a smelly puddle is something nice and new."
The bell above the front door dinged as the lone customer left. Anya huffed loudly. The phone on the counter rang and she bolted to answer it.
Giles appeared by the research table, reaching for one of the books. He found a leather-bound tome and pulled it from the stack. Placing the Warden gently on the table, Giles flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for.
"The Warden," Giles read, his finger following the lines of ancient text. "Believed a myth in Medieval Europe, the Warden was the personal talisman of Arantaf. Arantaf was expelled from Prussia by its king in 1121. The talisman was believed a source of great power, but after Arantaf's death in 1149, it was never found." Giles scanned the rest of the entry. "There's nothing else."
"Geez," Buffy said. "These guys cryptic much?"
"They specialize in it," Xander said.
"So we look for anything else on Arantaf," Willow said.
"Precisely," Giles said. "The name sounds a bit familiar."
Anya wandered dejectedly over to the small group. "Tara called. Dawn got a surprise half-day, so she's picking her up."
"I used to love surprise half-days," Buffy said. "Made going to school more fun."
"Here, honey," Xander said, pushing a book over to Anya. "Help us read."
"About what?" Anya asked. She tried to read over Giles's shoulder as he walked away, still engrossed in his book.
"Arantaf and demons that turn into black ooze," Buffy said.
"And again with the ooze," Xander said.
~*~*~
2152
Captain Archer stood off to one side of Sick Bay, watching silently as Dr. Phlox went about examining the rescued boomer. The man's soiled clothes had been removed and sealed in protective pouches, and he had been dressed in a simple cloth gown. The flash of gold Archer had spotted earlier had turned out to be a medallion on a gold chain. Phlox had placed it on a nearby table for one of the ship's historians to look at. It was obviously old, and likely an Earth artifact of some sort.
The man was human, that much was certain. Beyond that, Phlox still had no answers.
<"Lt. Reed to Captain Archer.">
Archer walked over to the wall comm. "Go ahead."
<"Sir, we've checked the freighter from bow to stern. No sign of other crew members, although there are still personal items in the quarters. All the food in the galley that was left out is spoiled. Wherever they went, they didn't take anything with them.">
"How are you doing with power?"
<"Commander Tucker's still working on it, sir.">
"Keep me informed."
<"Of course, sir. Reed out.">
Archer cut off the link and almost leaned his forehead against the bulkhead. But that wouldn't look very professional. So he compromised with a soft sigh.
"Captain?" Phlox called.
Archer turned and walked over to the bed the crewman lay on. "What did you find?" he asked.
"Most unusual, Captain," Phlox said. He brought up several scans on the monitors above the bed. "He's human, but he's been exposed to some sort of radiation."
"Radiation?" Archer echoed. "On his ship?"
"Quite possibly," Phlox said. "It is almost impossible to trace and has actually dissipated a bit since I began my examination. It doesn't appear to be harmful, though."
"What about that wound?" Archer asked. He glanced down at the crewman's neck, then looked away. Phlox had attached his Osmotic Eel to help close the wounds.
"Most unusual," Phlox said. His voice was higher pitched than normal, almost excited about his discoveries. "They appear to be bite marks, however I found no saliva in or around the wound to support that theory. But this man was exsanguinated."
"His blood was drained?" Archer asked.
"Yes, Captain," Phlox said. "He was drained almost to the point of death. Yet there was no sign of the blood anywhere in that compartment."
Archer glanced across Sickbay where the dead man's body lay under a sheet, waiting for his final rest. "Could that man have done it?" he asked.
Phlox shook his head. "I don't see how he could have," he replied. "I would surmise the bite wound occurred at the same time the other man died. The odd thing is that the wounded man was in a state of malnutrition and dehydration, whereas the other man was not. He had eaten recently. Our bite victim did not have the strength to break another man's back in such a way."
"So basically, you just don't know," Archer surmised.
"I'm sorry, Captain," Phlox said. "I wish I had more answers for you."
"Keep digging," Archer said. He walked over to the medallion and picked it up. The gold felt almost warm to the touch. "Any idea what this is?"
"Not yet," Phlox replied. "I asked Ensign Harris to come up and examine it. He may have some insights on its origin."
Archer put the medallion back on the table. "I'm going up to the bridge," he said. "As soon as you get something-"
"Of course, Captain," Phlox said.
~*~*~
The Warden's engine room was an engineer's dream come true.and worst nightmare. Commander Tucker was in heaven and hell as he bounced around the cramped room, trying to figure out the power system on the ancient pre-warp ship. The chance to take apart such an old engine was exciting, as well as frustrating. Most of the components on the impulse engines were different than anything Trip or his team was used to working with.
One false move and something would probably explode.
Basic life support and gravity was running off of engine power. Trip's job was to reestablish normal power functions so they could access ship's logs and find out what the hell happened to the crew.
As he hunched over the main engineering station, Trip felt a cold chill creep up his spine. It started in the middle of his back, tingling upwards like an icy finger. Trip looked up, glancing around the room. Ensign Fox was working across the room on a relay board. Lieutenant Hess had her head under an impulse conduit.
Eerie as it was, Trip felt like he was being watched. The emergency lights they had set up around the engine room threw shadows against the walls and into corners. Plenty of places for someone to hide.
But who would be hiding? There was no one alive on board but Enterprise crew. Three engineers and five security officers searching for more clues to the mystery.
Still, the feeling didn't go away.
Trip tried to shrug it off. He put his mind back on the job and soon, had forgotten about the chill.
~*~*~
Archer sat slumped in the chair of his Ready Room, staring at the far wall. He was lost in thought and didn't hear the door chime the first time. After a second, more insistent knock, Archer straightened up.
"Enter."
The door slid open and T'Pol stepped inside. She had a PADD in one hand.
"I found the records you requested," T'Pol said. She handed him the PADD as she began reporting the facts to him. "The SS Warden, commissioned in the year 2043. Embarked on a deep space voyage in December of that year with a crew of nineteen people. Commanded by Captain William James. Last transmission to Earth was March 13, 2044."
Archer scanned the PADD. Every word T'Pol had said was on there, with no other information. "That's it?" he asked.
"Yes, Captain," T'Pol said.
"This ship has been out here for a hundred years," Archer said. "And no one has heard from it in all this time."
"Hundreds of ships departed Earth during this decade," T'Pol said. "Not all have updated records, Captain."
"That's true," Archer said. "Thanks, T'Pol."
T'Pol nodded, then left the ready room. Archer studied the PADD, curious to find one other piece of information. A photograph of Captain James. He was lean, with angular cheekbones and striking blue eyes. His dirty blonde hair was clipped short. But something else in the picture captured Archer's attention. It was barely noticeable, but still there. A gold chain hung around the Captain's neck. And the very top of a gold disk was attached to the chain, the rest obscured from view.
"Family heirloom?" Archer asked the empty room.
His only answer was silence. And questions without answers.