From: Jakhel@aol.com
Subject: IR1e Part 1 resend
Date: Wed, 2 Feb 2000 22:20:31 EST

This got pretty chopped up the first time!

Infinite Regress 1e: Relative Distance (An Angel/Babylon 5 Crossover
Event).

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 -- see 
http://www.connect.ab.ca/~dgolding/vs6/VS6.htm).

Please bear in mind that this takes place in the Buffyverse, and any 
recognizable people are in fact their alternate versions -- no slurs 
or aspersions or speculations of any kind are intended upon any 
denizens of *this* timeline!

This story, like all the Infinite Regress stories, is written purely 
for private, nonprofit entertainment, with no intent to infringe on 
anybody's property rights.

We are, obviously, somewhere near the end of the first half-season of
"Angel" here.
The B5 part runs concurrently with IR1b -- or 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/)


********
Part 1.

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.

< Damn, > she thought, < and this was supposed to be my *vacation*. >

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.

-- To Be Continued -- 



From: Jakhel@aol.com
Subject: Infinite Regress 1e: Relative Distance Pt. 2 of 6
Date: Wed, 2 Feb 2000 22:26:06 EST

See part 1 for disclaimers.   After this week, see 
http://members.aol.com/irwebsite/ for the complete story.

********
Part 2.

As the black convertible sped through the glittering city, Elizabeth 
Lochley could no longer doubt that *something* very peculiar had 
happened to her.  The antique vehicles, the streetlights, the 
shopwindows and their contents -- even the skyline was straight out 
of an old 20th Century vid, and the wind whipping the rest of her 
hair loose gave her no respite from the literally in-her-face 
reality of it all.

Briefly she wondered if this were some kind of *virtual* reality -- 
maybe she'd gotten caught in another Soul Hunter's globe or some such
-- but no amount of 'willing' things to change made any difference, 
and she finally decided that whether it was a matter of virtual or 
objective time travel, the overall weirdness level was pretty much 
the same.  Riding through the Southern California night, with its 
myriad smells and intricately folded horizon, she had to admit that 
it was an improvement over *most* of the weird situations she had 
found herself in lately (not excluding the recent conference and the 
week with her family).

Somewhere in the nebulous borderland between the city proper and its 
fabled suburbs, they pulled into a convenience store for gas and a 
restroom stop.  Moments later, a dark sedan cruised past, turning 
into the fast-food place on the next lot.  It parked just in sight of
the adjoining gas pumps, and the passengers seized the opportunity to
continue their ongoing argument.

"Shut up, Joey!" said the driver, his vampire-fangs now retracted 
into his Human form.  "If it weren't for your f**kin' dyslexia, that 
busybody detective would be enjoyin' the hospitality of her Pilgrim 
ancestors in 1740's New England right now, but noooo....instead we 
got this warrior-bitch from the future to deal with!"

"I think she broke a rib," complained one of the demons (also 
re-disguised) in the back seat.

"I don't like it that she's hooked up with that goody-goody vamp and 
his pet half-breed," put in another.  "What if they *all* get 
together and figure it out?"

"That's why the boss wants us to pick up Ms. Star Trek toot sweet," 
the vampire explained, for the third or fourth time.  "...and if the 
others get dead, too, well...*I* haven't had dinner yet, and it's 
getting late..."

"I wouldn't mind a taste of that little twinkie they've got with 
them," a third demon said.

"Yeah, but I call the cream filling," joked the vampire, to general 
laughter.

Meanwhile, at the *next* fast-food place, the single occupant of a 
nondescript blue Taurus kept a sharp eye on both vehicles.

********
When Lochley emerged from the back of the store, her hair once more 
under control but with a rather wild-eyed look about her, she went 
straight to where Cordelia was leafing through a fashion magazine.

"NOW I believe it," she said shortly, without elaborating.

"Mmmm," mm'd Cordy sympathetically.  "Wow, do you believe THIS?" she 
added, pointing to a glossy photograph.

"No," deadpanned the Captain.

"All right, here's your *proof*!"  Doyle said, coming up to the 
women with a newspaper and pointing triumphantly to the date.  
Lochley's attention was drawn to an article farther down the page, 
however.

"The Y2K bug!  I remember that.  People were afraid that all their 
computers would fail because of the way their primitive date logic 
had been set up..."

"*Were* afraid?" said Doyle quickly.  "You mean they *didn't*?  I 
mean, *won't*?"  While he figured there was a 99% probability this 
lady was more or less completely 'round the twist, he wasn't about 
to discount that last percent.

"Of course not," the Captain replied dismissively.  "Of course, that 
was mainly because people had been working on the problem for 
months, even years in advance.  That's why it's still taught in 
elementary school history classes -- it was the first time Humans 
successfully worked together to prevent a global catastrophe.  It was
a sign of hope and optimism for the challenges ahead -- and God knows
they needed that," she ended soberly.

"I don't want to know!" said Doyle quickly.

"Me neither," agreed Cordelia.

When they got back to the car, they found that Angel had put up the 
top of the convertible, out of respect for the women's hairstyles.  
It also made it possible to have an actual conversation during the 
rest of the trip. 

Cordelia asked about this mysterious cousin of Doyle's that they were
going to see, which got him started reminiscing about the family 
reunions he had attended as a child.  Although Doyle's stepfather had
moved to Ireland when he married, he still made frequent business 
trips to the States, and on a few occasions he'd brought his new 
family over to visit.

"Sometimes the other kids would get a bit nasty, what with the accent
and me bein' born on the wrong side of the blanket, as they say..."

"Not in *this* century," commented Cordelia.  Beside her, Lochley 
covered a smile.

"But if Jerry was around," continued the young man, "he always put a 
stop to it right quick.  Oh, sure, he gave me my share of grief, but 
no *more* than my share, if you know what I mean."

"Sounds like a good guy," said Lochley.

"Oh, yeah," Doyle replied, "Jerry's the best.  You'll like him.  That
is, if you don't already...ah...never mind."

"And *why* are we going to see him, again -- aside from him being 
such a great guy?" Lochley asked, more curious than worried.

During the drive she had realized that there were two approaches she 
could take:  she could fret herself to flinders worrying about what 
had happened and what she could do about it -- wind herself up until 
she got as paranoid as Mr. Garibaldi, her predecessor's chief of 
Security (now married into one of the biggest corporations on Mars) 
-- or she could relax and go with it, and be ready to jump the second
she got an idea which direction to jump in.  Three years ago she 
would have chosen the first route automatically...but it had been a 
*long* three years.  Now she was just curious as to what these rather 
engaging young people were up to.

"Um...he has a...special expertise with this kind of situation," 
replied Doyle.

"Time travel?" asked Cordelia, disbelieving.

"Cordy, just trust us," said Angel, a rare note of irritation in his 
voice.

"'You know what you're doing'?" Cordy taunted, singsong.

"NO!" came the stereo response.

Cordelia turned to Lochley in high dudgeon, to find the older woman 
stifling a grin as she peered out the window at the passing mansions.

"Aren't you *worried* about all this?" the girl demanded.  "If I were
in your position, I'd be positively postal by now!"

Lochley smiled reassuringly at her.  "I'm sure you would, whatever 
that means -- any *normal* person would.  But after the things I've 
seen -- and been through -- since I took over Babylon 5, this is 
actually..." she laughed suddenly, as the car took a swooping curve 
-- "not all that bad of a vacation!"

"What IS this 'Babylon 5' you two keep talking about, anyway?" 
Cordelia asked, irritation sounding in *her* voice now.

"I think that's another topic that should wait until we get where 
we're going," suggested Angel, which pretty much killed the 
conversation dead.

Eventually they pulled up to a sprawling house off the curve of a 
ridge-running road, and trooped up to the front door.  After a few 
rings, it was opened by a tall, bald, solidly-built man in a polo 
shirt and loose slacks.

"Frankie!" the man cried in delight, spotting Doyle first.  "Little 
Cousin Frankie!  Man, I haven't seen you since you were a scrappy 
little brat at those family reunions upstate.  I heard you were in 
L.A., but..." then he caught sight of Lochley, standing in a state of
total shock in Angel's shadow.

"Tracy?" he said wonderingly.

"Garibaldi?" she echoed, her worldview turning inside out for the 
second time that evening.

"*What?!?*" they both chorused as each registered what the other had 
said.

"We need to talk," said Angel, taking command and steering everybody 
inside.

"'Frankie'?" murmured Cordelia snidely.

"Beats the hell out of 'Francis'," Doyle responded, but by then Cordy
had stepped into the actor's elegant, high-tech living room and was 
no longer listening.

********
"I'm not sure where to start with this," Doyle admitted.

"How about the beginning?" suggested Cordelia.  "That's always good."

"All right, then.  In the beginning..."

"The *Prometheus* picked a fight with the Minbari and all hell broke 
loose...sorry, couldn't resist," Jerry put in.

"And just how do you know that, if you're *not* Garibaldi?" Lochley 
demanded.

"Come off it, Trace, a joke's a joke, but this is getting silly," the
actor replied.  "Did I mention I have a party to go to tonight?"

