Another Life t-1

by Peter Anghelides

  Gwen listened to the hum of the computers, the drip of water, and the occasional rustle from the pterodactyl up in the rafters above the second floor.

  The ping of an alarm drew her attention to a second display. It showed a high view of the surrounding area, seen from the top of the silver water tower. Only the humped outline of the Millennium Centre’s entrance made the image recognisable. The evening light had faded dramatically under the leaden skies, and sheets of rain swept over an expanse of murky water. The Bay water flooded right up as far as the tower and completely obscured the paving stones.

  The alarm detected changes in heat signals from the immediate area. At the top of the image, there was the imposing outline of Jack Harkness, making his way knee-deep through the water. He had his head down against the prevailing wind, and his greatcoat trailed in a wake through the storm water behind him. He splashed his way to the paving slab by the water tower, and activated the lift.

  The relative calm of the Hub was disrupted at once. A square column of dirty water began to cascade from the ceiling as the paving slab began its descent.

  Within seconds, Jack was visible above it, like a drenched statue on a tall, liquid plinth. ‘Close it! Close it!’ he spluttered down to her.

  Gwen fumbled with an override control, and a replacement paving slab slotted into place and shut off the flow of water as abruptly as it had begun. She made her way over to the lift’s hydraulic pole. The basin in the centre of the Hub was overflowing with water now, so she negotiated her way across by clinging to a higher walkway. A fish briefly broke the surface of the pool as Gwen shuffled tentatively across.

  The slab reached floor level. Jack was soaked from head to toe. She helped him as he shrugged off his drenched coat. Gwen ruffled his hair, which was plastered flat to his forehead. He slicked it back with his hand, and she saw the watch on his wrist. ‘It really is waterproof, isn’t it?’

  ‘Better believe it,’ Jack told her. ‘American craftsmanship.’

  His soaked coat was heavy with rainwater. Gwen laid it over a railing.

  ‘Take your brolly next time, eh?’

  ‘Must be in the car,’ he smiled. ‘I left the SUV a coupla streets back, uphill. Thought I could drive all the way back, but wasn’t sure where to drop anchor.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Gwen. ‘No traffic wardens out in that storm. It’s not going to be towed away.’

  ‘Hope not,’ agreed Jack. ‘Three dead bodies in it.’

  ‘That’s got to be worth at least twelve points on your licence.’

  ‘If I had one. Never needed to.’ Jack had sauntered over to the basin. He was sopping wet, so he didn’t seem to care about wading across through the flood water. ‘You got the scuba gear I asked for?’

  Gwen indicated a pile of equipment on the other side of the basin.

  ‘Suit up,’ said Jack.

  ‘Aren’t we going to help Ianto and Tosh find Owen?’

  Jack was already stripping off his outer clothes. ‘No time. That ship you found, it’s still coming through the Rift. You and me can best help Owen by getting back there.’

  ‘Getting back there how?’

  Jack pointed at the flooded basin that separated them across the Hub. ‘This is a tidal pool. There are some valves and safeguards to negotiate on the way, but it’s the fastest route. The ship will have come much further through the Rift now, because it’s displaced a huge amount of water in the Bay. C’mon, get your gear on.’

  Gwen considered the precarious railing to the side of the basin, and the flooded walkway. She was going to get wet anyway. She shrugged, and waded across the basin to join Jack.

  ‘Did you bring a harpoon gun?’ Jack asked her as she started to strip.

  She paused and looked at him. ‘You are joking, right?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said as he adjusted the straps on his diving mask. ‘You do remember the size of that starfish thing, don’tcha?’

  THIRTY

  The cell tunnels invariably smelled damp. Ianto could always tell if one of the team had been down there, because the clammy odour of mould clung to their clothes when they got back to the upper levels of the Hub. It was just like he’d been able to tell, back in London, when Lisa had been for a pub lunch with Trish, from the smell of cigarettes on her hair. Even though she didn’t smoke. Doesn’t smoke. That was a long time ago. Ianto looked nervously down the far corridor.

  ‘All clear,’ hissed Toshiko. She raised her gun and moved swiftly and quietly into the next corridor.

