by Gary Russell
And we were out of there.
But this is important because I think, yeah, yeah, I’m sure sitting here now, I think it was saying what Michele had been saying – the mouth, I’m picturing it, “darkness” and “the lights”, I’m sure that’s what it was yelling.
And then you lot turned up the next day at uni and arrested me. But I’m telling you, that’s what happened. We didn’t hurt them or anything. Why would I kill Michele – we were together, if you know what I mean. I wouldn’t do that to her.
Where’s Janet – she must be able to tell you this… I mean, she was at uni too, wasn’t she? You must’ve got her when you got me, she’ll tell you they were… They weren’t dead when we ran… ran away… from them…
TEN
Ianto closed the file and added it to the pile on Jack’s desk, just as Owen sauntered in.
‘Just us chickens, yeah?’
Ianto nodded. ‘Looks like it. We sit around at home while the womenfolk go out and do all the work.’
Owen grinned wolfishly. ‘Don’t let Jack hear you call him a woman!’
Ianto managed a smile back.
Owen nodded at the files. ‘Heavy going?’
‘Yeah. And nothing concrete in any of them. Just read about some poor kid whose two mates, were found immolated in number 6 Coburg Street. One of them was his girlfriend. The police tried to pin it on him and another girl, but there wasn’t enough evidence. Poor kid said it was the ghost.’
‘Once upon a time,’ Owen said, sitting on the edge of Jack’s desk, ‘dunno ’bout you, mate, but I’d’ve laughed at that. But in our world, ghosts and all that, who’s to say what is and isn’t real?’
Ianto shrugged. ‘S’posed to find out, aren’t we? But I’m not seeing anything that links the Tretarri area with Jack’s weirdness. You got anything?’
‘Nah, same old test results you always get from Jack – normal for him, less normal for us, but at least he’s consistent.’
Ianto pondered on this. ‘Look, I found out he’s been doing this for… years. I mean with back-from-the-dead Jack, how many years is open to interpretation, but well over seventy-five. So it’s not something new. And we know he’s not always been based at Torchwood, although he’s been in and out of here for a long time. So whatever it is that stops him going in, it’s before Torchwood. It’s something in him.’
‘Ask him,’ Owen suggested. ‘Seriously. Say it’s time for some answers.’
Ianto thought about this, too. ‘I’d like to offer him some options, cos you know him – he’ll just clam up, brush it aside. But if we can piece some stuff together from what we do know, we could challenge him.’
‘You can challenge him,’ Owen corrected. ‘I’ll just get my head bitten off.’
‘Maybe you will. So what do we know?’
‘Bugger all, frankly. I sit down and try and put two and two together where he’s concerned and always get five.’
Ianto was enthusiastic now. ‘Exactly, and maybe that’s the way to get answers from Jack. We draw wrong conclusions, hopefully he’ll correct us.’
‘Or let us believe ’em, cos it suits him that way.’ Owen pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘Right. He’s old. Dead old. Been here since Queen Vic was on the throne, Tosh reckons. And he can’t die, which – and I say this as the best doctor studying alien biology in the world – I can offer no grounds for. His cells just go back to how they were. I’ve studied his blood, tried messing around with it. It doesn’t reform, it doesn’t mutate or even clone itself. It just reverts back to how it was before. Which, frankly, is bloody weird and not a bit scary.’
‘Time Agent. When we met Captain John, he said they were Time Agents.’
‘Never told us what that meant though. But hang on… What if, assuming this isn’t all bollocks and they’re not conmen doing the most protracted swindle in history, what if they can travel in time. That’s gotta do something to you, I’d’ve thought.’
‘How do you mean?’
Owen frowned. ‘The human body, it’s designed for certain stresses, certain events in your life. But is it designed for time travel? I’m not saying it isn’t, but we don’t know it is. We do know that Jack’s the only person actually unable to enter Tretarri, even if no one else stays for long.’
‘And,’ Ianto worked it out slowly but surely, ‘Jack is the only time traveller we have to hand.’
‘So maybe that’s the connection. Whatever makes him able to stand time travel, makes him unable to get into Tretarri.’