"Will you two just STOP a minute?  I'm tryin' to do some exposition, 
here!"  Doyle was starting to sound distinctly frazzled.  Angel had 
perched on the back of the overstuffed chair Lochley was sitting in, 
and Cordelia was wandering around fingering things.

"Okay. Now, back around '93 or so, Cousin Jerry here got hired as an 
actor on a TV program about a space station in the 23rd Century, 
called 'Babylon 5'."  Lochley opened her mouth, but Doyle held up a 
warning finger and forged ahead.  "His character was a guy name of 
Michael Garibaldi, the station's Security Chief -- which is a bloody 
laugh, if you ask me.  Anyway, in the show's last season, after a 
whole bunch of science-fiction-y goings on -- wars and revolutions 
and the end of the world and whatnot -- the station ended up with a 
new Captain, one Elizabeth Lochley, played by a lady named Tracy....
ah..."

"Scoggins," supplied the actor.

"*Scoggins?*" Lochley burst out, appalled.  "What the hell kind of a 
name is *Scoggins*?"

"Yours," Jerry said easily.

"Oh, no!  I don't know what's going on here, but I do know who *I* 
am, and I am most certainly NOT some two-bit actress named 
*Scoggins*!"

"Two bits?  When did *you* get a raise?"

"WILL YOU TWO *SHUT UP*!!!" Doyle shouted.  <It's like teaching third
grade all over again> he thought disgustedly.

Lochley settled back, arms folded, glaring at the bald man.  Jerry's 
arms were folded too, but on his part it seemed to be more of an 
attempt to hold in a fit of the chuckles.

"That's better," said Doyle.  "Now, when we ran across you, Miss...
Captain, I figured there were three alternatives: the most likely, 
if you'll pardon my saying so, was that you were a fan of the show 
who'd gotten kind of, shall we say, carried away with the whole 
thing.  But since Jerry recognized you right off the bat, that leaves
us either with option B -- that you really *are* Ms. Scoggins, and 
somethin' has happened to your memory...*or*..."

"Maybe this Tracy person has a twin sister," put in Cordelia, "and
...I don't know, maybe she got hit on the head, or did some bad 
drugs..."

"Not a chance," spat Lochley.

"Bad suggestion," said Jerry simultaneously.

"Well, excuse me for trying to come up with some options!" the girl 
retorted.

"Could there *be* a sister?" asked Angel, trying to get back on 
track.

Jerry pursed his lips thoughtfully.  "I seriously doubt it," he 
answered at last. "But..."

"I AM Elizabeth Lochley!" the woman insisted. 

"Well, that *is* the third alternative," agreed Doyle.

"What?!?  Frankie, are you *nuts*?" 

"Probably, but let's face it, we -- that is, Angel and Cordy and I --
we've seen some pretty science-fiction-y things ourselves in the last
few months, and I for one am not about to rule *anything* out."

"Doyle's right," said Angel.  "You might not believe this, Mr...uh...
Doyle -- you know, that's going to get really confusing -- but...
well, let's just say that there are things that happen in this world 
that are far outside the scope of most people's imaginations."

"And you can definitely take *his* word on *that* one," added 
Cordelia.

"But, if this is the past -- my past," said Lochley thoughtfully, 
"then how could there be a vid -- I mean, a television show -- that 
actually *predicted* the future in so much detail?  And if there was,
how come nobody in *my* time has ever heard of it?"

Jerry sat forward eagerly. "You know, it's interesting you should say
that -- just the other day I was talking to this writer I know, 
and..."

Whatever he was about to say was lost in the sound of shattering 
glass as two man-sized and roughly man-shaped figures hurtled through
the living room window, closely followed by their three compatriots.

"Damn," said Angel

"It's the aliens!" cried Lochley.

"What the *hell*?" said Jerry.

"Basically, yeah," agreed Doyle.

Cordelia beaned a demon with a paperweight, and the fight was on.

-- To Be Continued -- 

From: Jakhel@aol.com
Subject: Infinite Regress 1e: Relative Distance Pt. 3 of 6
Date: Thu, 3 Feb 2000 18:50:30 EST

********
Part 3

An assortment of vampires, demons, and combative Humans was busily 
making a shambles of Jerry Doyle's living room.

"F**k this," said the actor.  He made his way through the 
choreography to a locked cabinet and tapped in a combination.  
Pulling out a businesslike pistol, he checked the magazine, flicked 
the safety, took careful aim, and winged a demon.  That got 
everybody's attention.

"Get...out...of...my...house!" he said grimly.

For a moment, it almost looked as though it might work.  Then the 
hostile vampire grinned toothily and went for him.  Jerry fired 
again, hitting the monster square in the chest, but the guy just 
staggered, shook his head, and kept coming.

"Aim for the demons!" cried Doyle, tackling the vampire before he 
could reach the stunned actor.  The vamp shrugged the slender 
Irishman off like a light rain, but by then Angel had broken free of 
his own attackers.  He slung the attacking vampire into a bookcase, 
then clobbered him a couple of times to ensure that he stayed down 
for a while.

Meanwhile, Lochley had knocked out one of the demons, and Doyle and 
Cordelia had ganged up on another, while the wounded one made his way
painfully toward the hole in the window.  Angel tossed the last one 
bodily through said hole, and the one Doyle and Cordy were pounding 
managed to struggle free and followed.  The fallen one woke up, and 
finding himself abandoned, scurried for the window as well.  Jerry 
sent a couple of shots after them, just to keep them moving.

Angel picked up the groggy vampire and sat him in a chair.  "You 
don't happen to have any chains lying around, do you?" he asked 
Jerry, who was swearing at the mess on his white carpet.

"Sure, I'll just pop down to the dungeon and grab 'em -- of course I 
don't have any *chains*!  Hang on, I do have some rope in the garage,
though."  

By the time the vampire had been securely tied up, he had settled 
down and gone back to his Human form.

"What the hell..." Jerry began when he noticed the change.

"Just let me handle this, okay?  I'll explain later," said Angel.  
He turned to the captive vampire.  "All right.  You've got two 
choices.  I can stake you right now, or you can tell me what I want 
to know and live a few more minutes."

"Hey, wait a minute..." Jerry cut in, moving toward them.

Doyle held him back.  "Why don't we all go in the kitchen for a while
and let Angel...talk to the guy, okay?"  Reluctantly, the two newbies
let themselves be led away.

*****
"*There* you are," muttered Kate as her headlights picked out the 
license plate of the car she had been following, before it lost her 
back at that strip mall.  She had been cruising this neighborhood for
what seemed like an eternity, but proved to be only about fifteen 
minutes by her car's clock.  

Plenty of time for the boys to get into trouble, she realized as a 
shot rang out, then two more in rapid succession.  She pulled the car
over and leaped out of it, her own weapon at the ready.  There was no
way she could have been ready for what came at her, though, as at 
least four...*creatures* swarmed over her in their flight from the 
house with the shattered picture window.

She was barely able to register their monstrous features -- were 
those *horns*? -- and didn't even have a chance to get off a shot 
before two of them had grabbed her and bundled her into the back of 
their car.  And that was just the *beginning* of the nightmare.

*****
When Angel joined the others in the kitchen, he had some good news 
and some bad news.  The good news, to Lochley at least, was that she 
wasn't nuts: the vampire was part of a group working for a man -- or 
something -- that he knew only as "Smith", and one of their 
assignments had been to perform a spell intended to send one of their
enemies back in time, as a less messy method of removal than murder.  
Unfortunately, one of the vampire's demonic colleagues had a little 
problem with dyslexia and the spell had backfired, bringing Lochley 
from the future instead.  

The bad news was that the vampire had steadfastly refused to divulge 
the details of the spell, or shed any light on how it could be 
reversed.  

"Spell?" said Lochley dubiously.

Angel, Doyle, and Cordelia looked at each other warily.

"I think you're going to have to tell them," Cordelia said, and the 
others reluctantly agreed.  When they went back into the living room,
the chair stood empty, with the ropes still draped loosely around it.

"Oh, no," said Jerry, horrified.  "You *didn't*!"

"I had to," replied Angel shortly.

"Oh, Christ.  Well, then...what did you do with the body?"

"There isn't one.  When you...destroy a vampire, the body 
disintegrates."  He made a sound hybridized from a laugh and a sigh. 
"Just one of the perks."

"Spells?  Vampires?  And...didn't you call those other guys 
'demons'?" said Lochley, looking suspiciously at Doyle.  "It's nice 
to know *I'm* not crazy, but I'm starting to wonder about you three!"

"Yeah," agreed the actor.  "This is getting a little nuts, Frankie --
first you're asking me to believe in time travel, and now you spring 
this...ghoulies and goblins bullshit on me..."

"Honestly, it's all true!" protested Cordelia.  "Most people never 
find out about this stuff because...well, mostly because they don't 
*want* to, and because people like Angel and Buffy -- that's Angel's 
ex-girlfriend, I sort of hung out with her and her group senior year 
in High School -- anyway, they try to protect people, so they don't 
*have* to find out about it, but...back in Sunnydale there's this 
Hellmouth and..."

