CAPTAIN JACK AND THE ALIEN PERIL
He couldn't see very well from up on the hill, but he didn't dare use binoculars. It was a bright, sunny day, and he knew that the current position of the sun would give him away in a moment. One brief flash of light on a lens, and the guards would be up here like a shot. Some use he'd be then, dead with a bullet in him, or whisked away down into that house for a tedious interrogation that would itself probably end with a bullet. Nobody would ever know, his body would be thrown away out to sea, and then all of this would carry on as undisturbed as it had been before he had become suspicious. No - better to strain his eyes and miss out on the fine detail, than get a few seconds of a perfect view that would doubtless be the last thing he ever really saw. Later, perhaps, when the sun was on its way down; or in the evening, when he could slip closer to the house, and maybe even break in. He was good at that kind of thing. It had all been a part of his training, even if that did seem like a long, long time ago now. Not that long, he thought to himself with a bitter smile. Not really all that long ago at all. And yet, at the same time, it might have been centuries.
There were two of them down there now. Both men by the look of it, dressed in dark uniforms with peaked caps, and some sort of flashes on the sleeves. Insignia of rank or organisation, he supposed. It didn't matter. What mattered was what they were doing there, hidden away in this secluded place, with their strange lights at night, their unusually high consumption of electricity, and their peculiarly secretive behaviour. Sightseers kept being frightened away by belligerent guards, sometimes accompanied by dogs. Curious visitors had been threatened with legal action. The locals went nowhere near the place anymore, but muttered about it in the pubs in the evening, or in the general stores during the day, complaining about the strangers who had appeared one afternoon, and now seemed to think that they owned half of the coast. Whoever those men were, in their simple black uniforms, they never seemed to mix with any of the locals. They never spent their evenings in the pub; they never went to shop in the villages. They seemed to live for their compound down there; for that big house, and whatever lay within its walls. Perhaps they had everything that they needed in there; entertainment, food, living quarters. All the same, it seemed strange that none of them would ever want to leave. Did they never have days off? Did they never have to restock their supplies? Everything must be delivered, perhaps by boat, but that raised further questions. This wasn't a government facility - he had seen that straight away. A private firm, then. Research? Development? Chemicals, weapons, medical science? There were any number of possibilities, many if not most of them entirely legal. This, though, was something sinister; he was sure of it. However his career might have ended, whatever his reputation might now be, he still trusted his instincts. Mike Yates was a civilian now, but he was still a professional. And one thing that he could certainly still do was identify trouble. The problem these days was knowing what to do about it.
He had come here for a holiday. Cornwall was a fine place to get away from it all. He had been here a few times as a child, and even once or twice since joining UNIT, though his time off then had been rare. A weekend, usually when the weather had been far from great; half a week snatched after the clean up operations were completed following some ghastly thwarted alien invasion or other. He had come here this time almost without thinking, down along the south coast where the scenery was so pleasing, off the beaten track a little, to the places where the tourists had not yet swarmed en masse. The quiet beaches of Downderry; the fishing community of Looe; the quiet, picturesque surroundings of Polperro. A place to pitch a tent in some small, empty field, and lose himself in thoughts of the rest of his life. He hadn't expected to find himself in the middle of an investigation. He couldn't ignore it, though, when he heard the local whisperings, and saw the strange lights that lit up this house in the dead of night. The strange sounds, the comings and goings of a long black car with darkened windows. The patrolling guards with their vicious dogs, and stories of local children, terrified by thugs in uniform. The police had been called in originally of course, but they didn't seem to have achieved anything, or even found anything out. Nobody had really tried to investigate these people properly; to ask the right questions in the right places. Everybody just muttered about it, and told each other how terrible it was that outsiders should behave in such a fashion. And that was where it had all ended, until he had chosen to involve himself. He had nothing better to do, after all. A good disability pension from UNIT stopped him from having to get real work just yet. An uncertainty about his own mental health stopped him from wanting to. This, though - this was perfect. A chance to test himself again, and find out if he could still do what he had been trained for. A chance to find out if he was still the man he had always believed himself to be. He wasn't sure how to handle it at the moment, but he was sure that he would work something out. If he was to be any use at all for the rest of his life - if he was to stand any chance of achieving anything worthwhile again - then he had to at least take a shot at tackling this. Otherwise he might just as well take that long, long walk out to sea.