‘Which would,’ said Jack from the doorway, ‘mean that whatever is in Tretarri, is related to chronon energy of some sort.’
Owen had his hand on his chest. ‘One day, Jack, one day, you’ll give me a heart attack, sneaking up on people like that.’
Jack smiled, and put his hands on Owen’s shoulders, to keep him in the chair. ‘Nah, physician, heal thyself.’ He looked at Ianto. ‘OK, I like the theory, how about I give you some interesting evidence. Ianto, any names come up in your files and records that should raise our collective eyebrows?’
Ianto frowned. ‘Dunno what you mean.’
‘Try this name for size—’
‘Bilis Manger,’ shouted Gwen as she crossed the Hub to join them.
‘Hell, is everyone out to get me into A&E today?’ Owen asked.
‘Phyllis!’
They all looked at Ianto.
‘It wasn’t Phyllis, it was Bilis!’ Ianto threw the file about Owain Garrett to Jack. ‘Read that.’
‘Where’s Tosh?’ Gwen asked.
‘What? Who the hell is Phyllis?’
‘Phyllis isn’t Phyllis, she’s Bilis!’
‘Hello? Tosh? Remember her?’
‘Heart rate still really fast.’
‘Bilis is a cross-dresser?’
‘No, he thought the ghost said “Phyllis” but I bet it said
“Bilis”!’
‘Toshiko Sato?’
‘Ghost?’
‘We have a transvestite ghost?’
‘It’s in the report.’
‘Idris told me it was Bilis. It’s all on this flash drive.’
‘Who the hell is Idris?’
‘One of Jack’s floozies, from, oh, just before you joined, I seem to remember.’
‘Small? Japanese? Good with alien tech?’
‘Is Idris a cross-dresser, too?’
‘What?’
The Hub lights went out en masse.
‘Emergency procedures,’ yelled Jack.
‘Lockdown? We have thirty seconds or we’re here for six hours if it’s a complete power cut!’
‘Shit! My samples of Jack’s blood and DNA – I need to keep the power to them going!’
The lights came on again.
Gwen was standing at her workstation. ‘Next time I turn them off for good,’ she snapped.
‘Why did you do that, Gwen?’ asked Owen as they all left
Jack’s office.
‘To get you lot to shut the hell up. Now then, I’ll ask again. Where is Tosh?’
Dunno.’
‘At Tretarri, I think.’
‘She hasn’t called in though.’
Gwen was about to say something to all this when a new voice called out.
All four Torchwood heads turned and looked past the base of the water tower and up at the raised Hothouse.
Tosh was there, unconscious on the grating. Beside her, hands behind his back, cool as a cucumber, was Bilis Manger.
‘Good evening,’ he smirked.
The click was almost deafening as four guns – three Torchwood pistols and Jack’s Webley – were drawn, aimed and cocked in unison.
Bilis just smiled more. ‘Oh really, surely you know by now that you don’t get rid of me that easily. You may all be very fine shots, but I’m not sure you’d actually open fire and risk hitting Ms Sato when faced by a harmless and desperately unarmed old man.’
‘Harmless,’ sneered Owen.
‘We don’t know y
ou’re unarmed,’ Ianto pointed out.
‘Not convinced you’re as old as you seem,’ Gwen added.
‘But I’ll give you “desperate”.’ Jack smiled, lowering his gun. The others followed suit.
‘Oh Jack, Jack, Jack. Poor, sweet, time-lost Jack. How you wound me with your cynicism. Such ingratitude when I’ve gone to all this trouble. For you.’ Bilis looked at Gwen. ‘How nice to see you again, Gwen. And I’m so glad to see your Rhys is looking better these days. And Owen Harper. No, wait, Dr Owen Harper – one must subscribe to the social niceties. I really wanted to thank you. After all, it was down to you that my Lord was able to escape his shackles. And Ianto Jones, without whom nothing would ever really get done at Torchwood these days.’
‘What do you want?’ spat Jack. ‘Kinda bored of you now.’