  The lower basement was filthy. No point trying to keep it clean, Ianto knew. He wondered why Owen would choose to flee down here. The signal on Ianto’s PDA told him that Owen was still in the middle of the three main cells. He hadn’t moved from the area for fifteen minutes now. He seemed to be wandering between the different cells.

  Was he waiting for them?

  Toshiko pushed open the dungeon door. There were three glass-fronted cells to one side of a short corridor. Opposite were three more cells behind solid doors with tiny square windows. Once Ianto was in the corridor with her, Toshiko pulled a lever in the wall to seal the main door behind them.

  The caged strip light hung above from the ceiling. It cast a pallid glow over the whole corridor. The three cells had their own internal lights, which showed up the grimy marks that smeared the glass fronts. Ianto knew that they had a Weevil secured in the middle cell, though the glass was angled up and so it was difficult to see where the creature was at the moment. The nearest cell had been empty for ages now, and the far one hadn’t been occupied since the incident last month with the Cyclops.

  ‘Hang on.’ Ianto put his hand on Toshiko’s shoulder.

  She was surprised by this unexpected contact. ‘What?’

  Ianto had worked out why light was sliding off the glass in the middle cell differently. Why he couldn’t see the Weevil inside.

  The cell was open.

  He checked the PDA again. Owen’s signal was behind him. He could smell the foul stench of something breathing close by. Something snorted in his ear. Belched and growled. He whirled round, shouldering Toshiko aside from the creature behind them.

  The Weevil must have been lurking in one of the other cells, unseen behind the heavy studded door. She had stopped sniffing him now, and glared furiously. Though she always looked furious, thought Ianto. It was something about her deep-set eyes and the permanent furrow of lines in her forehead. That and the way her savage jaw seemed genetically incapable of smiling. It was snarling at him now.

  Toshiko scurried aside as best she could, scuffling across the floor on her backside. The sound distracted the Weevil for a second. Just enough time for Ianto. He snatched the device he’d been carrying from his jacket pocket, and plunged it into the gap at the top of the Weevil’s overalls. It connected with the leathery flesh of her neck, below the chin and her slavering fangs.

  The Weevil barely had time to twist her head towards him before he slid the activation switch on the gadget. Her eyes stared into his briefly, and then squeezed closed in agony as the device sent a disabling jolt through her whole body. She slammed backwards, smashing into the fire-hose reel on the opposite wall. Ianto pressed forward, holding the thing against her neck as she slid down the slimy bricks.

  The Weevil’s eyes were closed now. Ianto stepped back, breathless, dazed, relieved. A bit incredulous at what he’d just done.

  Toshiko clambered back to her feet and brushed the dirt from her trousers. ‘Ianto. That was very impressive, but…’

  ‘But what?’

  Toshiko took the device from his hand. ‘I’ve not seen this thing before.’

  He took it back from her. ‘Something we scavenged from the wreckage of Torchwood One. It doesn’t last for long. Look, it’s discharged already. Useless now.’

  ‘It could be lethal.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Ianto said quietly. ‘Better her than you and me, though, eh?’

  ‘Not what I meant.’ Toshiko’s brow was f
urrowed almost as much as the Weevil’s. ‘You came equipped, Ianto. We didn’t know the Weevil was loose. You brought it because you thought you might use it on Owen.’

  Ianto stooped down to grab the Weevil’s ankles, and dragged her back into her cell. Something tumbled from the pocket in the Weevil’s overalls and clattered onto the floor. ‘That explains a lot.’ Ianto showed it to Toshiko. ‘Owen’s mobile phone.’

  ‘He must have known we’d track him down with it,’ groaned Toshiko. ‘It’s not as if he was going to need it to call any of us. And he opened the cell because he knew if anyone turned up that the Weevil might turn ugly.’

  ‘She has a head start on the rest of us, that’s for sure.’ Ianto clicked the transparent front of the cell securely in place.

