The Twilight Streets

SEVENTEEN

Jack was at a loss – not a feeling he was particularly familiar with. With no way to access the Hub, unless he could get an acetylene torch at nearly midnight, and with no team to support him, he really didn’t have a clue what to do next. Or where to go.

Ianto’s? Nope, key in the drawer in his office. Gwen’s? Yeah, Rhys would love that – he’d probably been phoning and texting Gwen all evening and be worried enough as it was that he’d had no response.

Both Toshiko and Owen had moved recently to new apartments, and neither of them had offered him a key, so that was out.

Idris? Nope, he’d probably worn out what passed for a welcome there.

He was standing by the water tower, looking across at the parade of restaurants and bars in Mermaid Quay and Bute Street. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but perhaps there was a late-night bar.

The Sidings, of course. Bit of a trek, but there’d be a welcome there. Of sorts. Mind you, the last time he’d gone there, he’d been stalked by a Hoix. It had got through the Sidings’ defences and… Well, perhaps the welcome wouldn’t be that welcoming after all.

Bottom line was, Jack was furious with himself. He’d been hoodwinked by someone – someone really quite disarming and elegant, yet powerful. His team had been trapped (he was assuming Owen wasn’t locked inside the Hub; somehow that didn’t seem Bilis’s style), and he had no idea why or how to find and free them.

Suddenly, Jack was angry. And that usually meant that the last thing he needed right now was people, bars, noise or sexy people.

Jack needed to find what Jack always needed to find in moments of crisis. He began marching towards the city.

As he made his way towards the heart of Cardiff, he was passed by a number of locals. They laughed, they argued, they kissed or they listened to mp3 players. Some drove cars, others were on bicycles. Once in a blue moon, a motorcyclist roared past (Cardiff seemed to have fewer motorbikes per capita than anywhere else he’d visited). Normal people doing normal things with their normal lives.

These were the people that Jack and Torchwood protected, the vast majority of them never even realising they were being protected, let alone that there were Weevils, Rifts, giant space whales, alien guns, pendants, bombs or anything. It was a mark of how well Torchwood did their job that so few people died in inexplicable circumstances and asked questions. Even if they did, there was Toshiko, ready to create falsehoods and lies – not to mislead them, but again to protect them. Sometimes the truth was simply too awful and the concept of ‘need to know’ took on a whole new meaning.

Jack never stopped feeling responsible for his team – every one of them was there because he had found them, or they’d needed to find him. Now they were lost somewhere because of a battle that wasn’t theirs.

Revenge for the future.

This was his little war, his and Bilis’s, and whatever else was involved behind the scenes. Ianto, Gwen, Toshiko and Owen were, to Bilis, collateral damage, incidentals. To Jack they were his reason for being.

He would get them back. He would get them back safe and sound.

Because that was what good leaders did.

Because that was what Jack Harkness did.

He was walking along St Mary Street, Cardiff’s old main street, before its famous shops had been usurped by the paved Queen Street during the 1970s. St Mary Street was now more famous for its clubs and bars and the network of alleys and arcades that branched off it.

To avoid a group of drunken youngsters, Jack took a sharp left into the tawdriness that was Wood Street. However beautiful Cardiff was – and he really did love his adopted city – this was the one blot on the landscape, a horrible, foreboding area of cheap shops, the grotty bus station and the main entrance to the Victorian façade of Cardiff’s central railway station. For visitors to Cardiff, it wasn’t an attractive greeting, and Jack had often wondered if he could fabricate some reason for Torchwood to blow it up so the council would have to rebuild it.

One to ask Idris Hopper one day, perhaps?

He was in Park Street now, adjoining the new Millennium Stadium that had swallowed up the old Cardiff Arms Park pitch, creating one huge super-venue, with its riverside views, cinema and sports shops.

One of his favourite parts of Cardiff, the street played host to the massive Ty Stadiwm tower, with its horizontal BT dish and mast on the very top.

As modern buildings went, in a city that juxtaposed the old and the new with pleasurable ease, Stadium House was one of Jack’s favourites, mainly because – although it was a ‘classic’ 1970s structure – it had been beautifully refurbished (including the addition of the forty-two-foot mast) in the early part of the twenty-first century.

He entered the lobby, winking at Gerry, the security guard, and throwing some Swiss chocolate over to him. Each guard at each building had a weakness for something and Jack was friendly with them all. Chocolate was always the most popular bribe.

He took the service elevator and, moments later, he was nearly 255 feet above sea level, standing beside the ‘dish’ and looking down into the Millennium Stadium below. Thousands of empty seats surrounding a lush green pitch. If he closed his eyes, Jack could imagine the roar of the Saturday afternoon crowd, smell the people, breathe in the beer, sweat and passion of the fans and players alike.