"Look," said Angel.  "Let's keep it simple, okay?"

********
As Angel gave a condensed, straight-from-the-hip version of the 
speech about vampires, demons, witches, Hellmouths, et infernal 
cetera, he watched the reactions of the Captain and the actor 
carefully.  Frankly, he was relieved to be dealing with adults for a 
change, rather than hysterical teenagers.  Just another benefit of 
living and working in the big city, he decided.

The actor had worried him at first -- he'd seen just enough of the 
modern Hollywood scene to be wary of media people and their intense, 
yet somehow dissociated lifestyle.  But this guy was smart, knew how 
to prioritize, and had an open mind without being in the least 
gullible.  As for the woman, Angel's respect for her had been high 
and rising even before her story had been confirmed.

The guy kept shooting looks between him and Lochley -- undoubtedly 
integrating his knowledge of the character -- the *woman* -- beside 
him into his evaluation of the overall situation, and perhaps, to 
some extent, taking his cues from her reaction.  Angel came to a 
close, looking anxiously at his audience for a response.

"It's a good story, very...entertaining," said Jerry.  "But I still 
need some proof."

"Proof!" exclaimed Cordelia.  "Did you, like, somehow miss those 
guys?  Well, no, you *didn't*, did you?" she snipped.  "That demon 
blood is a *bitch* to get out of white carpet, you know."

The big man just stared at Angel.  "There's something more to this," 
he said.  "Something you're not telling me.  And I want to know what 
it is."

Lochley looked at Jerry with a small frown.

Angel looked a question at Doyle -- he *really* didn't want to have 
to do this.

Doyle looked pointedly at Cordelia.

Angel sighed, and turned back to Jerry.  "All right.  I'll give you 
proof.  This is going to be difficult, though, and perhaps dangerous.
I want everybody to stand back."

"*Way back," he added, as everybody fell back a step or two.

Picking up her own cue, Lochley got the sofa between herself and 
Angel, and the actor, putting his hands in his pockets in feigned 
nonchalance, joined her there.  Cordy sidled nearer the door, but 
Doyle kept his place near the bar.

Angel bowed his head, sinking deep within himself to find the Other. 
It was always a risk, lowering these barriers voluntarily -- he 
didn't do it often, and each time he did, he felt like he was sliding
toward the oblivion that had claimed the minds and personalities of 
other vampires that survived to any great age.  As with Humans, 
having a soul was one thing, but maintaining the willpower and 
determination to keep listening to it was quite another.  Treating 
with the *thing* that infested him was dangerous -- Angel never knew 
whether the dark dreams that came to him for days afterward were his 
own fears or the Other's repressed stirrings.  But now, it was 
necessary, if he was to keep this man's confidence after being 
indirectly responsible for trashing his house.    

There.  There it was, seething in his sluggish veins...the red of 
anger, the fires of insatiable hunger...he looked up, and saw them 
standing there.  Three of them, juicy and defenceless.  The 
demonspawn he'd save for later, but the others...

"Angel!"

The halfbreed was calling to him, pinning him with eyes in which 
fierce determination warred with fear.  Fear kindled in the young 
female's eyes, too, but also something else...*pity*?

"Angel -- snap out of it, man.  You've made your point!"

He looked again...Doyle.  It was Doyle.  And over there was Cordelia,
and...suddenly the room snapped back into focus.  The vampire sank 
down in an overstuffed chair and put his face in his hands.

"I *hate* doing that in public," he admitted.

The others slowly relaxed.  "Some kind of...symbiosis," murmured 
Lochley.

"Yeah, but that wasn't any Vendrizi," said Jerry.

"That's for *damn* sure," Lochley agreed.  Jerry cast her a sidelong 
look, as though his suspicions had been reawakened.  If so, he said 
nothing of it, for the moment.

"Well, it certainly wasn't any kind of makeup," he said instead.  "I 
*know* how long it takes to get that stuff on and off."  He sighed 
heavily.  "Man, I could use a drink...um..." he glanced at Lochley, 
then at Cordelia, then briefly at Angel before settling on Doyle.  
"Frankie?"

"Don't mind if I do," his young cousin replied quickly.  "Oh, by the 
way, I go by 'Doyle' these days."

"Not around *me* you don't."

Going through the motions of setting up two drinks seemed to calm the
Human as much as the alcohol.  "So you're a vampire," he mused.  "How
old *are* you, anyway -- if you don't mind my asking?"

"Two hundred and forty-six last September," Angel replied matter-of-
factly.

"Damn," Jerry muttered, "and he's *still* got all his hair."

"It's genetic," said the vampire apologetically.

"Yeah, yeah...so they say.  And you're a good guy *why*?" 

Angel heaved a sigh.  "I ate a witch, her family cursed me and I got 
my soul back," he answered with the short version.  "So...now I do my
grocery shopping at the butcher shop and the blood bank."

"And you go around helping people, to try and make up for when you 
didn't?" suggested Lochley.

"Pretty much."

"Make a helluva TV show," Jerry observed.

Angel winced, but Cordelia's eyes lit up.  "Wow, you know, I never 
thought of that!" she cried.  "Do you think..."

"NO!" said Angel, horrified, then more gently, "*please*, Cordelia, 
don't even think about it!"

"Fine, *be* that way, I just...oh, never mind."

"And these goons -- pardon me, *demons* -- want Captain Lochley for 
something, and of course *being* demons they couldn't just walk up to
the door like the other soulless predators in this town, they had to 
come crashing through *my* picture window..."

"We'll pay for the window," Angel said hastily.

"We WILL?" squeaked Cordelia.

Jerry waved dismissively.  "Don't worry about it.  I know a guy who 
can be out here tonight to board it up, and it'll be fixed by the 
weekend.  Truth is, I'm more worried about that stain...but what I'm 
*most* worried about is..."

"Nail polish remover," cut in Lochley, peering at the green splotch 
on the floor.

"What?"  

The four-part harmony was a nice touch.  Lochley shrugged.

"Rule of thumb -- acetone for green blood, vinegar for yellow, 
ammonia for blue.  Doesn't always work, but it's worth a try.  You 
were saying?"

"Uh...yeah..." the actor recaptured his train of thought.  "There's 
just *one* more thing I want to try before I jump on the Transylvania
Express bandwagon, here..."  he strode over to the telephone table, 
looked up a number, and punched it in.

As the phone rang, and rang, Lochley marveled yet again at the 
bizarre coincidence.  This guy was an *actor*?  He looked just like 
Garibaldi.  He sounded like Garibaldi, he even moved like Garibaldi 
-- and the suspicious look he was giving her right now, as the phone 
continued to ring, was *exactly* like Garibaldi.  Then someone picked
up on the other end.

"Tracy?  Yeah, this is Jerry -- Jerry Doyle.  Yeah, great, just 
great.  Just called to see how you were doing -- thought maybe we 
could get together some time...oh, yeah, I know, same here.  Right.  
Hey, listen, do you happen to remember that joke Jeff told about the 
Pak'ma'ra and the two hookers, when we were workin' on 'Objects at 
Rest'?  Yeah, right, that one.  I got some people here and I started 
to tell it, but I forgot the punchline....yeah, yeah, yeah, gimme a 
break, Trace!  Oh, yeah, that's right, I remember now.  Thanks.

"Hey, one more thing -- you don't happen to have a twin sister you 
never told us about, do you?"

The response to *that* made him rear back from the handset -- "Okay! 
okay! just jokin' around, no offense!  Geez, I was just *askin'*, you
don't have to...okay, sure, nice talking to you.  Take care now, 
bye!"

He hung up the phone, exhaled heavily, and gave Lochley a long, 
searching look.

"Well?" asked Doyle anxiously.

"It was her," said Jerry, sighing. "And there's no twin sister, so 
unless somebody can come up with a better explanation, I guess that 
means..." he sighed again, then a wondering smile crept onto his face
-- "welcome to the end of the Twentieth Century, Captain!"

"Thank you, Mr. Doyle," said Lochley, with no little relief.  She 
smiled at him, almost sympathetic -- apparently, her alter ego had 
the same instinctive response to clumsy pickup lines as *she* did.  
"So, aren't you going to tell us the joke about the Pak'ma'ra and the
two hookers?"

"What?  Oh, uh, no -- it's not really suitable for a lady..." he 
temporized.

"ExCUSE me?" she snapped, not sure whether she was more offended on 
her own account (she was a Captain, not a lady!) or Tracy's (an 
actress wasn't?).

"I meant *Cordelia*," Jerry shot back, reclaiming his equilibrium.  
"Besides, these guys wouldn't get it."

"I guess you had to be there," commented Angel.

-- To Be Continued --

From: Jakhel@aol.com
Subject: Infinite Regress 1e: Relative Distance Pt. 4 of 6
Date: Fri, 4 Feb 2000 19:19:53 EST

See part 1 for disclaimers.   After this week, see 
http://members.aol.com/irwebsite/ for the complete story.

