TORCHWOOD:Border Princes

TWENTY-FIVE
There was a stiff breeze coming in off the Bay, but the rain had cleared. The sun had come out, weak and watery, but a sun nonetheless, and the sky was big and full of voluminous white clouds.
It was just the middle of the afternoon, with an hour or two of daylight left. The Friday-night traffic had started already, murmuring in the Cardiff streets behind him.
Dressed, showered and shaved, James walked down to the end of the Pierhead boardwalks and stood at the rail, looking out towards the Norwegian Church and the chemical works beyond the Queen Alexandra Dock. A water taxi chugged by, leaving a tail of foam behind it.
He’d spent a long time shaving and showering in the Hub’s bathroom, a long time staring at himself in the mirror. Both of his eyes had remained resolutely brown.
‘Taking the air?’
James looked around. Owen was approaching along the empty quayside. He had his coat on, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
‘Clearing my head,’ James replied.
‘Thought I’d come and find you. I finished processing the tests.’
‘That was fast.’
‘I got the impression you didn’t want me to hang around.’
‘Come on then. How long have I got, Doctor?’
Owen leant his back against the railing. ‘Well, to answer your first concern, you’re not sick. Not even a little bit. Nothing untoward except for the bumps and bruises you’ve collected this week.’
‘Nothing at all? Not even a suggestion?’
‘You’re in amazingly rude health, mate. I’ve run a sweep for just about every clinical condition I can think of: disease, infection, degenerative syndromes, you name it. You’re a fine, healthy human being. Healthier than me, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Yeah? No shadows on my head CT? No lurking enigmas in my major organs?’
‘Nothing at all.’
James looked out at the sea. ‘OK, then.’
‘To address your second concern,’ said Owen, ‘I can’t find anything... out of place either. No foreign objects. No implants. No buried tech that’s got in under your skin. I’m as sure as it’s possible to be that you haven’t in any way been... what shall we say? Infiltrated? Interfered with? Corrupted?’
‘You make it sound dumb that I asked. Isn’t that a very real danger in our line of work?’
Owen shrugged. ‘I suppose. But don’t forget the Hub’s set up to monitor that kind of thing and sound all the bells and whistles if it finds something.’
‘It doesn’t matter how clever we are,’ said James. ‘We’re not going to recognise everything.’
‘Back to that, are we?’ Owen pouted. ‘Look, I did the work. Hand on heart, you’re clean. There’s nothing that would explain why you think you jumped over a seven-foot wall or tossed a supermarket trolley the length of a checkout.’
He glanced at James slightly warily. ‘Well,’ he added.
‘What?’
‘You’re clean physically. And the cognitive tests were thorough, but I can’t dismiss all psychological possibilities.’
‘It’s in my head, you mean?’
Owen nodded. ‘Lot of stress involved in what we do. Hell of a lot of stress this week. Every single thing you’ve told me about happened bang in the middle of a high-stress situation. The Serial G right on top of you. That idiot you chased the length of Pontcanna. The mind does things under stress, James. Afterwards, you might think, “What the hell was that?” But it wasn’t anything at all. Stress pisses about with perception, and with memory. And don’t forget the Amok subjected us to severe mental... buggeration. That on its own left us tired and vulnerable to all kinds of lapses and mind tricks.’
‘So it’s just me, then?’
Owen laughed. ‘You’ll be fine. Bit of rest, weekend off, glass of wine, the love of a good woman.’
‘Speaking of which,’ he added, and strolled off, passing Gwen coming the other way.
‘Thanks, Owen,’ James called.
Owen waved a dismissive hand as he walked away.
‘Thanks for what?’ Gwen asked, looking over her shoulder at Owen’s receding figure.
‘Just keeping an eye on me,’ said James. ‘He’s all right, really.’
She turned and looked up into his face, as if studying it.
‘What?’ he asked her.
‘Just looking for a bit without a bruise on to aim a kiss at.’
He pointed to his mouth.
‘That’ll do,’ she said.
They walked along the Quay, arm in arm.
‘So Jack said to take an early mark, provided we left our phones on,’ Gwen said.
‘POETS?’
