Trace Memory t-5 Page 17

'I just wish it could have been me.'

  'Jack!' Michael shouted. He was looking over Jack's shoulder, at something in the distance, his face suddenly a frozen mask of fear. Jack span around and saw, on the edge of the piazza, a man in a black suit and bowler hat, walking towards them. He turned again and saw three more on the other side of the square.

  'It's them,' said Michael. 'They're here again. They've come for me, haven't they?'

  'It's OK,' said Jack, standing between Michael and the Vondrax. 'This time they'll have to deal with me.'

  They edged their way back across the square. Looking in every direction for an escape route, Jack saw another Vondrax appearing, until finally he could no longer count them. They were marching forward, forming an ever tightening circle around the two men.

  They never ran. That was, perhaps, what disturbed Jack most about them. It was as if they never needed to run. As if they knew they would always get you in the end.

  One of the Vondrax had advanced on them and was now only feet away. It looked at Jack with a strange kind of curiosity, as if sizing him up, before very slowly removing its sunglasses. Jack and Michael were still edging their way back toward the water tower, and Jack had drawn his pistol, though he knew it was pointless.

  'Give us the Traveller…' said the Vondrax, smiling and hissing.

  Jack laughed, causing the Vondrax to grimace and then frown, as if it had been able to taste his derision. It stepped closer again, now staring into him with its melanoid eyes, and Jack felt a familiar surge of pain from one end of his body to the other, every nerve once more being twisted, but he wouldn't give in.

  The Vondrax made a self-satisfied gurgling noise in its throat, a sound cut short as its expression changed quickly to one of horror.

  Black fluid, like liquefied tar, began to pour from its eyes, and then its nose, and its skin began to crack and tear, with more dark sludge spilling out from the cracks.

  'The darkness!' it hissed. 'The darkness!'

  As its whole body buckled and twisted on the ground, Jack turned to Michael.

  'Close your eyes,' he said. 'Don't look at them… and follow me!'

  Jack grabbed Michael by the arm and together they ran across the square, the circle of Vondrax growing tighter still. He dragged him to the water tower, with its reflective metal surface, and they stood with their backs against it.

  Seeing their reflections in the surface of the tower, the Vondrax hissed, covering their eyes, but they didn't come any closer.

  'Ha!' said Jack. 'How d'you like that, huh? And they say public art serves no purpose. I knew it would come in handy one day.'

  'What's happening?' said Michael. 'Why are they just stopping?'

  'Because,' said Jack, almost out of breath, but smiling, 'they don't like mirrors. Something to do with the waveform they use to kill, but it's more than that. They've been around so long they can't stand to look at themselves in the mirror. Well, that's my theory, anyway'

  'So what do we do now?' said Michael.

  Jack's smile faded. 'That's a good question. That's a very good question.'

  And…?'

  Jack laughed. 'I'm sorry, Michael. I'm a little out of ideas right now. But at least that's about as far as they're gonna get.'

  He hated this. He hated the helplessness. He'd wanted to protect Michael, just this one time, but here they were again, stuck in a hopeless and helpless situation. How much longer could they stand there, with their backs against the water tower? They couldn't go down into the Hub; the Vondrax would follow.

  'It's OK, Jack,' said Michael. 'I think it's going to be OK.'

  Jack turned to him. What did he mean?

  'I think it's happening again,' said Michael, smiling. 'I can feel it. I'm going again.'

  'No,' said Jack. 'No. Stay. This time stay.'

  Michael shook his head. 'I can't. I can't control this.'

  'Try,' said Jack. 'Just this time, try. Please.'

  Michael laughed bashfully.

  'You're funny,' he said, shaking his head. 'Anyone would think you were going to miss me.'

  'No,' said Jack. 'Don't g-'

  But it was too late. Jack blinked and, in the split second that his eyes were closed, Michael vanished. A second later, the air around the Vondrax appeared to fold, as if they were slipping back through gashes in space itself, and Jack was alone with just one thought.

  What about the others?

  'OK,' said Owen. 'So we've worked out they don't like mirrors. Now what?'

  The four of them were gathered at the base of the water tower, facing out into the Hub, and surrounded by Vondrax. The creatures clawed at the air, hissing and snarling but unable to advance.

