There weren't any stars to be seen in Cardiff that night of 1982. It was autumn, and the thick clouds covered the sky-dome above. Perhaps if anyone bothered to look at the horizon from the comfortable perch that the top of a building provided, they would see flashes of light, the signs of an incoming thunderstorm. However, that wasn't the case. Everyone seemed to go about with their lives, preferring to simply hope that they wouldn't be caught in the unfavourable conditions that November provided. They were also oblivious to the fact that, just a few feet underneath them, there was a different kind of activity going on.
Jack took another sip of his – by now – lukewarm coffee, barely bothered by the fact that he was sitting with both legs up on the desk and his chair was almost too far away; one wrong motion and he was certain to end up on the floor. Even so, his eyes barely left the computer monitor. After the severe drought Wales had suffered in 1976, it was almost a blessing that there was rain. More often than not, though, the one responsible for the violent changes in the weather was something else. Something that only the members of Torchwood knew of, and it was their job to keep an eye on it even now.
"What have we got?" a familiar gruff voice said from behind him, a hand landing on his shoulder.
It took all of Jack's willpower not to push away that hand in annoyance. "Nothing. Everything's as normal as a stormy night should be."
"Good. Carry on."
Jack didn't bother watching the retreating form; listening to the ebbing footsteps was more than enough. Billy Jones, the current director of Torchwood Three, had the nasty habit of considering everyone within the facility as his friend, getting all touchy-feely with them, giving speeches about how they should all be a team against the 'nasty aliens' and prepare humanity the best way possible. The fact that they were using equipment from said 'nasty aliens' seemed to go over the dear director's head, but Jack rarely voiced that thought. As far as the other members of Torchwood were concerned, Jack was another Torchwood artifact, one that just happened to eat and breathe. Oh, and have sex. Granted, it was rather limited to the five other people that he shared the Hub with, and the girls kept saying 'I'm not a slut!' and the boys 'I'm no queer!' once the deed was over. Even so, things could have been a lot more boring and, besides, he could tolerate a few kids if it meant that he'd be here when the Doctor arrived.
It was the day that he'd be able to go back to the TARDIS and travel with him that had kept him strong for nearly a century, truth be told. That was the sole reason that he had taken any kind of humiliation and name-calling just because he happened to be different. Jack wasn't even sure what had happened to him anyway. He was sure that he had died in that Dalek encounter, and yet there he was, sipping coffee that wasn't even all that tasty – they really needed to get someone who actually knew how to make a decent cup – and staring at numbers and lines 24/7. Of course, there was a part of him that wondered if he was actually dead and this was a form of Hell or Purgatory. Either prospect wasn't promising… or it wouldn't be but for the fact that he knew better, after dying and/or killing himself over and over throughout the years. There was no light, there were no pearly gates, and there was no such thing as Afterlife. In fact, there was nothing. Not even darkness…
Sighing, he simply drained the rest of mug in a single gulp and placed it down on the desk in resignation. One day, things would change. They had to. He couldn't be cursed forever.
And, on a different note, he couldn't keep looking at those readings forever, he was getting a headache. He looked at the time on the large clock across from him, and he frowned when he realized it was well after midnight and well past his shift. He punched the small button next to him to activate the intercom.
"Hey, Viv, you there?"
"No, I went out to have a fag," came the deadpan reply. "Any other questions, Harkness?"
"As much as I like to hear your sweet voice, Vivian, I only have one more thing to ask: Where the Hell is Pritchard?"
"Should be on his way. That or he ended up in the cages again."
"As long as he didn't end up a Weevil chew toy, I'll be happy," the former Time agent said, just as he heard the sound of a door opening behind him. Jack looked over his shoulder, and there was the very man himself, all but running up to him. "Never mind, he's here and apparently in one piece." With that, he released the button, regarding the newcomer in his best 'You're late' looks.
"Sorry, sorry," the young bespectacled man said. "Took a wrong left turn."
So what else is new? Jack thought. The new guy was hardly new anymore, considering he had been part of the team for almost a month ago, and yet he still somehow managed to get lost in a space that, though huge – they did need to store in it all of their stuff and creatures they caught, after all – it was hardly a maze. Not to mention the big signs that gave some pretty helpful little clues like 'Cells: Left' and 'Storage area: Right' every other corner…
Still, Jack wanted to be out of the room sooner rather than later, so he decided to let things slide without further fuss. He stood up, presenting the computer in an almost genteel manner. "Well, all yours."