It was late afternoon by the time that Mike arrived back at his camp. His small green tent might have looked forlorn in the empty field, but to a former army man such things seemed homely enough. He built himself a fire from his stock of wood, piled behind his tent, and soon had a merry little blaze going. In no time at all his metal kettle was whistling away to itself, and the morning's catch was spitting and fizzing on the hot plate. He made army cocoa, a particular favourite of his, and ate the fish with a folding fork; just one of many things he had kept from his army days. Somehow no soldier ever seemed to return the full kit, and Mike Yates had returned less than most. He watched the sun begin to set, as he sat beside his now faintly glowing fire, and thought about the evening ahead. There was something going on inside that house, and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that it was something illicit. Somebody was up to something that they shouldn't be - hadn't he learned enough in recent years to know when to be suspicious? He should be able to talk it over with his colleagues. Not all that very many months ago he would have discussed it all with Sergeant Benton by now. They might even have scrounged a day off, to come down here together and check it out, before wondering whether to bother the Doctor or the Brigadier. Jo would have come too, he mused - the three of them, playing at investigators, because that was the sort of thing that one did in UNIT. He had no idea where Jo was these days, but she would probably have heard of his treachery by now. No doubt she and the Doctor had remained in touch. And Benton... well, Benton was out of reach now, and Mike wasn't even going to bother trying to take this to him. He had an idea that the sergeant would still listen to him, but it wasn't a theory that he wanted to put to the test. It would hurt too much if he was wrong. And besides, he didn't want to get his former subordinate into trouble. No, this one he would just have to handle alone. If the worst came to the worst, and he did end up shot and dumped at sea, at least then nobody else would get hurt. And there wouldn't be anyone to miss him, either.
"Stop being so maudlin, you fool." His voice, clear and precise, sounded odd in the dusky, quiet field. He got to his feet, poured the last of the kettle's cooling contents over the fading fire, and kicked over the ashes to be sure that the flames were dead. Returning from a night-time's adventure to find the tent burned down would be annoying at best, to say nothing of just plain embarrassing. It would probably take some explaining to the farmer who owned the field, too. Nothing like attracting the attention of the local police to put an end to his secret investigations.
By torch light he sorted out his belongings inside his tent. A notepad and pencil, relics of his days as an ultra-efficient aide; the torch and a change of batteries; some night-vision gizmo that the Doctor had put together for him back during the Silurian business; and his service revolver, kept in a locked metal box that he had hidden beneath his sleeping bag. He checked the load, and stuck it into his belt, then made sure that it was hidden by his lightweight jacket. Everything else he stowed away into a small backpack that should make him look as innocuous as any ordinary walker. It was April, which was too early in the year for most tourists, but that was no reason for anybody to be suspicious - unless they searched him. He didn't plan on being seen, anyway. Once he was sure that he was ready, he scrambled out of the tent, zipped it closed, then started off across the field. He had been to the house enough times now to be able to find it easily enough in the dark. Getting there was not a problem. It was what came after he had arrived that he needed to worry about.
The luminous dial on his watch showed that it was a quarter past nine when he arrived at his vantage point from previously in the day, up on the hill. He was early - usually nothing happened here until at least ten o'clock. Time for a proper look around, then, before the light show that was sure to begin at some point during the night. Moving carefully, mindful of anything that might cause a noise, he slid the night-vision contraption of the Doctor's from out of the rucksack, and slipped it on over his eyes. It looked like a bizarre pair of sunglasses, but with one press of a button just above his right ear, suddenly he could almost have been standing in the daylight. The range was no more than a hundred yards or so, but it was better than risking a torch. Running at a crouch, as silent as he could possibly manage, he went down the hill, ducked behind a low-running hedge, and made his way up to the fence. There were guards around here, he was sure of it, and he had to be mindful of the dogs. The guards might not see or hear him, but with a dog it was not nearly so easy to hide.
