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It's been 84 years... and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in.

Titanic was called the Ship of Dreams. And it was. It really was...

The gleaming white superstructure of Titanic rises mountainously beyond the rail, and above that the buff-coloured funnels stand against the sky like the pillars of a great temple. Crewmen move across the deck, dwarfed by the awesome scale of the steamer.

Southampton, England, April 10, 1912. It is almost noon on ailing day. A crowd of hundreds blackens the pier next to Titanic like ants on a jelly sandwich.

A gorgeous burgundy Renault Touring Car swings into frame, hanging from a loading crane. It is lowered toward HATCH #2.

On the pier horse drawn vehicles, motorcars and lorries move slowly through the dense throng. The atmosphere is one of excitement and general giddiness. People embrace in tearful farewells, or wave and shout bon voyage wishes to friends and relatives on the decks above.

A white Renault, leading a silver-gray Daimler-Benz, pushes through the crowd leaving a wake in the press of people. Around the handsome cars people are streaming to board the ship, jostling with hustling seamen and stokers, porters, and barking WHITE STAR LINE officials.

The Renault stops and the Driver scurries to open the door for a Young Man dressed in a stunning white and purple suit, with an enormous feathered hat. He is 21 years old and handsome, regal of bearing, with piercing eyes.

He looks up at the ship, taking it in with cool appraisal. "I don't see what all the fuss is about. It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauretania."

A Personal Valet opens the door on the other side of the car for Lisant Hallett, the 30 year old heir to the elder Hallett's fortune. "Lee" is handsome, arrogant and rich beyond meaning.

"You can be blasé about some things, Ianto, but not about Titanic. It's over a hundred feet longer than Mauretania, and far more luxurious. It has squash courts, a Parisian cafe... even Turkish baths."

Lee turns and gives his hand to Ianto's mother, Rhiannon Jones, who descends from the touring car being him. Rhiannon is a 40ish society empress, from one of the most prominent Welsh families. She is a widow, and rules her household with iron will.

"Your son is much too hard to impress, Rhiannon." Lee snorts as he nods at their feet indicating a puddle "Mind your step."

Rhiannon is gazing at the leviathan "So this is the ship they say is unsinkable."

"It is unsinkable. God himself couldn't sink this ship." Lee speaks with the pride of a host providing a special experience.

This entire entourage of wealth is impeccably turned out, a quintessential example of the Edwardian upper class, complete with servants. Lee's Valet, Yon Hartman, is a tall and impassive, dour as an undertaker. Behind him emerge Two Maids, personal servants to Rhiannon and Ianto.

A WHITE STAR LINE Porter scurries toward them, harried by last minute loading. "Sir, you'll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, round that way…"

Lee nonchalantly hands the man a fiver. The porter's eyes dilate. Five pounds was a monster tip in those days.

"I put my faith in you, good sir." Lee says curtly, indicating Hartman "See my man."

"Yes, sir. My pleasure, sir."

Lee never tires of the effect of money on the unwashed masses.

Hartman to the porter "These trunks here, and 12 more in the Daimler. We'll have all this lot up in the rooms."

The White Star man looks stricken when he sees the enormous pile of steamer trunks and suitcases loading down the second car, including wooden crates and steel safe. He whistles frantically for some cargo-handlers nearby who come running.

Lee breezes on, leaving the minions to scramble. He quickly checks his pocket watch. "We'd better hurry. This way, family."

He indicates the way toward the first class gangway. They move into the crowd. TOSHIKO SATO, Ianto's maid, hustles behind them, laden with bags of her master's most recent purchases... things too delicate for the baggage handlers.

Lee leads, weaving between vehicles and handcarts, hurrying passengers (mostly second class and steerage) and well-wishers. Most of the first class passengers are avoiding the smelly press of the dockside crowd by using an elevated boarding bridge, twenty feet above.

They pass a line of steerage passengers in their coarse wool and tweeds, queued up inside movable barriers like cattle in a chute. A Health Officer examines their heads one by one, checking scalp and eyelashes for lice.

They pass a well-dressed young man cranking the handle of a wooden Biograph "cinematograph" camera mounted on a tripod. Naniel Marvin (whose father founded the Biograph Film Studio) is filming his young bride in front of the Titanic. Mary Marvin stands stiffly and smiles, self conscious.

"Look up at the ship, darling, that's it. You're amazed! You can't believe how big it is! Like a mountain. That's great." Mary Marvin, without an acting fibre in her body, does a bad Clara Bow pantomime of awe, hands raised.

Lee is jostled by two yelling steerage boys who shove past him. And he is bumped again a second later by the boys' father. Lee snarls "Steady!"