Pritchard nodded dumbly, and he hesitantly came over. Even in his irritation though, Jack wasn't above mischievously discomfiting the people around him, and he barely moved an inch to allow the kid to pass through. There was a certain grim satisfaction at seeing someone squirm, stammer and blush so close to him. It was almost like watching a coy virgin at the proximity of her first lover. Then again, there was no doubt in Jack's mind that Pritchard was a virgin… and the former time agent wouldn't mind being his first lover at all. As a matter of fact, it would be very fun - and only a matter of time. People of the 20th century could never resist his charms and his 51st century pheromones.
Pritchard finally got past him and sat down, straightening and re-straightening his glasses as he sat down. "Well… um… I'll let you know if there's any change."
As if there wasn't one already, Jack thought with a mental leer, for he had picked up the change in the kid's breathing - the soft short panting that signified the kind of tension the former time agent loved having around. Alas, as tempting as some further teasing was, he had to put an end to it right there.
… Or, someone wise had said that the best way to resist temptation was to yield to it.
"You know where to find me," he replied, his tone neither too suggestive and yet not too innocent either; the perfect amount to throw his prey off balance and have him both wonder and ponder on the possibility.
"Uh… right…"
But Jack had already turned on his heel and headed for the exit, his hands in his pockets. He walked in a nonchalant manner, rather tickled after his little game, and by the time he had arrived in his bunker, he was unabashedly smirking. And as there was nothing better than calling it a night with a happy note, he dug out his book from the nightstand and put his feet up.
Those kinds of moments made life in Torchwood almost bearable.
Jack had actually managed to grab forty winks – it had been too difficult for the last century, probably due to his… condition – but, apparently, he hadn't been destined to rest properly tonight. Before he even knew it, the blast of the alarms rang throughout the Hub, signifying the change that the team had been on the lookout for: the Rift had opened, and there was no telling what had managed to get through.
The former time agent didn't waste any time. He didn't even bother to put on his shirt as he simply pulled up his bracers over his shoulders and climbed up as fast as he could, calling out to Pritchard.
"Give me the readings!"
The bespectacled man didn't look up. He kept his eyes glued on the screen, wide and filled with wonder. "They're big! The biggest I've ever seen!" he called back.
"Where?" Jones said, hurrying over to have a look at the screen himself. Vivian followed close behind, along with the two members of team Torchwood, Charlie Keen and Miranda Bowen.
"I… I don't know, I…"
"Find out," Jones replied firmly.
"Yes, sir, uh…" Pritchard started typing furiously, worrying his lip as he remained focused on the screen. "…Bute Park!"
"Then we're heading there," Jones declared, pulling back his shoulders. "Everyone grab your gear; this is not going to be a walk in the park."
Jack would have groaned at the horrid pun right then and there if it weren't for the gravity of the situation. For he had also managed to catch a glimpse of the readings in the monitors and, unfortunately, he had to agreed with Pritchard: they were way too high. High enough to make him wonder what could have gotten through…
"Billy…"
Billy, however, raised his hand to stop him. "No."
"You don't even know what I was going to say!" Jack said, almost affronted.
"I know that look; you want to come along. So I'm saving you the trouble. No."
"You know I can help."
"I know that I want you here. End of discussion," Billy Jones replied, reaching for his badge and backpack. "The rest of you, head to the van."
The other four team-members nodded their understanding and complied with the director's orders. All that was left for Jack to do was to watch them go, embittered and indignant. For all his talks about them being a team, Billy sure made a fine job leaving him behind to clean up their mess like a goddamn butler. One thing was for sure, if he ever got in charge of the place, things would be different! Kicking an invisible stone, Jack put his hands in his pockets and he started walking back to his bunker.
…Or he would have if he hadn't noticed one of the computer monitors suddenly shutting down. Then another. And another. By the time he realized what was going on, all the computer monitors ended up showing nothing but black. And if that didn't warn Jack that something wasn't right, the sound of the elevator operating certainly did. It couldn't have been any of the Torchwood team coming back; they wouldn't have bothered coming back that way. That, of course, meant one thing alone: someone else – or something else – was coming down that elevator, and he was the only one around her to deal with it.
Jack instantly drew his gun out of its holster and aimed it at the elevator, waiting… only to frown in the very next moment to see a man standing almost perfectly still, holding up his hands as if in surrender. He wasn't that bad-looking either. In fact, he was quite handsome, with his black hair, intense grey eyes and an athletic form that was finely clad in a leather jacket and a pair of blue jeans.