It was a fair bet that the fence was alarmed - possibly even electrified. He listened out for a telltale hum, but could hear nothing save the whispering of the sea. Another contraption of the Doctor's would be a help right now. Something to get him through the fence without causing klaxons to blare, or without getting him electrocuted. He had nothing, though. Nothing save his brain, and his training. Better than nothing, he supposed. After all, his training had to amount to something, and had always stood him in good stead in the past - before everything had gone wrong and he had begun to lose faith in himself. What would he be doing now, if this were a proper UNIT operation? If there were men here under his command, expecting him to know what to do? Somehow it was harder to think of such things now, when he no longer trusted himself the way that he once had. This was not the time for a lack of faith, though. Personal crises would like as not get him killed.
He decided on making a circuit of the compound, to check out the perimeter and see if there were any places where he might scale the fence. It seemed like as good a plan as any, and with the night-vision lenses over his eyes, he was able to see every detail along the fence's length. It was new, he could tell. New and flawless, with no places where he might be able to slip through. He hadn't really expected there to be. Once or twice he came upon a place where a bush or small tree grew near to the fence, but nothing that would have enabled him to climb over. Trying to cut the wire was sure to be out of the question. Generally speaking, there was no better way of causing alarms to ring, or of bringing guards and dogs running. He scowled and pressed on, ever mindful of the possible presence of security cameras, and always on the alert for oncoming guards. It was like having eyes in every direction at once, his senses heightened and his movements steady and precise. Just like the finest soldier, he thought briefly; just like the old days; before he killed the thought stone dead. No time for self-pity, and no time for thoughts of the past. He was here now. The old days weren't.
He had all but given up hope of finding a way in over the fence when he came at last to a place where the surrounding land sloped up. The going became more awkward then; more uneven, more rocky, with loose bits that he had to negotiate carefully. He wasn't going to give himself away with a landslide. That would be too bitter a pill. Scrambling up the slope, struggling not to slide back down into the fence, he realised quite suddenly that his eyes were on a level with the top of it. If he could climb a little higher, in theory he should be able to leap right over and into the compound. Getting out again would not be nearly so easy of course - but getting out was getting out. That was an entirely different problem. He was just getting ready to jump; just gathering the power in his legs to propel himself - he hoped - over the top of the fence; when something flashed in the corner of his eye. Something small and red. Possibilities fired through his mind; security, surveillance, defence, any number of things, none of them good; and his instincts leapt into action before he could straighten his thoughts. Forgetting about breaking into the mysterious house, forgetting about his attempts at investigation, he threw himself down the slope. It saved his life. The second that he launched himself into the air, an alarm burst into life. A jarring, disorientating, impossibly loud ringing, that swirled his senses into a jumble and left him for a moment unsure which way to run. His instincts told him, keeping him running despite his confusion; powering him onwards away from other noises that he could also now hear. It was hard to be sure of them through that awful, insane ringing, but he knew them for what they were. Gunshots. Ricocheting gunshots, hitting the stony slope where he had been standing just seconds before. He thanked the stars for whatever it was inside himself that had made him move at the sight of that single, brief flash of red light. Now all he had to do was stay ahead of whoever was firing those guns.
The ground changed as he ran. The vegetation changed too. Less cover, he realised - though hopefully for him that was less of a problem. Anybody coming in pursuit could not hope to have night-vision as good as his own. Underfoot he could see that there was more sand now, the covering greenery becoming more scrubby, less thick. He was heading towards the beach, and behind him, as the alarm cut sharply off, he could hear the gunshots more clearly. He ran low, zigging and zagging to present less of a target, careful not to lose his footing on the increasingly loose and sandy ground. Falling now would cost him the precious seconds that he had as an advantage. Somewhere off to his right, fortunately still some way behind him, he heard a voice shouting, but he couldn't make out the words. He didn't care what was being said. His first concern - his only concern - was getting away. Anything else was comparatively insignificant.