  'I don't know,' said Toshiko. 'That's all Jack said. They don't like mirrors.'

  'So we could be stuck here for how long, exactly?' said Owen. 'Hours? Days? You see, I could really do with a pee about now…'

  'Owen,' said Gwen. 'You're not helping.'

  'So you got any ideas?' said Owen.

  Gwen scowled at him and then looked back at the Vondrax. They were studying the water tower now, and glancing around the Hub, as if trying to work out some way of destroying the thing that was holding them back. How much longer did they have left?

  'Hey!' A voice from the other side of the Hub. A familiar voice.

  One of the Vondrax turned around, and came face to face with Jack Harkness.

  'This is private property,' said Jack. 'I'm going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave.'

  He reached out and grasped the Vondrax by its throat, his fingers sinking into its flesh, its oily blood spilling out over his hands. The creature writhed in agony, a high pitched scream emanating from its gaping mouth, its limbs cracking with each contortion. The other Vondrax turned away from the water tower and launched an attack, but they too were seized with agonising convulsions, their bodies breaking up before Jack's eyes. As the screaming of the Vondrax reached an almost deafening pitch, the Hub was shaken by a series of crashing sounds, like thunder, and bolts of flashing energy exploded from the decaying bodies of the Vondrax, vaporising each and every one of them.

  Jack stood in the centre of the Hub, looked down at his hands, and sighed. It was over.

  'Jack,' said Gwen. 'What was that? What happened?'

  Jack crossed the Hub in silence.

  'So where is he?' asked Owen. 'Michael, I mean?'

  Owen was angry; a walking embodiment of rage, but Jack had little time for it.

  'He's gone,' said Jack.

  'Gone? Gone where?'

  'He's gone.'

  'And what if those things come back? Because it struck me that there was bugger all we could do except stand with our backs against that thing.' He pointed at the water tower.

  'You're right,' said Jack. That's all you could do. They don't like mirrors. I'm glad Tosh took the hint.'

  'So no plan B, no get-out clause… We were stuck with our heads up our arses not knowing what to do.'

  'You were lucky,' said Jack.

  'Lucky?' asked Owen. 'You try telling that to Tosh. She's not feeling very lucky.'

  Jack stopped in his tracks and turned to Owen, staring him down.

  'You were lucky,' he said again. 'They don't usually leave survivors.'

  'Well that's reassuring,' said Owen, sarcastically. 'And what if they do come back?'

  'They're not coming back,' said Jack. 'They were here for Michael, and Michael's gone.'

  'Oh yeah?' said Owen. 'And didn't you think you'd seen the back of him last time? How many more secret friends of yours are we going to meet, Jack? How many more skeletons have you got in your cupboard?'

  Jack, now standing in his office, turned to face Owen one last time, and slammed the door shut.

  EIGHTEEN

  Ianto Jones sat down with a hot cup of coffee and kicked off his shoes. It was nearly one o'clock, but he wasn't tired. Adrenalin did that to him. It was better than caffeine, though he'd rather drink coffee than go through another experien
ce like tonight's.

  Jack had left the Hub without saying a word to him, and soon the others too had called it a night. Now he was alone, but Ianto didn't mind so much. He'd always thought there was something reassuring, something protective about the Hub, as if it were his own subterranean cocoon, and, though it made him chuckle to think so, he liked having the place to himself. It wasn't a flashy Docklands apartment, but for now at least it was pretty close to being home.

  He hit 'play' on the remote control, and seconds later, and without a trace of self-consciousness, said, 'No, Mr Bond, I expect you to die', in perfect synchronisation with the film.

  Owen Harper walked home that night. The city's streets were now almost deserted in the aftermath of a Sunday night; fast-food cartons clogging the gutters, broken bottles and spilt takeaways next to the taxi stands. A few clubs were still open, bass-heavy music blasting from their open doors, gaggles of smokers standing on the pavements puffing away like little steam trains, revellers with presumably no early start the next day.

  It crossed Owen's mind that once upon a time he would have gone out. Maybe had a few drinks, to take the edge off and help him sleep. Maybe he'd have met someone. Anyone. Maybe he'd have met a girl, taken her home, and then put her in a taxi in the morning.

