TWENTY-FIVE
You’re tingling. It’s a fantastic feeling, isn’t it? You’re not sure whether it’s relief or worry or excitement or anticipation. Or is it that your lover’s here with you, and he’s hanging on your every word?
You met him at the university disco, what sort of a cliché is that? Or a ‘cleesh’, as he’d say. Owen was the thin-faced, nervous lad with the good cheekbones you’d seen in Anatomy, and joked with Amanda Trainor that you’d like to examine his Anatomy more closely, and did she know his name. Amanda had identified him as local boy Owen Harper, and declared him to be a rat-faced loser with a cruel mouth. You’d seen something else in him. And then, there he was, nursing his pint at the back of the disco, while his better-looking mate was hitting on your better-looking mate and eating her face off during some slow Alanis Morissette record (bloody hell! what were they thinking?). He was never going to make the first move, was he? Though you could see his hungry eyes following you around the dance floor, peering into the bright maelstrom of red and blue and green and white, surveying your every move. So you’d banged into his table and spilled his drink, and thus it began. The following morning was the first of many when you would wake first and see him sleeping beside you, admiring his long dark lashes above his freckled white cheeks.
Can you ever see yourself as others see you? Most recently, as Sandra Applegate, you caught sight of your face in the mirror at Wildman’s apartment. Pale and tired, the blood smeared over your mouth and chin and staining your favourite coat. Before that, you watched your reflection in the shop windows as you ran for safety down the high street and into the building site. And, earlier still, you studied your nakedness in the mirror that hung over the corner sink in your room at the barracks. Amazed and amused that your pale pink body, with its curious musculature protected by a thin epidermis, was considered by humans as a peak of fitness.
Confusingly, you thought you were in peak condition, too. It’s a curious double life to live.
And now here you are, facing yourself as you cling on in the life-support unit. This is a new perspective, indeed. Look at you there – the proud warrior, laid low by the accident. And yet also the inventive explorer who possesses the means of your own salvation.
You close the doors to the life-support unit, and seal your true self into the protective cocoon. When you turn around, you can see Owen in the restraint chair. He’s not looking at you with hungry eyes now. His look is full of fear and fury. ‘What are you talking about, Megan? What the hell is that thing in there?’
You shared everything with Owen when you were together in London. Your hopes, your aspirations, your dreams. You kept nothing from him, even when you knew he was never wholly open with you. It seems entirely natural to share your latest secrets with him now.
‘I told you,’ you tell him calmly. No need to shout. ‘That thing is the real me. My body is in stasis, to protect me from the crash injuries. The rest of this warship’s crew were killed during the collision that brought us to this strange place. I need to return to Bruydac for medical attention.’
Owen has stopped struggling against his bonds now. That’s good. That will help. But he doesn’t understand yet. ‘What’s happened to Sandra? We were supposed to be stopping this ship from coming through the Rift. And then removing that tracker from her spine.’
You prod Sandra’s slumped body with your toe. ‘Not exactly what I had planned, Owen. It’s not a tracker, you see. It’s a control box.’
‘Oh God,’ murmurs Owen.
‘Though it’s strange. As Sandra, I was able to control you without having to insert a control box in your spine. And now that I’m controlling Megan… now that I am Megan… I can understand why.’
‘Let her go.’ Owen is pleading. ‘You don’t need her. We’re medics, we can help you – the real you I mean – to recover and get away from here,’
You place your fingers gently on his lips and silence him. ‘See? That’s what I mean. You need to be needed, Owen. Sandra recognised that. She convinced you by telling you what you wanted to hear – that she needed you. You’re a rescuer; you’re always looking for a victim to help. You think you have all the answers, and it makes you powerful, superior, the centre of attention. You want to be loved because you can protect people, you can salvage them, and they’ll depend on you. Until they don’t need you any more, and then you drop them.’
Owen is trying to shake his head furiously, but the restraint won’t allow it. ‘That’s the alien using you. That’s not you talking, Megan. That’s not…’
‘You want to be loved and needed, Owen. But you end up self-important, demanding, righteous. And in the end, contemptuous of others.’ You’re aware that you’re smiling at him, but it’s with sadness really. ‘I loved you so much, you know. Megan loved you so much.’