  Toshiko was looking sadly at her expensive trousers. They were covered in slime from the dungeon floor. ‘I think I may kill Owen anyway. Attacking Gwen. Releasing the Weevil on us. Plus what he did with the firewall security…’

  Her voice had trailed off. She’d even stopped fussing about her trousers. Ianto recognised that distant, pensive look in her eyes. ‘What is it?’

  She grinned at him. ‘I have an idea.’

  The ship rattled and lurched. The corridors stretched into a misty haze ahead of them, just as Gwen remembered. The same green-tinged gloom interspersed by brilliant flashes, the same gusts of hot, sour steam from half-seen vents along their route. When she’d struggled out of here with Sandra Applegate’s body, she’d hoped that was the last she’d ever see of this place. And good riddance to it, at that. There was a tight feeling in her chest now, and it wasn’t because she’d chosen a wetsuit that was a size too small. It was the fear of not knowing the first thing about this place that was constricting her breathing. She shrugged her shoulders to detach the diving cylinder, and dropped her mask next to it.

  Jack clearly had no such worries. He was already marching down the walkway, ducking to avoid catching his head on the bizarre fronds and tendrils that curled from up in the ceiling.

  ‘This place is alive,’ he called back to her.

  ‘I know. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘No,’ he chided, ‘I mean, you didn’t turn it off when you were last here. We have to do that first. If we can find the controls.’

  ‘First?’ What else did he have in mind? He was already striding away again. Gwen hurried to catch up. Jack was taking this whole alien ship thing so calmly, as though he’d seen hundreds of them in his career. That couldn’t be true, could it? He wasn’t casual about it; she could tell that from the way he handled the harpoon gun as he made careful progress down the walkway. But he was measured, assured. His whole bearing told her that he considered a walk through an underwater alien vessel as routine as she would consider a uniformed search of a Butetown flat.

  ‘C’mon!’ called Jack from ahead of her.

  She chased after him. The ship rocked and juddered erratically around them, and she struggled to keep her balance.

  She caught up with Jack in the open expanse that contained the circle of suspended cages. He was still wearing his diving cylinder, with his mask dangled over his shoulder. He wriggled out of the scuba set, and placed the harpoon gun on the floor so that it was carefully pointed away from him and Gwen.

  Jack studied the cylindrical block that squatted in the exact centre of the circle. Gwen didn’t see how he did it but, with a few deft movements of his fingers, he activated the cylinder. The top spiralled apart like a time-lapse film of a flower head unfurling its petals. Two softly illuminated hemispherical panels unfolded from inside, and presented themselves like a remorseful supplicant offering his open palms to Jack.

  Gwen could see a dark patch at the base of the cylinder. It was where Sandra Applegate had died, and the odd green light of the room made the blood-stain look black. Beside it, her original torch was half-immersed in the last gluey remains of the pulped starfish, which retained only the faintest outline of its original shape. She pointed it out to Jack. ‘No need for your harpoon gun, after all.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he replied. He was intent on operating the two panels in front of him. He continued to manipulate them for several minutes, until he stood back and folded his arms. He grinned hugely. ‘There ya go.’ Even as he was speaking, the buffeting movements of the ship were dying down.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Put it into reverse gear,’ he explained. ‘Not enough power left for a secure return, so it’ll tear itself apart as it heads back through the Rift. Still, the wreckage won’t be littering the Bay. And it’ll cause less damage around it than on its journey in.’ He nodded at the harpoon gun on the floor. ‘It’s like the barbs on that spear. Goes through more easily in the right direction. At the moment, it’s like the ship’s trying to go the wrong way, and that’s what’s causing all this local trauma.’

  Gwen looked more closely at the hemispherical panels that Jack had somehow manipulated to control the alien ship. She couldn’t identify any switches or dials. All she could see were softly glowing areas of colour. ‘And you can just control it? As easy as that.’

  ‘It’s a Bruydac battle cruiser,’ he said. ‘Nothing too tricky here.’

  ‘Oh right,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Lucky for us that you passed your Bruydac driving test, eh? And that your licence is still valid.’