********
Part 4

Since Jerry was going to have to blow off his party anyway, to wait 
for the guy to come board up the window, he invited them all to stay 
for a late dinner...

"...But I'm afraid all I've got in the fridge is a cheap 'O' 
positive," he quipped.

"That's all right, I had a big lunch," Angel tossed back without 
missing a beat. 

It turned out all Jerry really *did* have in the fridge was large 
amounts of not much that didn't require serious prepwork, so he 
ordered Chinese.  "You like Chinese, right?" he said to Lochley with 
a gleam in his eye that the Captain neither understood nor trusted.

While waiting for the delivery person (or someone like him), they 
finally got down to the brass tacks of the whole time-travel/TV show 
dilemna.

"Okay, the theory is," said Jerry, perching on the corner of the 
couch, "every time there's a decision point, whether it's a person 
making a decision or some other kind of random event, the universe 
actually splits in two -- or three, or whatever -- and the people in 
each timeline go merrily along their own way...there's all sorts of 
quantum physics stuff to explain it, that Captain Lochley here 
undoubtedly knows more about than I do..."  He grinned at the 
Captain, and was struck by a thought.  

"Oh, yeah, speaking of which, did anyone ever tell you about the 
time everybody except m...*Garibaldi* went out to Sector 14 to send 
Babylon 4 back in time?"  He snapped his fingers.  "Oops, that's 
right, that was supposed to be a deep dark secret, wasn't it?  Never 
mind, forget I said anything.

"Anyway, the idea is, you get these *branches*, and the timelines get
farther and farther apart -- or maybe sometimes they loop back 
together, who knows?  Maybe that's where deja vu comes from..."

"Sure, fine, that's all classic textbook stuff," cut in Lochley, in 
an attempt to rein in the actor's flow of verbiage, "but how does it 
account for a...*television* show??"

"Now just follow me on this one -- it's pretty far out there, but...
look, the Universe is supposed to be infinite, right?  I mean, what 
else *is* there?"

"Other universes?" suggested Cordelia.

"Well, yeah, sure, but in order for it to be the *universe*, all 
those other universes have to be kinda...packed into it, see?  All of
them, and more splitting off every nanosecond -- fortunately, space 
is infinite too, so it's not a problem.  But the point is, if it's 
*infinite*, that means *everything* that possibly can be, *is* -- 
it's just a matter of getting to it.  So conceivably, if somebody, 
say, writes a story, or pulls together a TV show that is internally 
consistent, then who's to say it doesn't exist somewhere...out there
...more or less?  Especially if a lot of people get to believing in 
it...but there you're getting off into serious la-la land, 
philosophically speaking."

The others were looking at him with varying degrees of 
incomprehension and disbelief.

"Yeah, yeah, it sounded pretty goofy to me, too -- as I recall I came
up with a couple pretty good slams on the guy that was going on about
it, too.  Damn shame I don't remember 'em now.  But anyway, between 
you three going on about magic and demons and whatnot, and Cap'n 
Lizzie here, all of a sudden it seems like as good an explanation as 
any."

Lochley blinked, taken aback as much by the speaker as by the 
concept.  Then she looked thoughtful.  "You know, you may just have 
something there," she admitted.  "In fact, there was some sort of 
incident just before I came to B5, back in '62...something about some
woman and..." she looked up at Jerry searchingly, then shook her 
head.  "What with all the *other* craziness going on, I never got 
around to checking it out, though."

"Trouble is," Doyle pointed out, "All this theorizing doesn't do us 
any actual *good*, in terms of getting the Captain home...or even 
finding out what those goons were really after."

They all sat and pondered that for a few minutes, until the food 
showed up.

*****
Cordelia poked around with her fork, looking for that last elusive 
snow pea.  Jerry had teased her for not using chopsticks -- just 
because the guy had a nice house and an actual resume, he seemed to 
think he had the right to get all jolly and...what was that word 
Giles the hypereducated geek-man had used...uncle-oid, anyway...at 
her.  And that was definitely what it was, too -- she could tell.  
Maybe it was because the "Captain" was closer to his own age -- 
*much* -- and still made a respectable showing on the hot scale, or 
maybe he was just a doofus, but Cordelia wasn't used to being treated
like a little kid by men.  Even if the guy *was* just a cheap Bruce 
Willis knockoff.

And now he was talking about himself again.  Great.  Her teeth 
snapped shut on the snow pea.

"Yeah, I used to be an investment banker before I took up acting," he
was saying.  "And a pilot before that.  And a few other things..."

"Oooh, a real playboy of the western world," crooned Cordelia with a 
brilliant, barbed smile.

The older man looked at her suspiciously, but she showed even more 
teeth and fluttered her mascara'd lashes over starlet-wide, 
chocolatey-brown eyes.

"Something like that," he laughed, gesturing expansively.  "It keeps 
me out of trouble, anyway."

"Didn't I hear you were thinking about running for Congress?" asked 
Doyle, obviously irked at her apparent dismissal of his childhood 
hero.  But honestly -- an actor *and* a politician?  Thinking of the 
others who had gone that route -- from Sonny Bono through her dad's 
hero, Ronald Reagan -- Cordelia barely repressed a shudder.  Doyle 
was looking like a puppy whose chewtoy had been taken away, though.  
She supposed she ought to at least *try* to be nice.

"My father thought about running for Congress once," she said 
politely.  "His lawyer talked him out of it, though -- I guess he 
figured Dad's business practices wouldn't stand the exposure.  Which 
*I* thought was ridiculous, since you hear about politicians getting 
caught doing *much* worse things than Daddy ever did.  Well, worse 
than *I* ever found out about, anyway."

Everybody was looking at her in *that* way, and Cordelia realized 
that she had once again talked herself into a very uncomfortable 
corner.  She laughed self-deprecatingly, and sighed when the 
conversation turned away from her.  Sometimes she longed to be 
sixteen again, and reigning in blissfully ignorant splendor as 
undisputed queen of Sunnydale High.  In her opinion, maturity was 
grossly overrated.

********
Lochley wandered over to a desk in the corner, where an antique (to 
her) computer was running what turned out to be a stock market 
analysis.  As she was watching, a familiar name scrolled onto the 
screen.  Intrigued, she bent to examine the data, making a note of 
the identifying code.

Suddenly that extremely disconcerting actor appeared at her elbow.

"So...when exactly did you, ah, drop in from?" he asked.

"What?  Oh, 2264.  I'm not sure when your...'show' ended..."

"*Our* show ended when Sheridan left the station, in late '62," he 
supplied, half his attention on the scrolling screen.  "But then 
there were the TV movies: 'River of Souls' and, uh..." he stopped, 
and turned to look at her.  "2264, huh?"  he turned back to the 
monitor thoughtfully, dropping whatever else he had been going to 
say.

< 'River of Souls'? > She thought.  Remembering streams of golden 
light circling through the station's corridors, she made an educated 
guess --

"That would have been about the Soul Hunters' stolen globe? The 
Ralga?"

"Got it in one," he beamed proudly.  "Hey," he went on, waving at the
computer with studied nonchalance, "you wouldn't happen to have any 
hot tips for me?"  He grinned, but was obviously at least half 
serious.

She stared him down.

"Oh, come on, it's not like you have to worry about messing with the 
timeline -- it's not even your timeline, remember?" he tried again.

She shook her head, torn between annoyance and laughter.  "It's not 
that.  It's just that I'm pretty confident you can fend for 
yourself," she said, indicating a piece of scratch paper with some 
fairly large numbers scribbled on it.  "You seem to know what you're 
doing, here."

"I should, after nine years...hey, where do you think Garibaldi's 
sudden, mysterious ability to run a business like Edgars Industries 
came from?  Or that conference call to the Board of Directors -- 
believe me, a LOT of those nine years went into that scene!"

"Too bad I missed it," she said wryly.

"That's right, you did, didn't you?" he said cheerfully. "You know, 
That's one of the really interesting things about this situation: me 
knowing stuff about B5, and about the Alliance, that even *you* 
don't."  He perched on the corner of the desk with that insufferably
smug look on his face.  "I think I like that."

"You *would*," Lochley groused, glaring at him.  His mouth quirked.  
Then hers did.  Before long they were both grinning at each other 
like idiots over the complete absurdity of the situation.

"Oh, hey, that reminds me, did Garibaldi ever tell you...no, of 
course, he wouldn't have -- what am I thinking?  But he's a guy who 
can't resist a challenge, you know what I mean?  And the fact of the 
matter is, under all that antagonistic crap, the whole 'crawling up 
each others' butt' thing..."  Lochley ducked her head, remembering 
*that* conversation all too well -- "underneath all that, the poor 
paranoid pathetic sonuvabitch actually found you *very* attractive."

Oh, for heaven's sake! Lochley rolled her eyes and started to move 
back toward the others.

"Hey, I mean it!  And I oughtta know, right?  Seriously, if he 
hadn't been so committed to Lise, there would definitely have been 
something goin' on, there."