‘Indeed. What do you want to do?’
James shook his head. ‘Not much. Go home, relax. Maybe get a film.’
‘OK.’
They walked on a little further.
‘I thought I’d ring Rhys,’ she said.
‘Oh?’
‘I thought I might arrange to meet him. Tomorrow, maybe, or Sunday. Have that talk.’
‘The big one?’
‘Yep, the big one. I’ve left it long enough. Is that all right?’
‘It’s all right with me,’ he said.
Owen walked back into the Hub and sat down at his work station. Toshiko called out a goodbye as she headed off.
Jack came out of his office and walked down the concrete steps to Owen’s level.
‘What d’you tell him?’ Jack asked.
Owen looked around, hard-faced. ‘I told him the truth.’
‘That all?’
‘I didn’t tell him that you knew. Or that you had already suspected something yourself. He’d have thought I’d squealed on him, and he’d never have trusted me again.’
Jack sat down on Toshiko’s wheelie stool and rolled himself backwards and forwards looking at Owen. ‘He’d have forgiven you,’ Jack said. ‘He’d have soon realised that you can’t get away with conducting the raft of tests you did today without me noticing the medical bay was running overtime.’
Owen huffed.
‘Come on, Owen, you should have brought it to me anyway,’ said Jack. ‘It’s a security issue.’
‘No, it was a favour for a mate. He was scared. I was able to put his mind at rest. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s not sick, he’s not compromised, and he’s not a bloody shape-shifting alien invader.’
Jack stood up. ‘It’s a security issue whichever way you want to dress it up. There’s something going on. It may be just stress, or something psychological like you say. Or it may be something different. Something that we can’t read or taste or scan for.’
‘We’re talking about James,’ said Owen.
‘We are.’
‘Our own Captain Analogy.’
‘Yeah. And that’s why I’m taking it End of the World seriously.’
Owen rapped his fingers on the edge of his station. ‘Just say,’ he said, ‘just say there is something up with him. Something bad. Should we be letting him go home with Gwen like that?’
‘Gwen’ll be fine.’
‘I thought you said this was a security issue?’
‘Gwen’s a big girl,’ said Jack. ‘If something comes up, she’ll let us know.’
Friday night was typically busy from six until eight thirty. Then the lull came, like the eye of a storm, before the pubs turned out later.
As soon as things quietened down, Shiznay took a break, and told Dilip, the cover waiter, she’d be upstairs for five minutes.
‘Call me if my father needs me,’ she said. Her father was busy in the kitchen, supervising the phone orders and yelling at the moped drivers.
She went upstairs with the foil takeout punnets of salad, rice and lamb pasanda, and a bottle of lager.
Her mother and her aunts were in the living room, chatting loudly and watching the television. They were laughing at the antics of a quiz show host.
She scurried down to Kamil’s room, and let herself in.
Mr Dine lay on the bed, apparently exactly where she’d left him. She put the food and the beer bottle down and turned to see if she could wake him.
Another man was standing in front of the window, beside the wardrobe. She hadn’t seen him when she had first entered the room. He was so deep in the shadows he seemed to be made out of them.
At the sight of him, she felt terror wash through her, an awful, vicing effervescence of fear and shock. She made a noise in her throat and backed away sharply, knocking into Kamil’s hi-fi stand.
The man in the shadows stepped towards her swiftly, and reached out his hand, as if to touch her face or choke her. His expression was utterly blank. There was no rage, or anger, or malice in it, no smirk of lust, or grin of cruelty.
Before he could touch her, Mr Dine stopped him. He was suddenly just standing there, between the two of them, one hand raised to block the other man’s extending grasp.
‘No,’ he said.
The intruder blinked. He was wearing what seemed to be a plain grey T-shirt and dark jeans. He was lean, and of a similar height and build to Mr Dine. His hair was dark and close-cropped.
Shiznay’s eyes were very wide. Her voice seemed to have vanished entirely.
The intruder tried to move his hand. Mr Dine held it tightly and refused to allow it to stray.
‘No,’ he repeated.
They stared at each other for a moment, then Mr Dine let go. The intruder withdrew his hand and took a step backwards.