‘Simple Jack. You destroyed Abaddon. You closed the Rift. It reversed time, repaired all the so-called damage that was done. And so I am left wondering: if all those people out there came back to life, like dear Rhys, what happened to my Lord?’
‘It was destroyed,’ Jack said quietly. ‘I destroyed it. That was what closed the Rift, sealed the breach. He’s not coming back.’
‘Ah,’ Bilis said, still smiling, ‘you would say that, wouldn’t you?’ He gestured to the Rift Manipulator housed in the base of the water tower. ‘This marvellous device, this wonderful creation affects the Rift itself. Who is to say that someone with experience of manipulating time couldn’t find a way to go back a bit further? To take my Lord out of harm’s way?’
‘Me actually,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t know if you can do that, but I doubt it. A lot. But even if I didn’t doubt it as much as I do, you’re not going to get the chance to try.’
Bilis nodded. ‘I imagined that that would be your response. Hence my borrowing of your technical genius here. Oh, you don’t mind if I hang on to her, just for a little while longer?’
‘Know what? I do,’ said Jack. ‘Funny little thing, loyalty, but she’s part of my team. And I rather like her, too. So work needs plus friendship needs equals me not really willing to part with her.’
‘Trade?’
‘Offer?’
‘I’ll exchange Toshiko for a day in your Hub, access all areas, and I promise not to let the Weevils out.’
Four stony faces greeted that request.
‘Well, it was worth a try,’ Bilis said. ‘Au revoir.’
Before anyone could react, Bilis and Toshiko had vanished again.
‘Damn,’ said Owen.
‘Gwen,’ snapped Jack. ‘Records, now. I want any trace of Bilis found. Start with this.’ He threw the USB flash drive to her. ‘I want to know everything there is to know, and extrapolate the rest.’
He looked at Owen. ‘If your hypothesis about me is correct, I’m useless in Tretarri unless you can find a way to overcome it.’
‘Gotcha,’ said Owen disappearing down into the Autopsy Room.
‘Ianto. You, my office. I want to know everything you’ve gleaned about Tretarri from your research. I’ll be back in five.’
‘Jack?’
Captain Jack Harkness turned back to Gwen and smiled. ‘I’ll get her back safe and sound, Gwen. I promise.’
Gwen held his look for ten seconds, and smiled.
‘I know you will.’
ELEVEN
The Vaults had been the cornerstone of Torchwood for ever. They represented the good and the bad side of everything Torchwood stood for, both modern Torchwood and the Institute set up by Queen Victoria nearly 130 years earlier.
Bilis Manger stood on the sensible side of the glass that formed the cell door.
Within, the Weevil stared up at him from the floor, mewling slightly in fear.
Bilis tapped on the transparent, if somewhat stained, strengthened plastic. ‘I wonder what use I could make of you, my friend.’
‘Not a lot, I’d guess,’ said Jack from the main doorway. ‘I knew you’d be here. Revisiting the scene of your last crime. The murder of Rhys Williams.’
‘You took longer getting down here than I expected, Jack.’ Bilis smiled, without looking away from the Weevil. ‘I may call you Jack, I assume. It’s just that they all do, so it seems sensible.’ He paused for a beat, then continued. ‘I was going to ask if you ever used your own name any longer. Or indeed, if you even recalled it.’
Jack said nothing, but his hand edged closer to his holstered Webley.
‘Oh, do stop relying on your toys,’ Bilis said. ‘We both know you can’t hurt me.’ He pointed at the Weevil. ‘How long have they been on Earth, then?’
‘No one really knows,’ Jack replied. ‘The Torchwood Archives are… curiously vague.’
‘Almost as if someone has gone through them, I imagine, erasing odd bits of information.’ He smiled again. ‘Archivists are a funny sort. So dedicated to their work, their accuracy, yet not above the odd bit of subterfuge when necessary to protect… whatever they’ve individually chosen to protect. That’s the joy of life, Jack. To protect what we love. Remember love?’
Jack shrugged. ‘I remember you did everything you could for a demon from God knows where that almost destroyed Earth. Was that out of love?’