It was when he realised that he was running on pure sand that he slowed. He had to. Suddenly it was much harder to run. Inwardly he cursed. Now what? He should have tried to keep to the firmer ground, but it had been almost impossible to choose a direction. There had seemed to be too many pursuers, too spread out behind him. They had been herding him, perhaps; knowing all too well just how hard it was to run on fine sand. Well, fine. So he had run straight into their trap. They hadn't caught him yet. Taking a hard left, towards the cover of some rocks, he redoubled his efforts at running. It was hard, yes; but it wasn't impossible. And soon enough they would have to be running on it too. Just as long as he could keep from being shot, he could still stay ahead of his pursuers.
There were many rocks. Small ones that he stumbled over or dodged around; bigger ones that he had no choice but to scramble through. Skirting them would make himself into too much of a target, or risk losing more of his lead. Bigger ones still he squeezed between, wondering all the time if there was anywhere where he could hole up for any length of time. Could he risk taking that chance? He could hide, and perhaps lose his pursuers - but he could just as easily be found by them, and lose all chance of escape. He dodged and ran onwards, still hearing shouts, still hearing occasional shots. He wondered distantly if anybody else was hearing the gunshots. If the police had been called, perhaps. Being arrested by them as a trespasser would be infinitely better to being shot, or captured by these gun-toting guards. Somewhere off to his right he heard a dog bark, and he groaned. Oh, fabulous. As if he didn't have enough to worry about. Another shout rang out then, closer than before; closer than any he had heard so far. He cursed, pushed on, scrambled his way through a veritable giant's pile of rocks - and then suddenly a hand was grabbing his wrist, grabbing his arm, pulling him backwards, jerking him off balance and into utter blackness. His night-vision lenses had been knocked loose, he realised. He fought hard, trying to regain his balance, trying to get free, fumbling at the same time for the lenses, as though, if he could see again, he might somehow be able to escape. He couldn't break the hold; couldn't see a bloody thing; could hear dogs barking and feet scuffing the rocks, and knew that he would be swamped at any moment. When a strange blue light suddenly filled his vision he wondered for a moment if he had been shot. A peculiar feeling enveloped him that left him utterly disorientated, and for all he knew he had been shot, and this was what it felt like at the end. Not quite what he had expected, but it could have been worse. Then suddenly there was light again - real light. Blue and orange and red, and the rocks and sand were gone. He was lying on the decking of some kind of craft, and a tall, grinning man was untangling himself from Mike's arms and legs, and offering him a hand to get up. Mike lay where he was, utterly confounded. What the hell! Not shot, then. Not unless it was traditional to be welcomed to the other side by a grinning idiot in a USAF uniform, standing inside what looked suspiciously like a spaceship. He frowned rather groggily, and sat slowly up.
"Transmat?" He would have liked to sound more sure of himself, and less like somebody who had just been turned upside down and inside out, and shaken until his teeth rattled. The grinning officer grinned even more widely, which was quite a remarkable achievement. "And when did the American Airforce start flying spaceships?"
"2262, if I'm remembering my history right." The grinning officer shrugged. "I'm probably not. Really pretty bad on that period. Captain Jack Harkness, and no, I'm not in the Airforce. It's a cover, but I kinda blew that when I brought you here, huh."
"I certainly wouldn't have believed you were any ordinary pilot, that's for sure." Mike frowned. "Er... might I... Do you make a habit of whisking people away in your spaceship? And where are we, anyway?"
"We're not on a beach, about to get shot by a gang of trigger-happy gorillas in uniform." Jack shrugged. "After that, anything's an improvement, right?" He leaned down, hauling Mike to his feet. "But in answer to your question, we're tethered to something called Shag Rock. Let's just say I liked the name. The ship's invisible, so we're safe enough. You okay?"
"Fine." Mike checked himself over instinctively. Nothing hurt, and everything that was supposed to move still seemed able to. He was a little sandy, and there were probably a few bruises here and there - but nothing serious. "Thankyou. You probably saved my life."
"No, you weren't doing too badly. You move well. Military?"
"No." Mike was good at keeping his feelings to himself, but there was a flash in his eyes that he couldn't quite hide. "Not anymore."
"Sorry. Sensitive point?" Jack's manner was easy, and answering him would probably have been simple enough, but Mike was not the type to open up to strangers - or to anybody else. He shook his head.