"On *his* side, maybe," said Lochley, coming back to wander 
restlessly around the desk.  "But even if I were inclined to 
reciprocate -- which I'm not saying I would have been," she added 
emphatically, "but even if I *did*, I learned a long time ago not to 
get involved with people I had to work with."

"Yeah, especially your ex-husband's best friend," put in Jerry.

"That had *nothing* to do with it," she snapped.  "I just don't 
believe in allowing...primitive emotional hardwiring to interfere 
with the performance of one's duty."

Jerry sniggered.  Lochley glared.  "Sorry, just thinking about 
another show," he explained obliquely. 

********
The guy from the glass company showed up at last, and Angel and 
company took it as their cue to leave.  Jerry offered to put Lochley 
up -- "It's a four-bedroom house, for Chrissake..." but she declined,
accepting Cordelia's offer of *her* spare room.  It seemed...safer, 
somehow.  For her peace of mind, at least.  Lochley had to admit to 
herself that she found this 20th-Century version of Garibaldi even 
more unsettling than the original.

When they were dropped off at Cordelia's apartment, however, she 
began to wonder.  The place was nice enough, in a retro kind of way, 
but when Cordelia explained about her 'roommate'...

"A *ghost*?"

"Yeah, this was his room, but that's okay, he doesn't really sleep or
anything now, so he won't mind -- *Dennis!* Put that down! -- if you 
need extra blankets, they're in there," Cordelia said, indicating the
cedar chest whose lid had just raised and lowered itself with a thud.
She plopped herself on the bed.

"So.  Tell me what they're wearing in the 23rd Century!"

********
The next morning, Lochley figured out Cordelia's shower -- quaint 
controls, luxurious water pressure -- and with a little help from 
Dennis figured out her coffee pot as well.  She pulled open the 
living room curtains to let in the glorious Southern California 
sunshine, and started her morning workout.

As usual, the stretches, isometrics, and improvised weight routine 
gave her brain the calm it needed to process the events of the 
previous evening.  Unfortunately, even a good night's sleep and the 
light of day didn't bring her to any more constructive conclusions 
than she'd come to then.  Angel had promised that today they would 
research time-travel spells, to try to track down the one that had 
been used, and find or devise a counterspell.  Since Lochley had no 
clue what all that entailed, there wasn't much she could do to help 
-- but maybe she could take another approach.  She didn't much like 
the idea of going back to that warehouse district alone, though.

Cordelia, amusing as the girl was -- she'd have made a hell of a 
soldier if someone had brought her up right -- was *not* the type of 
companion she had in mind for that mission.  Angel was going to be 
researching, and wasn't exactly a day person anyway.  Which left 
Doyle...or his overly-friendly cousin.  Why the hell had they brought
him into it, anyway?  Oh, right -- because he could identify her.
Wonderful.

She suddenly realized what it was that bothered her about Jerry -- it
was the fact that he was so damn perky.  It was Garibaldi's 
perkiness, all right, but when Garibaldi was that perky it meant he 
had something on you, and this guy was like that *all the time*.  
Definitely unsettling.

Then there was the other thing he had mentioned, which she refused to
even dignify by contemplating.  What the hell did *he* know, anyway? 
He was only an actor!  If there *had* been anything to the ridiculous
notion that only prior commitment had kept Garibaldi from hitting on 
her, surely she would have picked up on it!

Besides, if the big jerk -- the *other* big jerk -- was so 
'committed' to Lise (regarding whom Elizabeth had her own opinions, 
which she kept strictly to herself on the basis of insufficient 
evidence and it being none of her damn business), then what the hell 
had he been doing rolling around on the bed with that redhead during 
the Day of the Dead?  Fortunately, before her treacherous 
subconscious could get very far enumerating the differences between a
live Captain and a dead GROPO, Cordelia came staggering into the 
light.

"Do you HAVE to do that?" the girl protested.  "It sounds like you're
killing something in here."

Lochley straightened from her fighting stance and laughed.  "You look
like you could use a cup of coffee," she said, breathing deeply but 
not hard.  

"You made coffee?  With *my* coffeemaker?  Wow, it took me a week to 
learn how to use that thing.  And aren't you used to...like...talking
to it or something?"

"It's part of being a soldier," Lochley assured her, sliding a 
steaming mug across the dining table.  "One of the first things you 
learn is how to make coffee anywhere, anytime, under any conditions. 
This is very good, by the way."

"Starbuck's," Cordelia shrugged.

"You're kidding.  *The* Starbuck's?"  She looked at her mug with new 
respect, savoring the aroma.  "Oh, that reminds me.  Do you have 
something to write on?"  Grabbing the indicated notepad, she printed 
out a short series of letters.

"Here.  Next time 'Angel Investigations' finds itself with some spare
credits, pick up as many shares as you can of that."

"We use 'dollars'.  What *is* that?" the girl asked, peering at the 
cryptic letters.

"It's a company -- the way this company is identified in the stock 
market.  This one is going to be the next...oh, what *was* the name 
of that early computer manufacturer..."

"Microsoft?"

"Whatever.  Just do it."

"No, that's Nike," Cordelia responded absently, thinking hard.  She 
looked up.  

"Thanks," she said.  "Nobody's ever given me an acronym before.  
Fortunately..."

She flashed that aggressively white smile -- either the coffee had 
started to kick in, or...

"I know *exactly* how to repay you!"

-- To Be Continued -- 

From: Jakhel@aol.com
Subject: Infinite Regress 1e: Relative Distance Pt. 5 of 6
Date: Sat, 5 Feb 2000 22:50:12 EST

See part 1 for disclaimers.   After this weekend, see 
http://members.aol.com/irwebsite/ for the complete story.

********
Part 5

Cordelia parked the car about three blocks from the office building 
-- it was the closest empty space without a parking meter.  Even this
close to the end of the year, the mid-morning temperature was mild 
enough that Lochley was comfortable in the forest green cowl-neck 
tunic she had borrowed from Cordelia.

It was perhaps the least flamboyant of the garments the girl had 
pressed upon her -- Cordy had muttered "Soccer Mom" under her breath,
which made no sense at all to Liz -- but it was comfortable.  It also
went with the chocolate-colored leggings, which not only fit (Lochley
hadn't even tried to get into the 19-year-old's jeans) but came close
to matching her service boots.  Her Earthforce uniform was rolled up 
and stashed in one of Cordelia's backpacks from high school.

With her hair held back by thin braids caught back from her temples, 
Lochley felt almost like a teenager herself as they bounced, 
chattering, across the last intersection.  A tall, expensively suited
figure peeled itself off the corner of the building and intercepted 
them.

"Good morning, ladies.  About time you dragged yourself out of bed, 
Captain.  Making up for all those early council meetings?  Nice 
outfit, by the way."

"Mr. Doyle," Lochley acknowledged, falling automatically into an 
'at-ease' stance.  "Don't you have an audition to go to, or 
something?"

"Nope.  I'm taking a bit of a break at the moment -- thanks for 
asking.  Just thought I'd come into town and see if I could be of any
assistance."

"Thanks, but we'll be fine -- we're *professionals*," Cordelia 
snipped.  Her attempt to discourage him failed miserably, however, as
he fell into step beside them.

"Well, it just so happens that I've picked up what's known in *your* 
business as a 'clue'."

"Like what?" Cordelia demanded, but the big man played coy.

"Let's wait on that 'til we can get the whole little 'Scooby Gang' 
together, shall we?" He smiled at her and held the door for the 
Captain.

< Omigod, > thought Cordelia, pausing in the doorway, < a middle-aged
Xander Harris.  Of course, > she consoled herself, admiring the hang 
of the actor's sand-colored silk jacket, < this one *does* know how 
to dress. >

Angel and Doyle had been up late ransacking the vampire's eclectic 
collection of reference materials, and were already at it again this 
morning. 

"We've found half a dozen time travel spells, but with the little we 
know, we can't narrow it down to one," Angel told them.

"Yeah, and the counterspell to each one requires a completely 
different setup.  Not to mention the fact that doing the *wrong* 
counterspell could have what you call your seriously unpredictable 
results," Doyle added.

"Wait a minute," Lochley protested.  "Are you trying to tell me that 
whenever something bizarre like this happens, you just look in one of
these books, and the answer is right there for you?"

"Well, yeah," replied Cordelia, bewildered by the Captain's 
disbelief.  "They're *spell* books, duh!"

"Oh, sure, that explains it," she conceded insincerely.  "I'm sorry, 
but of all the insane things I've heard in the past twenty-four 
hours, that has got to be the *most* implausible!"

"Yeah," mused Jerry, leafing through one of the books.  "I'd put it 
right up there with, say, 'hyperspace' on the implausibility scale."

"Hyperspace is a demonstrable phenomenon -- even some scientists in 
this benighted era speculated on the possibility..."

"...And those demons left a demonstrable stain on my carpet," 
retorted the actor.  "It sounds to me like what we need to do here is
get hold of one of those guys and have another little chat."

"Precisely," said Lochley, "I'm going back to the warehouse district 
to try and track them down..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Captain," interrupted Jerry.  "Slow down a second,
there. I may have something that can get us a few steps higher on the
bad guys' organizational chart."  He pulled out a cheap pen and 
tossed it to Angel.  "One of your demon buddies dropped that last 
night."

