1500th UnBirthday 
by Scorpio 

According to the Galactic Standard Calendar, the current date was 
328/06.22589 and the time was 014:152:039. However, Harris *still* tended to 
think of these simple and basic things in the terms of how time was measured 
when he had been alive... and when he had been killed. If one was aware of 
and actually understood how to record time by old Earth Standards, which 
Harris *did*, then the date was actually October 15, 3497 and the time was 
12:15pm. 

But that bit of archaic and unneeded trivia wasn't too terribly important, 
except as a way for Harris to archive little things into his memory. Things 
that he didn't want to forget, to lose somewhere, somehow, to the ever moving 
ebb and flow of time. Personal landmarks to gauge his own unlifetime by. A 
unlifetime that was now nearing its 1500th anniversary. 

That was a *long* time to be, if not alive, then *aware*. Conscious. 
Sentient. Intelligent. He was now older than Darla had been when Angel had 
staked her. He was far older than Drusilla had been when she had finally 
danced under the burning sun. And he was a thousand years older than Angel 
had been when he'd finally fulfilled the prophesy that averted the apocalypse 
and allowed humans to venture off of their planet and out into space. A 
thousand years older than when Angel had finally found redemption and 
regained his lost humanity. 

Of course, he had *no* desire to either stake his Sire as Angel had done, nor 
dance in the brightly burning sun as Drusilla had done. No, not him, not 
Harris. All he wanted was right within his grasp. He was... happy. Content. 

As was Spike. His Sire. 

It seemed odd to think of soulless demons as happy. Even to the young fledges 
that scurried about in the underground caverns of Maltettica, desperate to do 
the bidding of the Twin Ancients, as he and his Sire were called. But, as 
incongruous as it seemed, it was true. Even a demon, a *vampire* can find 
inner peace and contentment after a millennium and a half. For there's a long 
held secret that even the dead and disbanded Council of Watchers never knew, 
but the bloodlust, the *hunger* that resides within a vampire can be... if 
not quelled, then dampened and tamed with time and effort. 

It was the reason that the Master had been so difficult to destroy. The first 
time around. The Master hadn't been ruled by his lusts, *He* had ruled them 
instead. The second time, back in Sunnydale after he had risen from his own 
ashes, had been different. His iron control and self discipline had all but 
been stripped away and he had been defeated before his second reign of terror 
had even begun. 

Now, both Harris and his Sire had reached that point in their endless 
existence. Hunger rose in them, but it was not the mindless burning craving 
that it had once been. Violence was enjoyed and appreciated and cultivated, 
but it was not necessary for survival. He no longer *thrived* on it. It was 
merely another pleasant aspect of unlife. Not the crucial *need* that it had 
once been. 

No. Harris was content. Happy. Pleased with all aspects of his existence. 
Well... all but one. 

Spike wanted them to journey back to Earth Prime-Sol 3 in honor of his 1500th 
UnBirthday. He wanted to visit the old sights and wallow in nostalgia. 
However, Harris did not. 

He was happy here on this planet. It was his home. Mars-Sol 4. He was a 
Martian... and oh, wouldn't Buffy and Willow and Oz have gotten a chuckle out 
of that statement if they has still been alive to hear it? But it was true, 
nonetheless. 

Mars-Sol 4. That's how the red planet was listed in the Galactic Standard 
Official Records. All planets of the Galactic Empire were named in the same 
pattern. The name of the planet followed by a dash, and then the name of the 
star system it was in, and then lastly, the number of planets it was from 
that particular star. Mars was the planet. Sol was the name of the star 
system and it was forth in line. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars and so on. 
Practical. Efficient. 

*His*. 

He *liked* it here on this red, dusty, dry planet. He was... important here. 

Mars-Sol 4 was set up in such a way as to deal with the fact that it 
literally had no atmosphere. Ninety percent of the settlements were 
underground. Corridors and buildings and domiciles all carved out of the 
bedrock. Most of the industry here was mining. Rocks. Geodes. Metals. Gems. 
Gases and liquids trapped deep in the rocky ground. 

There were also lots of highly populated settlements. Underground cities 
really. And with the exception of being buried under tons of rock and gravel, 
they were much like other cities on other planets. Homes, businesses, bars, 
clubs, newspapers, restaurants, sports and the other necessities of mortal 
society. 

And there were public transports that would shuttle the populace to and from 
the cities so that the workers could dig in the mines and sweat in the 
refineries and all perform all of the other dirty little details that 
involved taking a planet and raping it of it's inner core to produce trinkets 
and gadgets and gizmos galore. 

As for the surface of Mars-Sol 4, that was also highly cultivated. Large 
shimmering fields of solar panels to collect light and heat and energy 
stretched for thousands upon thousands of miles. And there was even ten 
surface cities. Small Space Ports actually. They were covered over with 
clear, yet strong as adamantium, biodomes that held the oxygen and the 
mortals safely within and the cold vacuum of space neatly outside. But those 
ten Space Ports, for all of their lure and danger and excitement, were not as 
important as the biodomes that covered the fields of plants. Greenhouses that 
were roughly the size of England back on Earth Prime-Sol 3 dotted the craggy 
landscape surface of Mars-Sol 4 and those precious bubbles of green and life 
and water provided precious food for many of the population. 