"Doesn't matter. I... Listen, I hope that this doesn't sound rude, but what exactly is an American pilot doing in an invisible spaceship tethered to a big rock in Cornwall? Is this something official?"
"Not even close." Jack gave a genial laugh, then slid into the craft's control seat. "Pull up a chair. Well, there's really only the bunk. I did have another seat around here somewhere..."
"I don't want to sit down. So you're under cover as an American Airforce pilot?"
"Yeah... You know, I've really got to stop getting mixed up with the locals. If I keep telling everybody who I am, pretty soon half of Earth's history is going know way more about science and time travel than they should. And that's gonna complicate things, believe me."
"You're a time traveller?" That made a certain sense. The spaceship, whatever the Americans might be up to in secret, really didn't look like anything that could have come from current human technology; and Mike was sure that the Americans couldn't have intercepted any alien craft without UNIT knowing about it. UNIT, after all, cared nothing for international boundaries, and had the best detection and early warning systems on the planet. Jack raised an eyebrow.
"And that doesn't surprise you. Interesting. Do you take everything in your stride, or are you more than you look?" The questioning expression changed into a faintly suggestive grin. "Not that there's anything wrong with how you look."
"I..." He frowned, not entirely sure how to answer that. "I'm not exactly an ordinary twentieth century citizen. Just when and where are you from?" The frown deepened, suspicion taking over even if he did owe this man his life. "And why are you here?"
"You gonna draw that gun, or just hover round it while you figure me out? I'm from the future, that doesn't make me a mass murderer." Jack's expression suddenly cleared. "I get it. Used to trouble that comes in spaceships, right? You're from UNIT. This is the late twentieth century, but you're obviously familiar with certain concepts. Yeah, it fits. I guess it explains what you were doing running around backthere in the middle of the night, too. Are UNIT investigating that house?"
"Not exactly, and you didn't answer my questions."
"Yeah, and you didn't stop looking like you can't figure out whether or not to shoot me. It wasn't me that was just chasing you around the Cornish countryside, trying to blow holes in that pretty head. I was the one who stopped all that, remember? Dashing rescue? Heroic space adventurer dramatically whisking the soldier boy in distress straight from the jaws of death? It was pretty hard to miss."
"I didn't miss it. And thankyou, it's appreciated." Mike forced himself to take his hand away from his gun, and tried to decode the high speed barrage of words that had just been thrown at him. None of it had really sounded like an explanation. "So what exactly are you doing here? And who are you?"
"Direct. I like that." Jack tapped a few controls on the instrument banks around him, and a screen suddenly flashed on in a blaze of colour. A three dimensional representation of the house lit the American's face with peculiar shades of yellow and orange, and tiny little black-unformed guards patrolled a miniature fence. "Recognise it?"
"Of course." Mike came closer, fascinated. "Something is going on in there. The local police seem to have lost interest, but I've seen too much in the last few years to be fobbed off now by official explanations and clever public relations people."
"I'll bet. This era is a fabulous one from my point of view. Different alien invasion practically every week, or that's how it seems. I guess you've seen a fair bit of that, being in UNIT."
"Yes, I have. And stop avoiding the issue. You saved my life and I'm grateful for that, but that doesn't mean that I don't want answers. Lots of them."
"Yeah." Jack looked rueful. "So much for going incognito, huh."
"If you wanted to remain incognito, you wouldn't be leaping about the place using transmat beams. Could the people back on the beach have seen the light that the beam made?"
"Possibly. I tried to be careful, but I couldn't pick my moment as well as I'd have liked. They wouldn't have known what it was, though. This is the nineteen seventies, and they're only human."
"Ignoring the obvious insult, how can you be sure of that? Whatever is going on in that house doesn't seem 'nineteen seventies and only human' to me."
"You're not entirely wrong." Jack sighed. "Okay, look. I come from the 51st century, or sort of. I travel through time. Visit planets, eras, all over the place, looking for... artefacts, let's say. Things I can sell. Anything anachronistic, which is why this is such a great era. There's a lot of debris in this decade, and especially in this country, that really doesn't belong in this era. It's because of all the alien invasions. UNIT doesn't get all the alien technology that gets left here. They think they do, but they don't always know what they're looking for. All of which leaves plenty of spoils for me."