  ‘Told ya before, I don’t need a driving licence.’ Jack began to examine one of the suspended cages, exploring its innards with his fingers. ‘But I remember the lessons. Nice guy. Don’t know what happened to him, but he wrote for a while. Aha!’

  The largest of the suspended cages was sealed shut. The cage glowed softly with an inner radiance. Its rich, translucent blue-green surface had a glassy lustre that reminded Gwen of Chinese ornaments. Jack leaned towards it and manipulated the front with a series of hand and arm gestures that looked like t’ai chi moves. With the hissing sound of a vacuum release, the front of the cage split in two and peeled backwards.

  ‘Now that is ugly,’ Jack said.

  The occupant was a large humanoid. If it had stood, it would have been more than seven feet tall. In the caged frame, it sat in a scooped position, its knees slightly lifted and its long, filthy claws clutched near its chest, so that it appeared like a monstrously large foetus. Its bare skull had a ridge of bony protrusions that began at the bridge of its nose and continued over the back of the head. Its mouth was a gash in the bottom of its flat, cruel face, and it sucked in air with shallow breaths. Beneath its heavy, closed lids, the creature’s eyes were moving, as though it was dreaming. Tubing and wires were connected from its scarred torso into flickering shapes of light in the side of the cage.

  Gwen found that she’d wandered in front of the suspended creature. She was fascinated and repulsed by it in equal measure. A hand on her shoulder moved her to one side. She twisted her head to see that Jack was weighing the harpoon gun in his hands, aiming the wicked spike at the trapped alien.

  Gwen considered the look in Jack’s eye. ‘You can’t, Jack. It’s helpless.’

  ‘No it’s not,’ he told her coldly. ‘I’ve spoken to it. You don’t know it like I do.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think I don’t know you any more.’

  Jack never took his eyes off the creature in front of him. It was almost as though he suspected he would falter if he met Gwen’s searching, disbelieving gaze. ‘It’s controlling Owen. It’s murdered others. It would have destroyed this whole area.’

  ‘No, Jack. I can’t let you.’

  He hefted the harpoon gun higher. ‘You can’t stop me. It’s surrendered the right to survive.’

  The trigger clicked. The harpoon spear shot forward and penetrated the creature’s chest, just above its folded claws. The barbed spike continued through the body and out the back of the cage. Jack braced his feet on the floor, took a grip of the unspooled wire that was still attached to the spear, and pulled back with all his weight. The reverse side of the barbed spike caught on t
he rear of the cage, until Jack tugged it one more time and the brittle casing shattered. The entire spear pulled back through the creature’s chest. The Bruydac Warrior’s eyes snapped open, red and wide and appalled. Its arms jerked out in an uncontrolled gesture, and for a fleeting moment Gwen imagined it begging, pleading. The spiked barb of the harpoon clattered to the floor in front of the cage, and the Bruydac Warrior slumped lifeless in its cage.

  Jack concealed the remains of the ravaged body with the broken cage doors. The catch was broken and would not fasten, so he pulled the front pieces together as best he could. ‘Nowhere to run,’ he told the corpse quietly.

  Gwen rounded on him. The initial sight of the creature had frightened her, revolted her even. But Jack’s cold-blooded execution had nauseated her more. She rounded on him. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’

  ‘No?’ He stared her down. ‘It’s controlling Owen. It still is. I don’t know any other way of helping him. You got a better idea, maybe?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she yelled angrily. ‘What makes me the expert all of a sudden? You’re the one who’s had the Bruydac driving lessons.’

  ‘Well, maybe that will make it easier for you to do this next thing for me.’

  Gwen didn’t want to listen any more. And she couldn’t abandon Jack and retrace her steps down those corridors and find her way back to the Hub alone. Jack would know that, of course, and was able to make some further adjustments to the controls in the central cylinder while she scowled at him from the edge of the room. All the time, Jack continued talking, explaining what he was doing, what he was going to do, and the things he needed her to do. She didn’t want to listen, but she found that she had to. And the more she did, the greater her dread became.

  His work at the cylinder completed, Jack walked over to one of the hanging cages. It was the same one that they’d found Owen in. Without any hesitation, Jack sat in the chair of the cage.