"Talent Connection?" Angel read the florid gold script off the 
fashionable teal plastic.  "Are you sure one of the demons dropped 
it?  It could have been one your...other guests..."

"Not a chance.  I've heard of these guys -- real flashy, posh office,
the whole nine yards, but nobody who is anybody will have anything to
do with them.  There have been some ugly rumors about innocent young 
things fresh from the country disappearing, but nobody's been able to
prove anything..."

"Hmmm.  I wonder if Kate knows anything about this..."  Angel reached
for the phone.

Lochley looked a question at Cordelia, who explained.  "She's this 
policewoman Angel has run across on a couple of cases -- a Detective 
L..." Cordelia's eyes widened as she stared at the Captain.

"Detective Lockley, please," Angel was saying.  His eyes flew to 
Elizabeth, but just then the person on the other line said something. 

"What?" the vampire almost snapped.  "Since when?  Where was she...
right, of course.  I understand.  But can you tell me if she was 
working on anything...yeah, I know, she's a real workaholic. Well, if
she turns up, ask her to give me a call, will you? Thanks."

He hung up the phone, turning to Doyle before anyone else could 
speak.

"Which spell was the one that used a blood bond between the two 
points in time?"

"The Cretan variation," the younger man replied.  "I'll get the 
sea-urchin spines."

"That's it!" cried Cordelia.  "Your friend Kate must be Lizzie's 
great, great, great, great...aunt, maybe?" she finished.

"Oh, come on, that's a helluva conclusion to jump to," Jerry 
protested.  "Just because people have the same last name doesn't mean
they're related!"

"I heard *that*," chimed in Doyle.  "How does Kate spell her last
name, anyway?"

"L-O-C-K-" Angel started.

"There you go -- the Captain's got an 'H'," said Jerry smugly, but 
Lochley shook her head.

"Actually, unlikely as it sounds, you may have something there," she 
said.  "family records show that there was a branch of the Lochleys 
that spelled their name with a 'K' -- we lost track of them at about 
this time, too."

"Then, if it was *Kate* who was supposed to go back in time..." said 
Cordy.

"She's probably investigating the guys who jumped us -- and followed 
us to your place.  The desk sergeant said she's been out of contact 
since last night -- he wouldn't give me any specifics, but it's not 
like her to not call in..."  Angel was looking worried.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Doyle.  

"That maybe they got tired of the fancy stuff and decided to take her
out the old-fashioned way?" suggested the vampire.

"That's what I was thinking," Doyle confirmed.

"I'd say it's time to pay a visit to the 'Talent Connection'," said 
Jerry.  "I can probably get us in to talk to whoever's in charge, and
we'll..."

"Wait a minute," Cordelia cut in.  "If this place is a sticky-trap 
for cute country bumpkins, why don't I go in...you know, try to 
infiltrate?  I know it's a stretch, but aren't real...I mean, *other*
actors always talking about 
'expanding their range'?  I can play vulnerable, honest."

The others declined to comment.

"So, you want to be an actress, huh?  Well, how about this.  You can 
be my niece, fresh in from...where are you from, again?"

"Sunnydale -- but I probably shouldn't be from there, it's pretty 
well known in the Spooky Community."

"We can work out the details.  Anyway, Frankie can be my lawyer..."

"Gee, thanks," said Doyle, unflattered.

"...and Angel can be my accountant, and *you* can be..." Jerry met 
Lochley's gaze and hastily revised what he had been planning to say. 
"Somebody else."

"All right," the Captain acknowledged.  "Now, where is this office?"

After they looked it up, Angel headed for the elevator.

"Where's he going?" asked Jerry.

"There's a network of tunnels running under the older parts of the 
city," Doyle explained as he ushered the rest of them out the door.  
"He'll meet us there."

"But if we're driving, won't we get there before him?" Lochley 
wondered.

"Not if we grab lunch along the way," Jerry replied.  "I know this 
great little place..."

Lunch was good, and quick, and only a few blocks from the building 
that was their target, so they walked the rest of the way.  Doyle and
Cordelia had gotten into some sort of a spat, so Lochley found 
herself walking with the actor.

For a few moments they strode in silence.  Lochley noticed that he 
seemed quieter than the night before, more thoughtful.  She could 
understand that -- they both had a lot to think about.  Finally he 
shook his head.

"That guy Angel's a piece of work, isn't he?"

Lochley smiled.  "Every time I look at him, I think of Dr. Franklin."

Jerry laughed aloud.  "No shit!  Stephen would be all over that guy.
Hey, how's he doin', anyway?"

"Real well.  In fact, I saw him just a little over a week ago, in 
Geneva.  Had a lovely dinner with him and his new lady friend -- 
she's a doctor at the medical complex..."

"What happened to whats-her-name...the Martian chick?"

"Tessa?" said Lochley, surprised -- then she remembered.  "Oh, you 
know...long-distance relationships..."

"Gotcha.  So...did Delenn have that baby all right?"

"Now *there's* a story..."

They walked along that way for a while, chatting idly about mutual 
friends on both sides of the timeline divide.  Lochley realized that 
he was deliberately avoiding controversial topics on either side, 
showing a level of sensitivity she had not expected from him.  By the
time they caught up with Cordelia, standing enthralled by a boutique 
window, the Captain was feeling almost comfortable with the guy.

As Lochley was trying to pry the younger woman away from the display,
the cousins (well, step-cousins) Doyle sauntered on down the 
sidewalk.

"Isn't that Cordelia something, though?" the younger Doyle was saying 
admiringly.

"Frankly, Frankie -- 'frankly Frankie', I like that -- frankly, 
Frankie, she makes me feel old."

"What, you don't think you could get a girl like that?  Of course you
could -- you're a famous actor, man.  Have some confidence in 
yourself!  On the other hand, I'd appreciate it if you didn't hit on 
Cordelia, specifically.  You might have noticed I've got a bit of a 
soft spot for her myself."

Jerry looked at him skeptically.

"Well, *soft* may not be the right word, exactly."

"I hope not, for her sake," the older man said.  "No, what makes me 
feel old is that I don't really *want* a girl like that."  

"What's not to want?" Doyle protested.  "Oh, sure, she can get a 
little snippy from time to time, but that just means she's got 
*spirit*...wait a minute."  He stopped short and slapped his 
forehead.  "What am I doing?  No, man, you don't want her at all!  
Just forget I said anything."

Jerry turned to him.  "Did you say something?"

"Not a thing."

The actor chuckled and walked on.  After a moment, he said.  "The 
Captain's something else, though.  I'll tell you, Tracy and I always 
got along real well, and the odd wistful thought might have crossed 
my mind from time to time, but when I looked up this morning and saw 
Cap'n Lizzie sashaying across the street in that outfit, looking like
some kind of a...damn, what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Dryad," the younger man supplied.  Jerry looked at him suspiciously.

"Are you *sure* we're not really related?"

"Positive."

"Doyle!"

Both heads whipped around, to see Liz and Cordelia hurrying toward 
them across a busy intersection about half a block back.  As they met
a flock of pedestrians going the other way, the younger woman was 
jostled by a slender, dark-haired gentleman with a preoccupied look on
his ruggedly handsome face.

"Excuse me," he muttered, too distracted to even look at the two 
women.  Cordelia spun to watch his retreating back, then turned to 
Lochley excitedly.

"*Omigod!*  Do you know who that *was*?  That was Gary Cole, from the
movie 'Office Space'!  He is *SO* hot!"

Lochley walked backwards for a few steps, evaluating.  "Hmph," she 
decided, turning back.  "I suppose I wouldn't kick him out of bed for
eating crackers."
 
She grinned at Cordelia -- associating with the younger woman was 
definitely bringing out a side of Lizzie Lochley that was seldom 
exercised in the life of a dedicated Earthforce officer.

"*Crackers?*" Cordy exclaimed, appalled.  "Eeeuuw!"

Lochley laughed aloud, but sobered quickly as they rejoined the 
others.  The bald man's gaze lingered on her for a moment, charting 
the curve of her smile, before he gathered himself and pointed across
the street.

"That's it, folks.  Now just stick with me and do your best to look 
like an entourage."


Angel folded his newspaper and joined the others as they trooped into
the lobby.

"What took you so long?" he asked.

"We stopped for lunch," said Jerry.

"Must be nice.  Shall we?"


The offices of 'Talent Connection' were indeed posh, decorated in the
same teal and gold color scheme of the telltale pen.  There was a 
posh teal-and-gold-clad receptionist as well, who zeroed in on Jerry 
immediately.  Meanwhile, the others looked around, surreptitiously 
checking out the few other people waiting on teal couches or bustling
importantly between the corridors and offices opening off of the 
reception area.

The actor introduced himself, and introduced Cordelia as his niece, 
new in town and looking for that first break.  The receptionist 
showed polite interest, but informed them that Ms. Blain was 
unavailable at the moment, and that she insisted on interviewing all 
applicants herself.