"And so that's why you came here? You're what exactly... some kind of intergalactic rubbish collector?"
"Hey!" Jack looked faintly insulted. "No, not exactly. And the guys I sell all this stuff to hardly think that. I'm more... an adventurer. A prospector. I find things that other people want, and I pass them along."
"At a price."
"Of course. Hey, everybody's got to make a living."
"Yes, no doubt. Alright, so you came here looking for things to sell to people. It sounds feasible, even if it is a little unlikely. What do you know about that house?"
"Probably not a whole lot more than you do." Jack pointed towards the hologrammatic map. "Take a look at this. I came to England looking for alien leftovers, like I said. While I was here I detected the residue of some kind of time-travel equipment. Nothing terribly sophisticated, but it was enough to get me interested. I know people who'll pay a lot of money for anything like that, so I kept looking. And that was when my ship's detectors picked something up, down here in Cornwall. Energy emissions that shouldn't be here."
"Energy emissions?"
"Yeah. You ever hear of something called tallite?"
"No. It sounds like some kind of mineral."
"It is. It's from a planet named Corus IX. Not a big place. No more than a glorified asteroid, really, but it was developed as an Earth mining colony - will be developed, I guess I should say - in 2481. It's Earth's main source of tallite throughout the twenty-sixth century, and well into the twenty-seventh. Important stuff, tallite."
"In the future."
"In the future, yeah. There's no way it should be here on the Earth now, especially in these kinds of quantities. Somebody is using it to power something in that house back there, and they shouldn't be able to do that. It could be that it has something to do with the time travel equipment I detected."
"I doubt it. There have been one or two incidents recently where time machines of a sort were used here in Britain. I suppose they would be primitive by your standards, though they got the job done at the time. I think you can rule them out as being connected with this."
"If you're sure."
"I'm as sure as I can be. There was a sort of a cult a few months ago, that wanted to return the Earth to a Golden Age. Their equipment is most likely what you detected. I'm not sure what happened to it, as I wasn't involved in that part of the operation, but I think we can be sure that it's no longer in any state to be used. Before that there were one or two other events... There might have been more, but I doubt it. This is hardly Time Travel Central."
"We'll, you're the guy in the front line I guess." Jack shrugged. "Any other theories?"
"I have no idea how a mineral from the future could be here in any great quantities now. All that I can really suggest is some kind of alien involvement. It's hardly rare. They don't seem to want to leave us alone."
"You guys are real alien magnets alright. I've been reading up on it all since I came here. It's incredible how much alien activity was going on in Britain at the end of the twentieth century, and all without the general public finding out. You UNIT guys have done one hell of a job."
"We try." Mike looked away, trying not to let his mind wander to thoughts of the life he had left behind. "So that's your theory then, is it? That there are aliens in that house? The guards looked pretty human to me, though I haven't been able to get a very close look at them."
"The guards are human. My scanners are pretty clear on that. Could be they don't know who they're working for, or maybe they just don't care. Maybe they're being controlled somehow. Hypnosis? Drugs? It happens."
"Yes, I know." Mike had first hand experience of mind control, though not of the alien kind. "Whether or not they know what they're doing is irrelevant just at the moment, though. Tell me more about this tallite. What's it used for?"
"All kinds of things. It's used in laboratory equipment, transmitters, lasers, weather technology; it's ground down and used in toughened glass - it's pretty useful stuff."
"Weather technology?"
"Yeah. All the rage in the twenty-sixth century; and I really can't stress just how much I shouldn't be telling you all this. They worked out a pretty much foolproof system of Design Your Own Weather. Want to be sure of good weather for your wedding? No problem. Became quite a big business for a while, until people started to complain. Rich people could pay for all the dry weather they wanted, or for rain whenever they felt like it. The rest of the population didn't think so much of it. Doubt the ecosystem appreciated it much, either." He shrugged. "Anyway, they stopped in the end. It was supposed to help tackle freak weather, and the damage it causes, but they never learnt how to stop massive storms from happening whenever they feel like it."