"I'm not here to fight," the man said.
Calm, steady look in his eyes… Not bad for someone who had a gun pointed in their face, Jack thought. "Then what are you here for? I know what I wished on my birthday, and you're not it," he said.
The man frowned slightly, only to sigh softly in the next moment. "Right. You don't know yet."
"Enlighten me then," Jack replied.
"Okay… May I step out of the elevator first?"
"As long as you keep your hands where I can see them," Jack said.
"That I can do," the man said. Even as he stepped forward, however, Jack noticed his eyes shining orange; it was more like looking at an animal's eyes caught in the headlights rather than a human's.
Cybernetic eyes; there was no question about it. The man wasn't from this time and place.
"That's close enough!" he barked.
The man stopped at once, his eyes reflecting something that almost looked like… disappointment. "Alright, here's what we're gonna do," he said. "With my left hand, I'm gonna reach for my ID, and I'm gonna show it to you, okay? Just don't shoot me. I've already been shot once, and I didn't much care for it."
"Trust me, if I shoot you, you won't have to worry about feeling anything again," Jack replied.
"Just let me reach for my ID, Jack, and I promise, I'll explain everything."
"Whoa, back up!" the former time agent said at once. "How do you know my name?"
The man pursed his lips, and then pulled his shoulders back slightly as if something had settled in his mind. "It's not the only thing I know about you. You're from the 51st century. You used to be a Time-agent, but you went rogue and turned to thieving along with your partner, John Hart. You had just completed a heist when you found me, crying and alone." He smiled weakly. "Of course, I was a scrawny little six-year-old with my eyes burnt off, so I don't really blame you for not recognising me right away… or at all."
Jack frowned, the words bringing back into the surface memories that he had long pushed back, considering them a thing of a past that didn't matter anymore. "…The city of Kaon… After the Arbas invasion."
"Yeah," the young man said gently. "You got me out of there. Took me somewhere where they could take care of me."
"…Where they could fix you," Jack completed.
The man nodded, and he gently tapped his temple, indicating his eyes. "I have these thanks to you. I had a chance for a new life thanks to you. And I'll always be grateful for that."
Jack stared at the man for many long moments, a smile tugging weakly on his lips before he could help it. "Cor."
"Yeah," the man said. He slowly reached for his pocket on the inside of his jacket, and he took out a card with a holographic image of several stars forming a humanoid form. "Although I now go by Cor Deckard, CIA."
Jack took the card, examining it closely. It had been such a long time since he had seen one of those, he had almost forgotten they even existed.
"Colonial Intergalactic Agency. I'm impressed. Still, I doubt this is a social call," he said as he handed the ID card back.
Cor smiled wryly. "No, it's not, even if I wish it were," he admitted. "My main job in the CIA is to track down and contain, if possible, potential threats alien or otherwise - against humanity. There's such a threat on Earth right now."
Jack frowned. "If you're talking about the big guy that came through the Rift, Torchwood has already gone off to deal with it."
The former time agent had expected Cor to swear under his breath and say they needed to go to the scene and take the matter of Torchwood's hands. He had even expected of him to say 'Oh, okay, that's cool, glad to see that you guys are on the case then.' He certainly didn't expect the young man to just smile like a kid who had been caught stealing from a cookie-jar.
"What?"
"I set off the alarm," Cor replied. "I'm afraid that your friends are going to spend the whole night stuck in a wild goose chase… is that the expression?"
Jack narrowed his eyes, just a bit. "It is. And let me guess: you set off the alarm the same way you shut down the monitors?"
"The technology in the 20th century is crude and pretty simple to hack, especially when you have 51st century cyber-eyes to help you out," Cor said, his lips tugging to a ghost of a smile. "I would have apologized for the deceit, but… I needed the rest of Torchwood out of the way. What I had to say was meant for your ears alone."
"And that is?" Jack said warily. Though Cor was a friendly face from the past, one of the few ones, in fact, the immortal man had a feeling that he wouldn't like what he heard.
It looked like Cor was aware of the same thing, for his eyes reflected his hesitation before he finally decided to speak. "Okay… I'll try to keep it as short as possible, without omitting anything too important. A few days ago, Intel informed us that an alien terrorist group that called themselves what's roughly translated as Crimson Fist was financing the B-EVO labs… do you remember them?"
Jack nodded. "They focused on bio-engineering and genetics, didn't they?"