He looked up at the brightly lit antenna, thrusting upwards from the centre of the dish, illuminated to make it visible from miles away, casting numerous shadows of Jack across the rooftop.

The light. Something about the light…

Was it moving, was the light actual coalescing into something?

‘Jack?’

‘Greg?’

The shape of Greg’s face, just an impression, seemed to swim in and out of existence, formed by the severe light from around the dish.

‘Not long now, Jack, and it’ll be over. The eternal battle for justice, for dominion. It’s in the diary, Jack, it’s all in the diary.’

And then, just for a few seconds, the lights went out. All over the city.

And the only illumination was provided by a crimson ribbon of Rift energy, stretching from the mast above him right across the city, and down to Cardiff Bay, where he could see it hovering just above where he knew the water tower sculpture was situated.

Within the Rift were thousands of dancing lights, and black blobs. Jack had witnessed Rift energy more times than anyone else on Earth, but he’d never seen so many pinpricks of light and dark inside it. Revenge for the Future? Jack began to understand.

Then the Rift energy was gone, and Cardiff came back to life.

‘You can’t do it, Owen! For God’s sake, we’ve been here before. Light and Dark, two polar opposites.Try to stop one, you upset the balance of the Universe.’

Owen Harper just sighed at Jack, then reached out with his good hand and tapped the button on the control systems in the Boardroom. An image on the screen popped into life. It showed the Rift Manipulator as a cut-away diagram.

‘Jack, listen to me. And if not me, listen to Gwen. Look at what we’ve achieved with the Rift. We can control it now, we could use it as a sort of gateway, pop in and out of places, get that alien tech we need to stop the bad guys.’

Jack looked at the others. ‘Gwen?’

‘I don’t know, I can see the advantages, but I’m not convinced.’

‘Tosh?’

‘Jack, I have to say, I’m with Owen on this.’

‘Only because you two discovered the light creatures. You might be under their spell for all we know.’ Jack flicked the image off. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘No, Jack, listen to us. There are things out there that could do marvellous things for this planet. We could, literally, change the world.’

‘The mantra of the Torchwood Institute in London,’ snarled Jack. ‘Look where it got them.’

‘They were stupid,’ said Owen. ‘They didn’t have the foresight we have. Hell, they didn’t have you as their moral compass. But we have the chance here to do something really good. Tosh is right. The Rift could be our way to solving this planet’s problems. Now we can control it.’

‘Ianto?’

‘I’m with Jack,’ he said.

‘Course you are,’ said Owen. ‘I mean, heaven forbid you might have an opinion of your own once in a while.’

‘I do have opinions of my own. I just don’t bother telling you what they are because you wouldn’t like them.’

Gwen stood up. ‘I’m sorry, but this question has been… consuming us this past couple of weeks. God knows what we’re missing.’

Owen stabbed at the button again. ‘Weevil sightings: none. Alien incursions: none. Dangerous bombs ready to blow Cardiff up: none. Sightings of Bilis Manger: none.’

‘OK, Owen, you made your point.’ Gwen switched the screen off again. ‘But I’m still not letting this conversation continue.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I have something to tell you. Something I hope won’t result in me being shoved into a mortuary slab and all my personal belongings being stored in that garage for eternity.’

Jack frowned. ‘You want to leave Torchwood?’

‘You’re being controlled by the Resurrection Boot and draining your life energy into Ianto?’That was Owen.

‘You’re proposing Andy Davidson, of Cardiff’s finest, as a member of Torchwood?’ asked Toshiko.

‘She and Rhys are having a baby.’ Ianto walked over and gave Gwen a hug.

‘She told you?’ said Jack, after a moment’s pause.

‘No,’ said Ianto. ‘I just keep my eyes open and my mouth closed.’ He looked at Owen. ‘You should try it.’

Gwen squeezed Ianto’s hand. ‘Thirteen weeks.’

Jack gave her a kiss, so did Toshiko.

Owen sat there, a smile on his face that he didn’t feel.

And looked at Toshiko.

And instinctively thought of the box at his flat, in the empty, deactivated fridge that no one ever opened.

A box with a ring in it.

He sighed. He could never have kids. Not in his condition. And Toshiko – look at her face.The idea of a baby was thrilling her. How could he ask her to marry him? What was he thinking?

‘Good one, Gwen,’ he said. ‘And tell Rhys that, too. I need to check on some specimens.’