"So we've got an alien in a big house in Cornwall, using tallite he shouldn't have in order to make transmitters, toughened glass and lab equipment, and to mess about with the climate?" Mike sat down on the edge of a nearby bunk. Orange light glowed around him, reminding him that he was on board a spaceship, and that he still didn't really know who this man was. In that context, aliens living in a house in Cornwall didn't seem so strange. "There has to be something else, surely?"
"Weather technology was Earth's number one use for tallite. There's no telling what other races might do with it. Doesn't explain why they'd come to Earth here and now with a shipload of the stuff, but then why do any aliens come to Earth? Especially to Britain."
"Any number of reasons." Invasions, usually. Mike had had plenty of experience of those. Aliens wanting to replace important government figures with clones; aliens claiming to come in peace, but with sinister agendas behind their false smiles. This was surely just some other plan to take over the planet. They should probably call UNIT; an anonymous telephone call would do the trick. The information would have to be checked out, and no member of UNIT would be fobbed off the way that the local police had been. There would be people down here in a matter of hours, and soon enough they would find out what was going on. Nobody need ever know of his involvement - which was probably for the best.
"Any number of reasons. Exactly." Jack was suddenly on his feet again, beaming like this was the greatest day of his life. "So - you want to go take a closer look?"
"A closer..." He should tell UNIT. This was not something that he should be handling on his own, with a total stranger that he couldn't even be sure he could trust. "We should hand this over to the authorities now. Let them handle it."
"Why? You're the local alien expert. I'm the guy you always want on your side. What do we need authorities for?"
"Because they're equipped to deal with these things. All I've got is a nice torch and an illegal sidearm. I thought I could take a look around, but they trounced me before I got anywhere."
"Yeah, but now you've got me. And I've got a lot more than a nice torch." Jack waved an arm around at the interior of his ship. "I can zap us straight into that house, and nobody will ever know we're there. If they do, no problem. I'll zap us back out again. Come on. What do you say?"
"I think I'd be crazy to even consider it."
"You're pretty crazy for trying what you did anyway. Why not take one more step? Look, if this is a trust thing..."
"That's part of it, certainly. For all I know, you're working with those people back there. Be a great way to find out what I know, wouldn't it."
"Yeah, sure. Except you know that's not what I am. If I just wanted to get your trust, why the spaceship? There are far better ways of approaching somebody."
"Maybe."
"And I certainly wouldn't be encouraging you to go take a look around inside that house. It'd be pretty pointless springing a trap like that after the conversation we've just had. Hell, even you don't think you're a threat to those guys. UNIT threw you out, right? Listen, I don't care what your issues are. All I know is that there's some alien or aliens out there, who are planning to do something with a whole lot of tallite. That stuff shouldn't be here, but I can sell it for a lot of money if I jump it forward a few centuries. Keep this ship in power cells for the next decade, that would. So I plan on going into that place and having a look around. I'm no philanthropist, though. If they're planning on blowing up the planet, that's not my problem. Figured you might care. Maybe you don't."
"I do care." Mike's voice was suddenly cold. "Which is why I think we need to call UNIT."
"Yeah, okay. But why not have something concrete to tell them first? Why not find out what's really going on in that house, before you hand this over to somebody else? You've started this. Stick with it a little longer, yeah?"
"What's it to you? If you don't care what they're doing, why worry?" Mike smiled suddenly - a thin, cold smile that made him look uncharacteristically hard. "You don't want UNIT here, do you. They'll get in your way, and they might stop you from making off with your spoils. You really don't care what those people are up to."
"I care. Up to a point. It's hardly in my best interests to let them destroy the planet several millennia before I get to be born. Being erased from history would cramp my style just a little. But yeah, you're right as it happens. I don't want UNIT here getting in the way. I don't want any kind of authorities here. They interfere in everything, they cause trouble, and we don't need them. And they sacked you, right? What do you want them for anyway?"
"I think this conversation has gone far enough." Mike was standing without really being aware of making a move. "How do I get out of here?"
"Same way you got in." Jack sighed. "That's really it? You get offended and go off in a huff? Look, we make a great team."
"We don't even know each other. And I rather think that it's best left that way."