"Yeah, they did. So you can guess that, when an alien terrorist group finances a lab with that kind of field expertise, it's hardly wishing to cure cancer. We had to go in."
"So what did you find?" Jack asked. As intrigued as he was by the story, he still wasn't sure where exactly he was coming into play.
"… A terrible thing," Cor replied. "And, believe me, I don't ever use these two words lightly."
"Except you're not telling me what it is," Jack said.
"I am," Cor replied solemnly. "There is no other way to describe… it. If I used the term 'creature', it would imply that it has eyes, ears, legs, whatever; it would be an entity that you'd be able to mentally grasp. If I said a weapon, it would imply that it was a mere tool, like a gun or a bomb; but that's not it either. This… thing… has a mind of its own, and it's a dangerous one. It's not just bestial, but it's not just calculating either. It's both. Had we been a few days too late, then nothing would have stopped them from unleashing it, dooming not just humanity, but every other being in the universe."
"Okay, so you caught it and saved the day. Why are you here?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.
Cor heaved a heavy sigh. "We caught it. But we didn't save the day."
"What?"
"Just hear me out," Cor said gently. "If it were in my hands alone, I would have ordered its incineration the moment I laid eyes on it. But the higher-ups had their own orders. The official report stated that the Thing was to be studied and have its biostructure analysed, so we could understand it better and attempt reverse-engineering it. Any findings and discoveries would then be used for the 'greater good'."
"You actually believed that?" Jack said with a snort. No government wasted what could turn out to be a valuable bargaining chip; the existence of Torchwood was enough proof of that.
"It didn't matter what I, or anyone else, believed. Politicians had the final say in the matter," Cor replied. "Or they would have if the convoy that was taking the Thing to the CIA labs hadn't been ambushed by the Crimson Fist in the C-78 sector. It was their toy, after all, and they didn't intend on giving up on it that easily."
"And…?" Jack said.
"…30 agents ended up dead. Worse, the freight carrying the Thing took heavy damage during the attack and Salen, the pilot, was forced to crashland in one of the moons in the sector. He didn't survive either. Even if he had, I doubt he'd be able to fight back 100 Crimson Fist soldiers on his own."
"Were you there?"
Cor shook his head. "If I had been, I'd have probably ended up dead too; there were no survivors in the attack."
Jack couldn't help but frown at that. "Then how do you even know what happened?"
Cor smiled weakly, and he blinked once. In the next moment, one of the monitors sprang to life – a part of a recorded transmission. The image of a man was barely visible amid the interference and the static; even so, Jack could tell that the poor bastard was just holding it together.
This is CIA agent Salen Volantis, ID number Bravo, Zero, Five, Five, Five, Zero, Tango! My craft and escort are under attack! We've got heavy casualties! I've been hit in the left engine and I can't stay airborne much longer! We need help to fight them back! We need—
And then there was nothing else but silence.
"Everything got cut out after that. Just went dead. As to how I know the Crimson Fist is behind the attack…" He blinked again, and the transmission reversed to several seconds before the end. Jack could only stare in wonder as the computer acted as if on its own accord, magnifying the image and clearing just enough to show a ship on the background.
"There's the insignia," Cor said, pointing to the starboard side of the craft. Indeed, Jack could see a dark red circle with what looked like a closed fist or claw in the centre. "The space-freight crashlanded on the moon below, and the black kit was badly damaged. That's all I've managed to salvage after personally investigating the scene."
"Alone?" Jack said, rather troubled. As far as he knew, CIA agents always worked with at least one partner to watch each other's back.
"Neither my commander nor I could ask anyone else to risk their life on this," Cor said softly.
"But you can risk yours?" Jack asked.
"As crazy as it sounds… yeah, I can," Cor said. "You haven't heard the whole story yet, Jack."
Jack blinked. "There's more?"
"I'm afraid yes. In fact, this is where it's got a lot more complicated," Cor replied. "We were sure that the Crimson Fist now had two choices: blackmail the governments to submission or release the Thing at an unsuspecting time and place, destroying everything. That's what my mission was at first: to track them down and make sure that they didn't make good on their threat. Except I found more than I had expected."
"What did you find?" Jack asked.
Cor started pacing the room slowly, his hands in his pockets. "The Thing wasn't kept in one place precisely in order to avoid detection. Even though I could discover encoded freight plans and itineraries that gave me an inkling as to its location, they were always one step ahead. That is, until the freight suddenly dropped off the grid. Nobody saw or heard of it. It wasn't even registered in any further data in the computers."