Mr Dine turned and looked at Shiznay. She shook.
‘W-who is... who is...?’
Mr Dine looked into her eyes. Immediately, she felt a little better. He raised a slender finger and put it to his lips. ‘Shiznay, go down stairs. Return to work. Do not be afraid. You will not remember this.’ His voice was level and heavy.
She nodded, and went out, shutting and locking the door to Kamil’s room behind her.
She took a few steps down the corridor, and then stopped, frowning. She heard her mother and her aunts laughing raucously.
‘Shiznay?’
She shook herself. Her father was calling to her up the stairs.
‘Shiznay!’
‘Yes, Father?’
‘What are you doing up there, girl?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I said... I’m just coming, Father.’
In the dark, cluttered bedroom, in the amber glow of the street-lamps shining in through the rumpled curtain, Mr Dine turned back to face the intruder. A car went by outside, and white stripes travelled across the ceiling’s shadows like the luminous, sweeping hands of a clock.
‘Why have you come?’ asked Mr Dine.
‘Necessity,’ said the intruder.
‘There is no necessity.’
‘Your opinion is noted. It does not matter. I have been sent.’
‘By order?’
‘By the highest order.’
Mr Dine paused. ‘When were you inserted?’
‘At nightfall.’
‘Am I to consider myself relieved?’
The intruder shook his head. ‘Supported. Unless you have cause to be relieved. Do you wish to stand down? You have sustained damage.’
Mr Dine looked down at his ribs. The deep wound had become an ugly weal of purple bruising, smeared with black residue. ‘It is healing. I have had worse. You have had worse.’
The intruder nodded.
‘In war, yes. Supported by my kin. Not alone. Not in the prosecution of such a singular duty.’
‘This is my duty still,’ said Mr Dine. ‘It was given to me, the highest honour, and I will discharge it.’
‘That is to be assessed,’ said the intruder. ‘Are you able to invest?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then do so,’ said Mr Lowe.
‘Pause it, I really need to wee.’
‘No, no,’ said James, ‘the next bit is really funny.’
‘That’s the problem,’ said Gwen, getting up off the sofa. ‘I’m laughing so bloody hard, I’m going to wet myself. Pause it.’
James reached for the remote. The image on the TV froze. She put the half-empty bowl of kettle chips on the side and went out.
James sat back, and took a sip of his wine. The warm fuzz of alcohol was taking the throb out of his cheek and shoulder. He wondered if he should have asked Owen if it was all right to drink. He thought there was very little chance of Owen ever saying it wasn’t all right to drink.
‘I can’t believe I’ve never seen this before,’ Gwen called from the loo.
‘I can’t believe you’ve never seen this before either. It’s one of my favourite movies. This, Tootsie, Ferris Bueller and Mad Max II.’
‘Mad Max?’ she called.
‘Mad Max II,’ he corrected.
‘Was that Beyond Thunderdome?’
‘It was before Thunderdome. Are you actually sitting on the loo with the door open talking to me?’
‘Sorry.’
James got up and stretched. Outside, youthful voices were singing ebulliently on their way between pubs. It was ten thirty. He went to the window, and pulled back the curtain, peering out. Two boys were racing down the centre of the road, holding traffic cones on their heads like witches’ hats. Five others ran along after them, laughing. He was about to drop the curtain back and turn away when he saw the men. Two men, loitering in the shadows by the phone box. What were they up to?
Just standing. They seemed to be looking up at him, at his flat. Two men standing in the shadows—
No, they were shadows. A minicab spurted by, and its headlights washed the roadside. The ‘two men’ turned into the flat, sidelong shadows they were, and then vanished. Once the cab had gone, the men were back, staring up, but now James knew they were just dark shapes created by the hedge and the railings.
He laughed at himself, and turned away.
Gwen came back in and bounced over the sofa back into her seat. ‘Come on,’ she said, patting the seat cushion beside her. ‘This is such a laugh. I can’t believe Sally Field and Glenn Robbins made a film together and I didn’t know about it. When was it made?’
‘1988,’ said James, moving back to join her. ‘Actually, I only went to see it originally because of my enduring love for Glenn Robbins in Eternity Base.’