He touched her hand as he walked out, and wondered if she flinched at his touch or whether, after all this time, it was still something he saw people do in his imagination.

He walked through the corridors and up towards the Hub.

A minute later, he stood looking at the base of the water tower. All it needed was some kind of energy boost, something that would ramp it up and open it permanently without destroying Earth.

It was a tall order, but he and Toshiko were so close to finding it.

So close to each other.

So close to marriage.To a life.To…

Oh God – that was it! Last time the Rift had opened, Abaddon had come through. Jack destroyed the Beast, time reversed as the Rift was sealed for good. No one died except Jack. And then he came back to life. It was Jack, something to do with him, with his unique energies.

And wasn’t Jack always saying he’d happily sacrifice his immortality to be normal again?

What if they bled some of his life energies into the Rift – not a dangerous amount, but enough to see if it worked, however briefly. Then they could try and replicate those energies, because they’d have a sample of Jack’s.

And Owen wondered what it would need to get some of his life energy.

And he suddenly thought of the pistol in the Autopsy Room.

No. No, that wasn’t going to happen.

But an accident?

After all, accidents happened when you worked at Torchwood – he was the proof of that.

Was this him though? Or was Jack right? Were the light creatures in the Rift Energy affecting him? He was a doctor, committed to bringing life, not death.

And Tosh? What would she say?

He looked around the Hub and wondered where he was going next. He remembered something his mother had once said to him about power and corruption. And smiled.

This could be a whole new Torchwood.

Idris Hopper stood outside the tourist information entrance to Torchwood and frowned.

Who on Earth had put a huge metal strut across it and padlocked it up? Jack? Closing Torchwood? Unlikely. Even at this time of night. But then, it was Jack. Anything was actually possible.

He shifted the record bag slung over his shoulder. The strap was beginning to dig into his neck a bit.

‘Can I help you, sir?’

Idris turned.

Behind him was a short old man, dressed immaculately, a huge welcoming smile on his face. ‘Are you looking for Mr Harkness?’

Idris thought about that – how likely was it that anyone around here knew Jack? Knew that this was the place to find him?

‘I’m just trying to get in, but it seems to be locked up.’

The old man shrugged. ‘Strange, isn’t it? Torchwood is so rarely closed for business, but I saw Mr Harkness about half an hour ago, heading into the City Centre. I doubt he’ll be long.’ He pointed at the padlocked bar. ‘Perhaps this is a new security measure. That Ianto Jones fellow can be such a stickler for detail.’

Idris shrugged. ‘Yeah, guess so. Sorry, did you say “Torchwood”? What’s that then? Is that the new name for the Tourist Board?’ Idris pointed at the stylised red dragon symbol on the small sign that read Croeso Cymru. ‘Never learned much Welsh at school. Wrong generation.’

The older Englishman just smiled. ‘So few people around here seem proud of their rich heritage, Mr…?’

‘Oh sorry.’ Idris offered his hand. ‘Hopper. Idris Hopper. I work for the Council. So, probably should know Welsh, but you’d be surprised how easy it is to get by with the odd shwmae, os gwelwch yn dda, diolch, hwyl or nos da!’

The old man nodded, understandingly. ‘I have never spoken a word of Welsh either.’

Suddenly, Mermaid Quay was plunged into darkness, and there were surprised cries and yells from the people in the bars and restaurants.

Idris looked around, where had the old man gone?

Out of Idris’s eyeline, something glowed a sort of purple in the sky – perhaps the columns of light that decorated the Oval Basin by the water tower were run independently.

Then life returned to the Bayside, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

As the bulb-lights around the jetties and decking spluttered back into life, Idris realised the old man was suddenly back again, uncomfortably close to his face.

Idris took a step back and was now pressed against the locked door.

‘In fact,’ the old man said as if nothing had happened, ‘I shall be seeing Mr Harkness tomorrow. We have an… appointment. May I give him a message?’

Idris thought for a second and then smiled. ‘God, you are a lifesaver.’ He unslung his record bag and pulled out a sheaf of handwritten notes and a huge envelope. He then whipped out a pen and a set of Post-Its notes and scribbled a message down for Jack, attached them to the papers and shoved the pages into the envelope. He sealed the envelope, wrote Jack’s name on the front, added ‘By Hand Via Kindly Old Chum’ in the corner and handed it to the man.

The old man smiled at the envelope. ‘“Kindly Old Chum” is a phrase I shall treasure, Mr Hopper.’

Idris offered his hand, but the man didn’t take it. Instead he just bowed slightly.

‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Hopper. And good luck in Berlin.’

By the time Idris had registered that last comment, the man had vanished.