"They could have found out you were onto them," Jack reasoned.
"In my experience, nothing ever disappears without a trace; you just have to know where to look," Cor replied. "And… I did find something while looking. Mind you, it's very old and fragmented, but the last few minutes reveal more than enough." He blinked once, and the computer came to life again once more, playing the audio file of a man that sounded exhausted… even resigned.
…this tape when I'm finished… still have nothing to go on… I think it rips through your clothes when it takes you over… They could be anybody's… Nobody trusts anybody now, and we're all very tired… Nothing else… just wait. R.J MacReady… outpost 31.
Jack frowned. "Where did you find this?"
"In a file documenting alien sightings at the wake of the 21st century - before First Contact."
"It could be any alien though," Jack pointed. "This hardly proves anything."
"Trust me, it's enough," Cor said. "I did some further digging, and I found out that Outpost 31 was a US base in Antarctica, meant to monitor the weather changes in the continent. In spring of 1982, it was discovered burnt to the ground and no one could explain the how or the why; any of the scientists that could have shed some light into the mystery were gone."
"Dead?" Jack asked.
"Just gone," Cor replied enigmatically. "Now... call it a gut feeling of mine, but I think you and I both agree that the recording and the destruction of the outpost is suspicious. Something spooked them, made them paranoid and had them turn against one another."
"And you think your alien might be involved."
"Yeah… In fact, I'm sure of it. That's why I have to go to Antarctica and see for myself… and I want you to come with me."
Jack felt his eyes widening. "In Antarctica? Are you serious?"
Cor nodded, his expression hardly changing.
"You are serious…" Jack ran his hand through his hair. "How do you expect us to do that? We're practically on the other side of the globe."
"That's hardly stopped you before," Cor said, smiling knowingly. "Besides, I can deal with our transfer there. All you have to do is say 'Yes'."
The former time agent pursed his lips in thought, and then he shook his head. There had to be one reason that Cor wanted Jack along. "You know I can't die. That's why you came here. One can hardly risk their lives when they're immortal, right?"
His bitterness must have been audible, for Cor lowered his gaze almost apologetically. "In part. But I also know that I can't go alone; I need someone I can trust. Someone like you."
Jack snorted weakly. "I'm not the hero you make me out to be, kiddo."
"Your heart is still in the right place," Cor replied. "And I know that... if the worst should happen, you'll do the right thing. No matter what."
"That Thing really has you on your toes, doesn't it?" Jack said, frowning.
"Tell me something, Jack…" Cor said quietly. "If I were an imitation, a perfect imitation… how would you know if it was really me?"
Jack blinked, the question catching him off guard. "Are you saying the Thing is a shape-shifter?"
"Worse. An assimilator. All that it takes is one living cell – a living organism by its own right - out of its mass to take you over," Cor replied. "So… how would you know if it was really me?"
At first, Jack had to admit that he didn't know what to answer. But then, whether unwittingly or not, Cor made a motion with his head just so that the light hit him from a different angle, revealing the cyber eyes' orange eyeshine.
"It wouldn't be able to copy your eyes. They're mechanical," Jack said thoughtfully. "And that's why you took this mission. If the Thing gets you, it won't be able to imitate you."
"Nor you. Assimilating you would have to mean killing you. And you can't die," Cor said, smiling weakly. "That's why I trust you and that's why I hope you can come with me."
Right… there Jack was, actually considering whether he should follow a man that he hadn't seen in centuries – quite literally – to the middle of nowhere and to certain danger. Sure, he had been itching for some action, and this sounded like it was definitely big. But leave Cardiff? Leave Torchwood? He hadn't been able to do that in nearly a century, afraid he'd miss the Doctor.
And if he refused? When would he have another chance to get out? It had been such a long time since he had actually seen anything else but these four walls, he had almost forgotten what the outside world looked like. And it's not that he had seen Antarctica before. What was the worst thing that could happen? Freeze to death? He hadn't even tried that kind of death before… guess that was a good opportunity too.
"Right… when do we leave?"
TBC…
A/N: Definitely something different. Loved the John Carpenter movie since first viewing and, after watching the prequel too, the idea of this sort of sequel struck. Not sure if I'll be able to pull off the tension and horror of the films, but I intend to try. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the results.
What you need to know about Cor Deckard has already been covered in this chapter. Still, if you're feeling curious, you can check out my Step Backs story right here on the site. :)