He thinks he found something he can use, some tactic. You recognise that familiar look in his eyes from a dozen arguments in London. ‘I loved you too, Megan. I still do. That’s what last night was about, remember? I know you’re still in there, Megan. You’re a medic, come on! Don’t get lost in this thing. Try to remember. You’re an SHO. One of the best. We both are. We’re good together, aren’t we?’
And somewhere, you do recognise what he’s saying. You think of his warm breath against your skin, his lips on your neck. His hand scooped in the small of your back. The heat of his body by your side. The feeling of him inside you.
‘Come back to me, Megan. Come back. Look at Sandra there. She needs you.’ He lowers his eyes. ‘I need you.’
The way he drops his gaze, the crack in his voice, the well-timed appeal to your better nature. You remember his technique, now. His routine.
‘I am a Bruydac Warrior!’ you snap at him.
His eyes meet yours again, and you know that he sees he has lost you.
‘I am not Megan any more,’ you tell him brutally. ‘The Bruydac stealth technology lets me use the captured inhabitants of the planets we invade. By possessing our prisoners in this way, we can infiltrate the native population in perfect disguise. And when I’ve finished with each person, I can release them wherever they are and return my consciousness back here to the ship – or to another prisoner.’
‘The sub-aqua team.’ He’s as smart as you remember him. ‘They stumbled upon your crashed warship, and you’ve used each of them in turn.’
‘They were so feeble,’ you explain.
‘What do you mean? Bee and Applegate were trained soldiers. Literally fighting fit.’
Perhaps he’s right. You think how easy it was for the soldiers to overpower other humans. ‘The problem with you humans,’ you tell Owen, ‘is that the possession just burns up so much of your meagre supply of cerebrospinal fluid. Fortunately, it’s easy enough to obtain more from other humans.’
You are surprised that Owen’s reaction to this is one of such disgust.
You explain to him that you have discovered a lot from the humans you’ve possessed. From Bee and Applegate you learned about Earth’s military structures. From Wildman, you discovered a way to refuel the ship with Earth’s crude nuclear technology. ‘And from all of them,’ you conclude, ‘I learned that they suspect and fear and despise Torchwood. So I was intrigued to discover that you work for Torchwood.’
His face is like stone.
‘Now Megan…’ you say to him. ‘She has a depth of affection for you, Owen. That wasn’t a shag for old times’ sake, was it? Not for Megan. It was very different on that first night at university, do you remember? After the disco? That was a basic craving for sex. Shallow emotion. Straightforward physical contact. But good. She thought you were a cast-iron virgin she’d managed to jump in his first term, so you surprised her, you know.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ He grates out the words like it’s an ordeal.
‘That’s not always how it was though. For you, maybe. But not for her. She never told you before you left how she’d really felt. And that’s why she wants to let you back into her life this week. Why she trusts you, despite all the craziness.’
‘Stop it,’ Owen says. This time the emotion in his voice is real. ‘You said you could let her go. Well, let her go, then. Do it now. Let her speak for herself.’
‘No, I think I need her now. She’s a doctor, isn’t she? She has a thorough understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of the human form. Physical. Emotional. And she’s young and strong, too. She can get me back to the shore. She can retrieve the remaining nuclear packs that Wildman concealed. I still need those to refuel this warship.’
Not much more to do before you go now. If you concentrate, you can feel the creature growing within you. There is the bubbling stir of rising gas, a stirring in your stomach. With one brief heave, you regurgitate the tiny starfish creature and spit it out. It splays its four legs on the floor beside Sandra Applegate’s shivering body.
Owen sees this, and his revulsion is clear.
You find yourself moving closer to him. He cannot move in the restraint, and you have to angle your head to kiss him softly on his lips. At first he resists, with his mouth set in a firm, hard line. And then his feelings begin to overwhelm him, and he softens.
That’s when you activate the device. Owen’s whole body stiffens as the restraint frame punches a control box into his spine. He can’t stop himself screaming with the sudden, agonising pain. Now his eyes are staring into yours in horror and disbelief. Now they’re glazing over. Now the head restraint relaxes, and his head slumps forward in the frame.
You will only return for him if you cannot complete your mission successfully as Megan. His eyes are closed now, and his long dark lashes flicker as he falls unconscious. You ponder your affection for him. You know how much this alien intervention means to him, how much he wants you to be a part of it. That’s why you’ve enjoyed explaining it all to him.
But then you remember that it is Megan’s affection, not yours. So you quit the room quickly, leaving him there helpless.