"To ensure the personal touch, you understand.  However, if you'd 
like to leave your number or e-mail address..."

"Look, I'd really like to get this settled today..." Jerry kept 
trying, but the receptionist was a professional, and held him off 
with minimal effort and unfailing politeness

Meanwhile, Lochley spotted a familiar face, crossing behind the 
woman's desk.  It looked like -- the man turned her way, and she was 
sure of it -- the face she'd seen in the doorway of the warehouse.  
This was definitely the place.  She focused on Jerry -- he was 
playing hard, but getting nowhere. 

Time to jump.

She stepped forward, well inside the recepionist's perfumed personal 
space.  Ignoring the nearly unbreathable atmosphere, she snapped at 
the woman.

"Do you know who I am?  I'm Tracy Scoggins, the award-winning 
actress.  And if you don't produce my cousin, Detective Kate Lockley,
within the next thirty seconds, I personally guarantee that neither 
you nor your precious Ms. Blain will *ever* work in this town again!"

-- To Be Concluded --


From: Jakhel@aol.com
Subject: Infinite Regress 1e: Relative Distance Pt. 6 of 6
Date: Sun, 6 Feb 2000 23:04:59 EST

********
Part 6.

"My cousin was investigating your organization when she disappeared,"
Captain Lochley continued, "and unless you produce her immediately, 
I'll have reporters from every tabloid in the country here so fast 
your head will spin."

Part of her -- Colonel Lochley's by-the-book daughter -- was aghast 
at what she was doing.  Pretending to be an actress, barging into a 
civilian office where she had nothing vaguely resembling 
jurisdiction, and using the same kind of high-handed, steamrolling 
tactics she had borne the brunt of so many times as CO of a space 
station that served as an intergalactic crossroads -- what was she 
*thinking*?  Well, as a matter of fact she was thinking she needed to
get 
*home*, and unorthodox as they might be, these tactics might just 
work.  And then there was that other part of her, which was 
enjoying the hell out of this.  She grinned viciously as the 
receptionist cringed back against her desk, unobtrusively pressing a 
button on her console.

Smelling blood in the water, Cordelia jumped in.  "Plus, Ms. Scoggins
is scheduled to appear on Oprah *and* Letterman this week," she 
added.  "So you people will really be in trouble!"

"What is going on here?"

The speaker was a statuesque blonde in an elegant business suit.   
Behind her stood a thin man of middle height in slate grey. 

"Ms. Blain, I presume?  Tracy Scoggins.  I have reason to believe 
you or your associates are holding my cousin, Detective Lockley..."

Involuntarily, the woman glanced back toward her office.  Angel and 
Doyle exchanged a look.

"Ms...Scoggins," the sleek man interrupted.  "Ms. Blain and I are 
most concerned by your...misapprehensions.  Why don't we step into 
the office?"

"And you would be...?" asked Lochley.  The man smiled and handed her 
his card, which she passed back to Angel.  John Q. Smith, junior 
partner, Wolfram & Hart Legal Services.  Angel raised an eyebrow and 
passed the pasteboard on to Doyle.

They all trooped back to Ms. Blain's office, where Jerry hung back, 
making sure the door stayed open a crack.  Blain moved behind her 
expansive acrylic desk, while Smith lingered by the floor-to-ceiling 
windows.

"Now," he said smoothly.  "Let's just make clear what's going on here
-- what's *really* going on..."

"What's *really* going on?" snapped the Captain.  "As in kidnapping 
innocent young people who are new to the big city and selling them as
slaves to your alien clients?"

"Demons," amended Angel.

"Whatever," she acknowledged.  "And when Detective Lockley got a 
little too close, you decided to get rid of her.  But it didn't work,
did it?  You got *me* instead, and I can assure you I can be every 
bit as dangerous as your famous LAPD!"

"I gather you are *not* Tracy Scoggins," observed Smith.

Lochley took a deep breath, but Angel jumped in before she could 
speak.

"No, she's not.  She's Captain Elizabeth Lochley, from more than two 
hundred and fifty years in the future.  We need Detective Lockley in 
order to cast the counter-spell and send her back.  Plus...she's a 
friend.  Detective Lockley, that is, although..."

"Assuming this makes any sense at all," the lawyer cut in,  "What 
makes you think we have her here?"

"She's here," Angel said flatly.  "Are you going take us to her, or 
do we find her ourselves?"

"Smith," said Ms. Blain.  "Do you know what these people are talking
about?" 

"Let me handle this, Elondra." the sleek man replied.  "Angel, isn't 
it? You know, you're making quite a name for yourself in...certain 
circles.  And regrettable as I find this mixup, and much as I would 
like to help you out, I'm afraid other interests preclude it.  If 
Detective Lockley were to leave here at this point, I'm very much a
fraid she would take with her an...unfortunate set of 
misapprehensions about our business and the very nature of some of 
our clients.  And, quite frankly, I find it quaintly optimistic of 
you all to assume that you will be allowed to leave here yourselves."

Jerry and Cordelia looked somewhat dismayed, but Angel just smiled.  
Lochley started pacing.

"I don't think you'd be able to keep us here, Mr. Smith," she said. 
 "And trying will buy you a lot more publicity than I think you want 
to deal with."

"We weren't kidding about the tabloids," chimed in Jerry.  "I know 
some pretty unscrupulous people in the business."

"And you are?" said Blain.

"Jerry Doyle.  I really *am* an actor," he clarified. "Also..." he 
looked at his cousin, "family."

"The police are going to be looking for Detective Lockley too, and 
we'd have no compunction at all about telling them where to look," 
added Doyle.

"And if we *do* hand over the Detective, she and her colleagues will 
be all over us," Smith pointed out.  

Angel whispered something in Lochley's ear.  She frowned, then nodded 
reluctantly.

"Apparently, there is a 'memory-erasing spell' that can be performed 
on the Detective, which will ensure that she remembers nothing of 
what happened to her -- and I'm assuming here that nothing too 
drastic *has* happened to her.  If she were to agree to this 
'spell'," Lochley went on, unable to hide her distaste for the 
unscientific word, "that would give you time to dismantle your
operation here and move on.  That's the deal, Smith.  Are you going 
to take it, or do we get to play rough?"

The attorney looked at them all for a long moment.  Then he moved to 
the desk and made a call.  

"Wow," muttered Cordelia.  "That was quick."

"That's why *she's* the Captain," said Jerry.

A few minutes later, there came a knock at the wall near the door.  
At a nod from Smith, Elondra went over and opened the hidden door, 
allowing two men in maintenance coveralls to propel a bound and 
gagged Detective Lockley into the office.  Angel moved quickly to her
 side, ripping off the gag and attacking her bonds.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously, "Did they hurt you?"

"No," the blonde woman shook her head, "no more than a few bruises.  
What..."  She looked up at Angel with fear and deep disorientation in
her eyes.  "What *were* those...things, Angel?  Did you see them?  
Do you know..."

He nodded ruefully, and Doyle and Cordelia exchanged looks.  "Yeah, 
but it's a long story," he replied. 

As he explained the situation, Liz watched Kate's big blue eyes get 
bigger and rounder as she struggled to wrap her brain around it.  She
also noticed that Angel managed to leave out the part about being a 
vampire himself, but under the circumstances she could hardly blame 
him.

"Wow," Kate said at last.  "That all sounds pretty crazy.  You know 
that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Angel replied.

"But these guys..." the blonde cop shook her head.  "They definitely 
weren't human...I mean, I don't go down easy -- you know that.  And 
the...the *horns*...they weren't some kind of a mask?"

"No, they were demons, all right," said Doyle.

"And they work for this guy?" she directed a piercing glare at Smith.
"I guess I was getting too close, huh?  So you...tried to send me 
back in Time?  Why not just shoot me, or beat the crap out of me?  
Why the fancy stuff?"

Smith spread his hands.  "My...associates and I run a clean 
organization.  No mess, no overt threats, just discreet efficiency."

"I wouldn't call getting the spell *backwards* all that efficient," 
cut in Captain Lochley.  Kate looked at her, really registering the 
auburn-haired woman for the first time.

"And you're my..." she hesitated, at a loss for the appropriate term.

"Great-great-nine-or-ten-more-greats niece.  Or something.  We 
think," said Lochley helpfully.

"There is definitely a blood tie, or the spell wouldn't have worked,"
Smith assured them.

"And both of you have to be together to do the counterspell, which we
should really be getting on with," put in Cordelia.  "Not that I'm 
trying to get rid of you or anything, Lizzie, but..." she glanced 
over at Smith and Elondra Blain, who glared back at her over her nail
file, "...I *really* think we should be leaving soon."

"Wait a minute," said Kate.  "You mean we're going to do this...
'counterspell' now?  Here?  And they're just going to *let* us?"
Now Kate's credulity sounded truly strained.

"Yes, we have to, and...well, yes, but there is one more...factor 
involved," Angel said, answering all three questions.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?"