Granted, not all. Mars-Sol 4 did a lot of interplanetary trading. They 
exported minerals and gems and ore and lots of other materials that the 
Galactic Empire had come to rely heavily on and in return, they imported 
water and food and cloth and medicines. It was a nice, neat, friendly system. 
Everyone came out with something that they needed and everyone was happy. 

And Spike and Harris ruled Maltettica. It was one of the three demon cities 
on the entire planet. That was another thing that Harris was content with and 
would forever be grateful to the Galactic Empire for. It was an interspecies 
Empire with races native to a variety of planets making up it's core members. 
And that included several races of demons from various and sundry cultures 
and planets as well as mortals. 

The star system of Sol, and more specifically, the only planet to 
spontaneously produce life on it, Earth Prime-Sol 3 had officially recognized 
races from all three Official Empirical Species Classes. Sentient Demon Class 
included Vampires, Werewolf and Fyral Demons. Sentient Mortal Class included 
Humans, Fey, which were more commonly known as the Magickals, and even to 
Harris's vast amusement, Dolphins. Then there was Sentient Animal Class which 
included Dogs, Cats and Chimpanzees. 

As for Vampires being considered Sentient Demons, they could *apply* for full 
citizenship in the Empire when they reached the age of 700 years. Before 
that, all vampires were considered to be Childer or Fledglings. Which, in 
Galactic Empire terms boiled down to being considered a legal slave of their 
maker or Sire. Or of *its* maker or Sire. And this legal ownership went up 
the bloodline until you finally reached a vampire who had achieved this goal 
of true citizenship. 

And to do so was... difficult. A vampire had to *prove* that it had full 
control over the bloodlust and the mindless rage. The Empire didn't want to 
start losing its citizens to massacres and what not. So... the enforced 
slavery until the vampire could *prove* its ability to control itself. And 
slave or not, unauthorized killing was punishable by true death. 

Werewolves had automatic citizenship and the Fyral could never climb above 
slave status, but it wasn't hunted down and killed on sight. Enslaved, yes, 
killed, no. In any event, it was a system that worked, strange as that may 
seem. And Maltettica was a small city peopled by several vampire nests, a few 
werewolf packs, a tiny human population, a handful of various demons from the 
Terrell star system and a medium sized fyral slave quarter. Maltettica made 
it's fortune by being able to mine and refine Cleamine Ore, which was toxic 
to humans and fey alike. And occasionally, one of its people was rewarded for 
good behavior by being allowed to carry out the execution sentence of a 
Sentient Mortal of various race after the Empirical Courts got done with it. 

Yes, Harris was happy here. He and his Sire were the oldest living *true* 
empirical citizens on the entire planet and they ruled Maltettica with an 
iron fist in kid gloves. They personally owned a small army of slaves 
composed of both vampire minions and fyral demons and they had recently 
adopted a young boy who had been infected with lycanthropy and then summarily 
abandoned by his birth parents. 

He had a *home* and he didn't feel the need to leave it. Even for sappy silly 
nostalgia. 

But Spike... Spike *wanted* to travel to Earth Prime-Sol 3. Make a grand 
triumphant return or some such absurdity. When they had left, it had been to 
take the month long agonizing tests to be granted citizenship and now they 
were community leaders. Government Officials. Hell, they even held seats on 
the Planetary Board of Rulers. They were the Official Representatives of the 
Demon Population of Mars-Sol 4. Their journey to Earth Prime-Sol 3 would be 
that of Dignitaries. Not as hunters or even as the hunted. 

And Spike wanted that. 

Just as his Sire wanted to visit the Hellmouth, even if it was now 
permanently closed. Spike wanted to go to the place were Xander had been 
turned. Turned into Harris. Where Willow's love spell to make Drusilla fall 
back in love with Spike had gone wrong and made Spike fall in love with 
Xander instead. His Sire wanted to bask in the irony that a single 
mistranslated word in an obscure magickal spell had changed the path of his 
life forever and eventually brought him to this point. 

But not him. Harris had *no* desire to wallow in any of it. He didn't *need* 
to visit Earth Prime-Sol 3 to remember. To relive that night. To once again 
feel what had happened then. 

And the reason was a simple one. Way back, tucked into the darkest and 
deepest most secret part of his brain there was a tiny voice. A Xander-type 
voice. A Xander-type voice that was perfectly aware of where he was and what 
he had done and what he was now and who he had been then. And that 
Xander-type voice trapped in the very back of his brain was screaming in 
unholy terror and anger and pain. The Xander-type voice had started screaming 
at the very *instant* that Spike's fangs slid into his throat on that fateful 
day 1500 years ago, and that Xander-type voice would continue to scream in 
madness and horror until the day that Harris dissolved into a rain of softly 
failing ash and dust. 

1500 years was a *long* time to listen to your mortal soul trapped within the 
mind of a demon possessed corpse. Harris did *not* want to do anything or go 
anywhere that would cause those endless mental screams to get any louder or 
more insistent. He had finally found inner peace, or a sort. Contentment. He 
didn't want to risk losing that. 

No. He had no need to travel to Earth Prime-Sol 3. 

It was *much* better to stay here. On Mars-Sol 4. 

Home.

END