‘Which one was she in that?’
He looked at her in horror. Her face was straight for a moment.
She burst out laughing. ‘I do know! I’m kidding!’
‘Good. I thought we were about to have our first domestic then.’
‘She was the cyborg, wasn’t she?’
He glared at her and then began to tickle her mercilessly. She squealed and hit him with a cushion.
‘Don’t make me get the first season out and force you to watch it!’
‘Stop it! Stop it! Commander Cully! Commander Helen Cully! Faynights!’
‘What now?’ he stopped with the tickling.
‘Faynights,’ she said, lowering her cushion. She was still smiling, but there was a slightly sad look in her eyes. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘You OK?’
‘Yeah. Anything left in that bottle?’
‘Seeing as you insisted on buying a litre of Chardonnay, yes.’
‘Top me up,’ she said, holding out her glass and snuggling against him.
James obliged. She reached for the remote. It had slipped down between the seat cushions.
‘What’s this called again?’ she asked.
‘Sisters in Law,’ he said. ‘Because they’re sisters—’
‘—and they’re both lawyers, right, right. Can I wind it back a bit, because I was laughing so much at the thing with the dog, I thought crisps were going to come flying out of my nose.’
‘Give it to me,’ he said, reaching to take the remote.
Both their mobiles rang at once. Hers was on the side, his on the dining table beside his keys. They split off the sofa and reached them simultaneously, glancing at the displays.
‘Jack,’ said Gwen.
James nodded. ‘You take it.’
Gwen put the phone to her ear. ‘Yeah?’
‘Gwen? Is James with you?’
‘Yeah, what’s up?’
‘I wanted to call everyone. No need to come in, but I wanted you to know.’
‘Know what, Jack?’ Gwen asked.
‘My little secret doohickey,’ said Jack. ‘The pattern on it changed about an hour ago. The lights are flashing up a different sequence.’
‘What does that mean?’ Gwen asked.
‘Well, seeing as we have no idea what the original pattern meant, I can safely say I have no clue,’ said Jack. ‘However, it can’t be good. Just a guess, but say a change in Def Con?’
‘You sure you don’t want us to come in?’
‘There’s no point yet. I’ll call you if anything changes.’
He hung up.
Gwen lowered her phone.
‘Fighter Command?’ James asked.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘But the tile thing has started flashing something different. He wanted us to know.’
‘OK,’ James nodded. He dropped back onto the sofa. ‘That thing’s really got him worried, hasn’t it?’
‘Aren’t you worried?’
‘I’m worried Jack is worried. Come on, let’s watch the film. You haven’t seen the witness selection bit yet.’
‘Hang on,’ she replied. She pressed a key to search her phone’s memory, and then pressed redial.
It rang. Rang. Rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh, hello. Mr Brady? Mr Brian Brady?’
‘Yes. Who is this?’
‘I’m so sorry to be calling so late,’ said Gwen. ‘My Name is Gwen Cooper, and I’m calling from... from Cardiff CID. Have you got a sec?’
Five minutes later, she came back and rejoined James on the sofa.
‘What was that about?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘Come on.’
‘I’ve got a lead, haven’t I?’
‘What, like a dog?’
She cuffed him. ‘A proper lead. I’m going out tomorrow. A little jaunt.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s a chance I can help Jack out. Some things I might be able to learn.’
‘You going to tell me what?’
‘No, it’s a secret. I want to impress.’
James nodded.
‘By the way, did you ever... did you ever call Rhys?’
She snuggled up against him. ‘Yup. I’m seeing him Sunday for lunch.’
‘OK. You OK with that?’
She nodded. ‘Play the bloody movie.’
She laughed. They both laughed. They howled.
After the movie was over, with News 24 playing mute on the TV, they began to kiss.
Ninety minutes later, with Gwen sleeping in a naked, loose-limbed sprawl that dominated the bed, James got up. He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face.
In the mirror, he had eyes of different colours, one blue, one brown.
He blinked.
No, both brown. Too much Chardonnay.
He went into the living room and turned the TV off. He picked up the empty crisp bowl and took it into the kitchen, then scooped up the wine bottle and the two glasses. There was a splash left in the bottle.