Angel told her, and she *didn't* like it, not one little bit.  At 
first, she refused point-blank to undergo the memory-wipe spell, 
citing the fact that she could *not*, as a police officer, 
effectively erase evidence of crimes being committed, and 
potentially hundreds of innocent people being kidnapped and sold into
slavery -- or worse.

At that point, Captain Lochley stepped in.

"In principle, I absolutely agree with you..." she began, but Kate 
cut her off angrily.  

"...But I suppose 'principles' are a lot more flexible in the 23rd 
Century or whenever it is you're from?" she snapped, to be echoed by 
a soft "woops!" from Jerry's corner of the room.

Lochley's eyes blazed, Kate's narrowed, and Cordelia's widened as the
two older women flared at each other like twin suns.  ("Now *they're*
related," Doyle pointed out to his step-cousin, who nodded sagely.)

"My principles are those of an Earthforce officer," the Captain 
snapped.  "One who is personally responsible for the lives and 
well-being of a quarter of a million people -- many of whom are every
bit as alien as the creatures that attacked us.  Granted, most of 
them have better manners.  Principles are what we live by, Detective,
but putting those principles into practice requires *strategy*.  
Neither your principles nor mine will do us a damn bit of good if we 
get killed trying to fight our way out of here -- or if we get one of
these civilians killed."  She moved closer to the detective, lowering
her voice.

"Even if you forget the past twenty-four hours, you'll still have 
your notes on the case, and Angel and the others will be there to 
help..."

"But by the time I reconstruct what happened, they'll be long gone," 
Kate protested.

"Maybe, maybe not," Lochley replied.  "In any event, we will have put
a serious crimp in their operation -- perhaps permanently.  And..." 
she sighed.  "I *really* need to get home.  Not just for the 
station's sake, but there's a crisis coming..." she shook her head, 
then looked searchingly -- almost pleadingly -- at Jerry, who chewed 
on the inside of his lip in a distinctly non-reassuring gesture of 
commiseration.  "I need to be there," she finished quietly.

Kate looked down at her hands.  "I understand that.  But...having my 
memory erased...it's like being violated somehow."

Again, the Captain and the actor exchanged looks, but there was 
nothing Jerry could offer, here, either.  He'd played Garibaldi's 
anguish at Bester's mind-rape, but for him it had been only an act.

Angel stepped forward and clasped Kate's anxiously twisting hands in 
his own.

"I promise, I'll tell you everything," he said earnestly, "just as 
soon as it's safe.  I've been wanting to tell you for weeks, but," he
laughed softly,  "I was afraid you'd think I was crazy."

The detective smiled in spite of herself.  "No great loss," she said,
"I thought that anyway."  She looked into his eyes for a long moment.

"You promise?"

He nodded solemnly, not breaking eye contact.

"I promise."

Kate closed her eyes and drew a deep breath -- then looked at 
Lochley.  

"Captain, tell me something.  Why did you join...Earthforce, was it?"

Lochley was taken aback.  "Well, I...that is, my father was in 
Earthforce, and his father...our whole family has been career 
military or in law enforcement since...forever, as far as I know..."

Kate sighed.  "I was afraid of that," she said ruefully.  She took a 
deep breath.  "Okay.  What do I have to do?"

A few minutes later, Lochley came out of Elondra Blain's private 
bathroom in her Earthforce uniform, to find Angel and Doyle making a 
design on the gold carpet with some kind of purplish powder.  Blain 
had disappeared, and Smith was locking the door.  Cordelia came over 
and gave the Captain a light but firm hug.

"You take care of yourself out there in space, Cap'n Lizzie," she 
said, flashing all those teeth, " and *don't* forget to have *fun* 
while you're about it!"

"I won't!" the Captain laughed, "and, hey, tell Dennis thanks for 
helping with the coffeepot."

"I *knew* it," Cordy grinned.  She looked up at the large presence 
looming tentatively over her shoulder.  Smiling archly at the actor, 
she stepped back toward the others.  Jerry cleared his throat, and 
Lochley instinctively shifted into her at-ease stance, which made the
actor smile.

"When you see Garibaldi," he said,  "tell him I said to watch his 
back -- and quit smokin' those damn cigars.  They'll stunt his 
growth."

Lochley returned his grin, then, moved by an impulse she didn't even 
want to try to understand, she stepped forward, grabbed the back of 
his head, and kissed him, quickly, on the lips.  She stepped quickly 
into the center of the diagram, ignoring the bemused actor, and 
nodded to Angel.  With the wisdom that comes with great age, the 
vampire kept a straight face as he began the invocation.

As the other two chimed in, the vampire fed bits of unidentifiable 
material to a small brazier on the desk.  The light coming through 
the closed blinds seemed to dim, and the purple diagram on the gold 
carpet began to shine with its own, black-light glow.  Suddenly the 
glow coalesced around Kate -- Cordelia cried out in protest as it 
looked as though the wrong Lochley might be getting transported, but 
then the light streamed across to Elizabeth, wrapping both women in 
a violet cloud.

There was a brilliant purple flash, and when it faded the Captain was
gone and the Detective had crumpled onto the carpet.

Angel moved quickly to the fallen woman, pulling a small velvet bag 
out of his pocket.  "Doyle, help me with this -- I want to do it 
fast, while she's out," he said.

Before Doyle could join him, Smith knelt beside the vampire.  "Are 
you using the Nigellian Codex?  I'm familiar with that one -- I'll do
the responses, and make sure it's done right."  The smile he gave 
Angel held no trace of friendliness, and was returned in kind.

Not long after, they trooped  out of the offices of Talent 
Connection, oblivious to the stares of the waiting applicants (who 
were all subsequently turned away), with Kate's unconscious form 
cradled in Angel's strong arms.

********
Later that evening, Jerry made a phone call.

"Tracy?  Hey, this is Jerry again.  About yesterday -- it wasn't what
it sounded like, honest.  Look, it's a long story, and one I'd really
like to tell you -- I don't know what you're schedule's like, but 
I've got this dinner party to go to tomorrow night.  It's a local 
thing: I'm thinking of running for Congress next year, so I need to 
start networking...you know how these things go.  Anyway, I was 
thinking, if you went with me, we could stop somewhere for drinks 
afterward...oh.  Okay.  Sure.  Sure, I understand.  No problem.  
Another time, maybe..."

"Well, hell, it was worth a try," he muttered after he hung up.  His 
gaze fell on the greenish-brown splotch on the carpet.   Now where on
Earth was he going to get nail polish remover?

********
"What on Earth is that *stench*?" demanded Doyle as he flopped into a
chair.

"Nail polish remover," replied Cordelia, swabbing at her fingertips 
with a pungent cotton swab.  "Hey, you think your cousin got that 
stain out of his carpet?"

"Hell, he probably bought himself a new one," the young man replied, 
picking up a tattered magazine.

"I thought 'Cousin Jerry' was your hero," the girl taunted.

"Oh, he's a nice enough guy -- you didn't seem to like him much, 
though."

"He's not all that bad, once you get to know him.  He said he could 
help me with my career, you know.   And the...you know..." she waved 
a half-lacquered hand at her head, "it's really sorta cute, in a Yul 
Brynnerish kind of a way."

"Yeah, well, don't get too carried away," Doyle grumped.  "You know 
how those celebrities are..."

"I do, and I have every intention of being one of them, thank you 
very much.  So, has Angel told her yet?"  she asked, switching gears 
in midstream.

"What?  Oh...um...not exactly, not yet.  I mean, he told her about 
the 'Talent Connection', but not the other stuff."

"He's going to have to tell her sooner or later, especially the part 
about going all *rrr-rrr* again if they get too cuddly...I'm gonna 
do it." She sat up and reached for the phone.

"Don't!"

"Not Kate -- come on, stay with me, here.  I'm calling your cousin 
Jerry."

Doyle's mouth opened, then closed again, as Cordy settled back with 
the phone by her ear and a smug smile on her face.

"Mr. Doyle?  Hi, this is Cordelia Chase...riiiiight, Frankie's little
friend."  She glared at her colleague, who was innocently leafing 
through a magazine on the couch across the office.  "I was just 
wondering -- you'd mentioned something about being able to give me 
some advice on my acting career?  Would it be too, like, pushy or 
something of me to take you up on that?"

Her face fell.  "Oh," she said, disappointed.  Doyle blew out a sigh 
of relief -- then froze as her megawatt smile lit up again.  "Oh!" 
she cried.  "Of course, I knew that...of *course* I would!  Tomorrow?
Eight o'clock?  That's *perfect*!  Let me give you my address..."

Doyle sank back in his chair, then lurched back out of it.  Maybe he 
could talk Angel into heading down to the pub for a drink or seven. 

********
In another century, in another timeline, Captain Elizabeth Lochley 
typed a query into her datapad, as the Rocky Mountains marched in 
stately splendor outside the shuttle's window.  The massive network 
of servers that was the Earth Alliance Historical Database had no 
trouble with two of the references she gave it (and the images that 
went with them were, indeed, unnervingly familiar), but the other 
four...

Dozing passengers stirred and glared at the Earthforce Captain 
whooping with laughter in Row 3.

THE END