"Sorry squire!" The Cockney father pushes on, after his kids, shouting.

"Steerage swine. Apparently missed his annual bath." Lee sniffs.

"Honestly, Lee, if you weren't forever booking everything at the last instant, we could have gone through the terminal instead of running along the dock like some squalid immigrant family." Rhiannon says pompously as Ianto tries to ignore them, still taking in the mighty vessel.

"All part of my charm, Rhiannon. At any rate, it was my darling fiancée's beauty rituals which made us late." Lee retprts and Ianto finally lowered his gaze to meet Lee's.

"You told me to change." His voice is soft, the Welsh lit almost musical as he frowns. Something Lee hates.

"I couldn't let you wear black on sailing day, sweet pea. It's bad luck." Lee smiles charmingly, "And do smile dear."

"I felt like black." Ianto mutters.

Lee guides them out of the path of a horse-drawn wagon loaded down with two tons of Oxford Marmalade, in wooden cases.

"Here I've pulled every string I could to book us on the grandest ship in history, in her most luxurious suites... and you act as if you're going to your execution." Lee laughs as he motioned for them to walk again.

Ianto looks up as the hull of Titanic looms over them...a great iron wall, Bible black and sever. Lee motions him forward, and he enters the gangway to the D Deck doors with a sense of overwhelming dread.

It was the ship of dreams... to everyone else. To me it was a slave ship, taking me back to America in chains.

Lee's hand closes possessively over Ianto's arm. He escorts him up the gangway and the black hull of Titanic swallows them.

Outwardly I was everything a well brought up gentleman should be. Inside, I was screaming.

A screaming blast from the mighty triple steam horns on Titanic's funnels, bellowing their departure warning has Ianto gasping and moving toward Lee for comfort as he laughs.

Towering above the terminal buildings like the skyline of a city, the steamer's whistle echoes across Southampton.

Next to the dock is a pub. It is crowded with dockworkers and ship's crew.

Just inside the window, a poker game is in progress. Four Men, in working class clothes, play a very serious hand.

Jack Harkness and Owen Harper, both about 30, exchange a glance as the other two players argue in Swedish. Jack is American, a lanky drifter with his hair a little long for the standards of the times. He is also unshaven, and his clothes are rumpled from sleeping in them. He is an artist, and has adopted the bohemian style of art scene in Paris. He is also very self-possessed and sure-footed for 30, having lived on his own since 15.

The Two Swedes continue their sullen argument, in Swedish. "You stupid fish head. I can't believe you bet our tickets."

"You lost our money. I'm just trying to get it back. Now shut up and take a card." His brother snarls in their mother tongue.

"Hit me again, Sven" Jack slaps the table and then Jack takes the card and slips it into his hand. Jack's eyes drink in the new card. They betray nothing. Owen is licking his lips nervously as he refuses a card. Bills and coins from four countries are piled in the middle of the table. This has been going on for a while. Sitting on top of the money are two 3RD

Class Tickets for RMS TITANIC.

The Titanic's whistle blows again. Final warning.

"The moment of truth boys. Somebody's life's about to change." Owen puts his cards down. So do the Swedes. Jack holds his close.

"Let's see... Owen's got nothing. Olaf, you've got squat. Sven, uh oh...two pair... mmm." Jack turns to his friend "Sorry Owen."

"What sorry? What you got? You lose my money?"

"Sorry, you're not gonna see your mama again for a long time..." He slaps a full house down on the table. He bellows grinning "Cause you're goin' to America! Full house boys!"

"Suck it! YEEAAAAA!" Owen screams and the table explodes into shouting in several languages. Jack rakes in the money and the tickets.

Jack speaks to the Swedes "Sorry boys. Three of a kind and a pair. I'm high and you're dry and..."

He turns to Owen "... we're going to…"

"AMERICA!" Owen screams with glee.

Olaf balls up one huge farmer's fist. We think he's going to clobber Jack, but he swings round and punches Sven, who flops backward onto the floor and sits there, looking depressed. Olaf forgets about Jack and Owen, who are dancing around, and goes into a rapid harangue of his stupid brother.

Jack kisses the tickets, then jumps on Owen's back and rides him around the pub. It's like they won the lottery.

"Goin' home... to the land o' the free and the home of the real hot-dogs! On the TITANIC! We're ridin' in high style now! We're practically goddamned royalty!" Jack is crowing.

"You see? It is my destiny! Like I told you. I go to America! To be a millionaire!" Owen grins to pub keeper "I go to America!"

"No, mate. Titanic goes to America. In five minutes."

"Shit! Come on, Owen!" Jack yes grabbing their stuff "Come on!"

They run for the door.