  He stopped outside the entrance to one club, eyed the surly bouncers and the small queue of drunken teenagers, looked in through the doors at the flashing strobe lights, and then carried on walking.

  The underside of Toshiko Sato's bed was a miniature cityscape of shoeboxes, each one covered in a fine layer of dust. It always shamed her a little to look at this untidy, cluttered corner of her life but, so long as it was hidden from plain view, she didn't mind so much.

  She reached under the bed, sprawled across the mattress, leaning upside down over its edge, and dragged out one of the boxes. Lifting off the lid she took out one of the photograph albums that were stored inside and, sitting back on the bed, began to flip through its pages.

  The photos inside had that certain, almost sepia quality that old photographs have — all faded and desaturated hues. There were photographs of her parents' wedding day, and of her mother cradling her in the hours after she had been born. There were images of their home in England, and of her first birthday party, with Toshiko sat in a highchair, staring bewildered at the single candle on a cake in the shape of the number 1. Then there were the pictures of their apartment in Osaka, and her grandmother, always sat in her favourite chair.

  Eventually, she came to the image she had been looking for: her father, holding Toshiko in his arms, while behind them the fireworks exploded in the skies over Osaka and the decorated boats sailed down the Dojima River.

  Toshiko touched the photograph, and smiled.

  Gwen Cooper slid the key into the lock, pulled it back about a millimetre, pressed it to the left, and then turned it. That was the trick. The lock clicked, and she opened the door.

  Rhys was on the sofa, watching television.

  'You're home, then,' he said in a flat monotone.

  'Yeah,' said Gwen, hanging up her coat before joining him. She sat next to him, and waited a moment before speaking again.

  'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm sorry about the food, and I'm sorry about the sofa, and… I'm just sorry.'

  'You're sorry about the sofa?' said Rhys, sounding genuinely surprised.

  'Yeah,' said Gwen. 'I've been thinking about it, and it's not that bad.'

  'Not that bad?' asked Rhys. 'You said it was the sort of thing Jordan and Peter Andre would buy.'

  'Yeah,' said Gwen. 'But it's just a sofa. D'you know what I mean?'

  Rhys laughed. 'It's OK,' he said. 'I've been thinking about it, and you're right. I mean… If they'd buy it…'

  Gwen laughed too. 'So…' she said. 'The spag bol?'

  'I'll put it on now,' he said. 'Anyway… Spag bol always tastes better if you leave it for a bit.'

  Gwen held Rhys's hand and squeezed it gently.

  'I love you,' she said.

  'I love you, too,' said Rhys.

  The SUV drove out along the waterfront, past the old Norwegian church and the cluster of modern buildings. It pulled up in front of a row of enormous apartment buildings, each one with a balcony overlooking Cardiff Bay. Some of the lights inside the apartments were still on, some were lit up a flickering blue by unseen television screens.

  Jack Harkness stepped out of the vehicle and opened the back doors. Inside, resting on the back seat, was the Orb. He lifted it out, groaning with the weight, and kicked the SUV's door shut before carrying the Orb to the water's edge.

  Forty years ago, there had been no apartment buildings here. Forty years ago, this place had been home to a row of warehouses, the largest of which, Hamilton's Sugar, had stood right on the edge of the dock. The warehouses were gone now; even those which had survived that night had been bulldozed and replaced by apartment buildings and hotels.

  Jack gazed down at the black surface of the sea. He felt an affinity with the ocean, as if it were a kindred spirit. The knowledge that every drop of water had always been a drop of water, practically since the stars were formed. Water was infinite and immortal. He lifted the Orb to his chest, and looked at it one last time — the unfathomable engravings on its surface, etched billions of years ago by unknown hands with unknown tools. It could have been a thing of beauty, in another life, perhaps, an object to sit behind glass in a museum. But not now.

  Jack hurled the Orb into the sea and it hit the water with an enormous splash, sinking quickly out of sight. It was against the rules, of course. The Orb should have been returned to Basement D-4, another half-forgotten relic in the Torchwood Archive, but Jack didn't care. It was history, and he was thinking of the future. And the past and the future were different worlds.

  Most of the time.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-e6d9f8-e53f-064a-b594-34e5-28d5-d6579c

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  Document creation date: 22.06.2011

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