Oh, what the hell?
He poured it out into his glass, put hers in the sink, and slid the bottle into the recycle bin.
Sipping from his glass, he walked back into the lounge and turned off the uplighters and side lamps. He was wearing her dressing gown. It was soft, and it would be OK so long as Owen never saw him in it.
He peeked out of the window.
The shadows were still there.
They weren’t shadows.
James swallowed. He was being silly. He was a little bit drunk and a little bit strung out. They were the shadows he’d seen before.
He knocked back the last of the wine, then looked back out.
Not shadows. Men. No, definitely shadows. Who stood still that long, who stared up that long?
He pulled off Gwen’s robe and found his jeans and his shirt. He put on his shoes without socks, and had the good sense to pocket his keys.
He slipped out of the flat, squeezing the door shut after him.
His downstairs neighbours, the Aussies, were in. He could hear them having loud sex as he slunk down the dim staircase. Their mountain bikes cluttered the hall.
He edged past the bikes in the hallway blackness, stepping on menu leaflets and junk mail that all three flat owners had discarded on the floor.
He opened the front door.
It was cold outside. Cold as marble. An October night, almost Halloween.
Yeah, great idea to think of that right at this second, James decided.
He stepped outside. The sky was a silent black bowl pinpricked with dots of fire.
His breath steamed the air. He wished he had brought a coat.
He walked down the path into the street. There was a distant noise of late traffic. The amber smog of Cardiff stained the low sky in front of him with light pollution. Two streets away, someone was yelling and laughing.
He strode directly across the road, tacking between parked cars, their bonnets and roofs just displaying the first etching of frost. He headed towards the phone box.
He headed towards the shadows of the two men. They were still there. Silent, unmoving, even as the night wind licked the trees and all other shadows rocked and nodded.
A step closer now. They still didn’t move. It had been his imagination, his stupid imagination. Just shadows. Just shadows.
He closed on them.
‘Hello?’ he said.
There was no answer. Black and violet shadow patterns stirred as the trees hissed and creaked.
‘Who the hell are you? What do you want?’
He stepped forwards. The shadows had gone. He jumped. Where had they—
All in his mind.
He felt decidedly stupid. He turned.
Two grey shapes stood in front of him.
‘Jesus!’ he said, recoiling. Anger swelled. ‘Who the hell are you?’ He lunged forward.
The grey shapes vanished.
James spun around. They were behind him again. Just shadows.
‘What the hell are you? What do you want with me?’
He lunged again. The shadows melted.
He spun. Behind him again.
‘What do you want?’
We are here only to protect the Principal.
‘What?’
Your actions and behaviour are contrary to the Principal’s best interests.
‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’
He looked around. A trio of boozed-up lads were ambling down the street on the opposite side of the road.
‘All right?’ one of them shouted.
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,’ James called back.
He looked back at the pair of shadows. They’d gone again. He wheeled. They were right behind him. He grabbed at them.
They darted away.
‘Shit!’ James cried. He grabbed again, without thinking, not where the shadows were, but at where his gut told him they might be.
He realised he had taken hold of something.
A matt-grey forearm, studded with thorns.
James looked up from the arm. The grey thing he was holding onto tried to pull away.
‘No, you don’t,’ James said, tightening his grip.
It struggled, but it couldn’t break free.
‘What are you?’ James demanded, gazing into its grey face. ‘Are you what Jack saw? Are you?’
Let go.
‘Not a chance.’
Let go.
‘Not until you tell me what you are.’
You will not remember this.
‘I’ll... what?’ asked James.
The alarm buzzer woke him at eight. He thumped it off. It was Saturday. Bloody Saturday. He cursed himself for not resetting the alarm the night before. He hoped it hadn’t disturbed Gwen.
He woke again at nine, then at ten thirty. Daylight was streaming in through the window. James roused and looked around. He was alone in bed.
He got up, grumpy and bewildered, and expected to find Gwen in the shower. She wasn’t there either.
He found the Post-it on the counter, attached to a packet of croissants. Gone off on my jaunt early. See you later. XX Gwen.
James sighed and headed back to bed.