‘Love. Passion. Belief. Duty. The lines blur sometimes. There are over fifteen recognised major religions on this planet. One religion believes something different from another, and yet so often it’s just the same thing with a different name, or a different form of worship, or a different headdress. But they will fight to protect what they believe in, no matter the cost. You’ve been here a while Jack. How many wars, how many lives squandered on religion? On belief? On that blurred line between love, duty and belief. Then we get to science. Science versus creationism for instance. Two opposing stances on the same subject, neither of which has any real evidence to back it up. What a bizarre time you washed up in.’ Bilis finally looked at Jack. ‘Happy here? You used to have so much more… freedom.’
‘You know so much about me. I know so little about you.’
Bilis turned back to the Weevil. He placed his hand on the transparent plastic and the Weevil echoed the action from within the cell. ‘What do you know about the Weevils? Only what you research. You’re exactly the same as that Weevil to me, Jack Harkness. A savage beast, worthy of investigation, nothing more.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I’m on a mission. Redemption. Atonement perhaps. A way to show those who matter that I can make up for my errors, and the tremendous pain you cost me.’
‘What do you need from me? If it’s about me—’
‘Oh yes, it’s certainly about you.’
‘Then why involve Tosh?’
‘Ms Sato is personally… immaterial. She’s just the clichéd hostage. It might have been Gwen, or young Ianto. But I’ll tell you one thing, Jack, I wouldn’t have wasted my time with Owen.’
‘He’d have fought back, you mean.’
Bilis shook his head sadly, looking down at his feet now.
And Jack saw, lying there, a gun. A pistol. Not a Torchwood-issue one, just an average revolver. It was smoking from the barrel, as if it had recently been fired.
‘No, he just isn’t worth it.’
Jack looked back down, but the gun had gone.
Bilis looked at him, and Jack realised the vision of the gun seemed to have surprised Bilis as much as it had him. ‘Some things are beyond our control. Yes, even yours and mine, Jack.’
‘So, where’s Tosh?’
‘Safe in Tretarri for now. Number 6 Coburg Street.’ He ran his finger around the cravat he wore, loosening it fractionally. ‘Ask Ianto. He’ll get the reference if he’s as good in the Archives as he should be by now. By the way, he’s picked up Torchwood’s history very quickly. I’m impressed. You should be, too.’
Jack said nothing, just kept watching.
‘So, what is all this about? You still need an answer, don’t you? Even though I have told you.’
‘OK, so you’re pissed at me over Abad
don. Big deal. You set a ninety-foot demonic “great devourer” on the streets of Cardiff, Torchwood take it down. That’s life. Deal with it.’
Bilis swung round, and Jack took an involuntary step back. For the first time, Bilis’s face was twisted in anger, in hate. And something else, something Jack couldn’t quite identify. Fear? Panic? Anguish?
‘Revenge, Jack. Revenge for the future!’
Before Jack could speak, a hoarse voice behind him gasped out.
‘Jack. Help me!’
And crouched down by the door was someone Jack hadn’t seen in over sixty-five years.
‘Greg? Greg Bishop?’
‘Sorry, Jack – not strong enough… Can’t fight the light. Can’t fight Bilis. Or the darkness. Can’t help you any more…’
And Greg was gone.
Jack touched the bare Vault wall where he’d been, both a second ago and in 1941.
‘I’m sorry, Greg,’ he said.
He straightened up and turned back towards the cell, but he was not surprised to see Bilis had gone.
Stuck to the Weevil’s transparent door with a piece of sticky tape was a note in red ink.
No. Not ink. Blood.
REVENGE FOR THE FUTURE.
TWELVE
When Toshiko woke up, she found herself lying on a cold, hard floor. She gently sniffed the air – nothing distinctive, but not airless. No chemicals, so not anywhere industrial. No damp, nothing stale.
She slowly opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was a chair. A basic wooden seat, like at a desk. Oh yeah, and that thing there, that was a desk. OK. Not immediately threatening.
‘Hello Ms Sato,’ said a voice.
There was someone sat in the chair, she could see the legs. Male. Suit.
Oh God, it was Bilis Manger, wasn’t it?
Hang on – he’d hit her or something.