"Hey, we know each other. At least, you know me. You didn't introduce yourself, sure, but did I take offence?" Jack offered him a smile that was weirdly endearing, and almost infectious. Mike glared.
"Somehow I don't think that this is an acquaintance we'll be extending. Let's just leave it at that."
"So you're going off to the nearest telephone, to report back to your old bosses, just because you don't know if you've got what it takes to deal with this anymore?" For the first time Jack's voice bore no traces of humour. "That really what you want?"
"What I want is to be left alone." For some reason Mike couldn't quite look him in the eye. "Yes, they fired me - and with good reason."
"And I saw the way that you handled yourself out there. You stayed cool, you moved like a pro. You don't think you can do this, but I think you can. Any time you want to back out, sure, we'll call in UNIT. Any time. But you must have thought for a moment that you could handle this, or you'd never have gone to that house tonight. You'd have been sitting back in your boarding house, hiding under the covers and waiting for the grown-ups to frighten the monsters away. Right?"
"I suppose I did think that I could do something, yes." Mike glanced away, over towards the holographic map that was still suspended nearby. "I have no idea what. Some of my best work has been done without stopping to think, but it didn't seem to go quite so well tonight."
"Then give it a chance and try it again. Look, I want the tallite. You want to make sure it gets out of the twentieth century, right? It shouldn't be here. Can you be sure that if UNIT comes here, that stuff won't get into the hands of the wrong people? Maybe UNIT are trustworthy, but it's not like they rule the world, is it. I can get that stuff someplace far out of the way."
"All out of the kindness of your heart."
"Hell no. But it turns out in everybody's favour, so where's the problem? Come on, soldier boy. Say yes. Come on a little reconnoitring with me, check out the territory and see what's what. If this is too big for us, we'll let the soldiers take over. Then you can buy me dinner, and we'll check out the Cornish night-life. But it's worth a try, right?"
"Maybe." Mike was thinking back to his attempt to break into the house. It had been wonderful, being on a mission again, with a purpose and a goal. Not the same as the old days, no - but good all the same. And once upon a time he would have tried to look around down there on his own, without reporting to the Brig until he was sure. That was just good soldiering, after all - or, at least, good UNIT soldiering. He stared again at the little map, with the soldiers patrolling their miniature fence. Doubts about Jack Harkness still lingered. He really didn't know the first thing about this man. And yet Jack made sense, after a fashion, and there was something about him that Mike did trust. Maybe it couldn't hurt to go to that house again, and try for a proper look around. Get some real information to pass on up the chain. Jack was grinning, and Mike realised that his change of heart must be showing itself on his face. He hated himself for that, but it did at least get rid of the need for long conversations. He merely nodded, and looked away. He was going to regret his. He was absolutely sure that he was going to regret this. Somehow, though, he was already feeling relieved. Passing the buck never had been his style.
"I'll fix up the transmat." Jack sounded like a kid about to go on holiday. "Grab your night-vision gadget up off the floor. It might be useful. And check up above your head. I've got some transponders there somewhere. If we get separated, I can find you that way. You're not going to regret this."
"I already am." Mike did as he was asked, watching with half an eye as Jack disappeared under a nearby console, ferreting about with a fearsome gadget that was possibly supposed to be a spanner. For some reason he reminded Mike of the Doctor, desperately working on his TARDIS in the days before control of it had been restored to him. Just now the comparison was not an especially encouraging one. There was a distinctly slapdash air about this spaceship and its devil-may-care pilot. There was no going back now though; he knew that. Quit now and he would never try this again. Quit now and he would wind up spending the rest of his life in a suit, working in an office somewhere, and pining for a past he had let slip away. He sighed.
"Mike Yates," he said, more or less to himself. Jack's head popped up from underneath the console.
"Huh?"
"It's my name. Captain Mike Yates. I didn't tell you earlier. I suppose I was being stand-offish. It's one of my talents."
"Oh." Jack grinned. It was a nice grin, Mike couldn't help thinking. A friendly grin, and one that really did demand to be returned. "Hi Mike."
"Hi." He returned his attention to the search for transponders, trying not to think of distracting, and faintly disturbing, pilots from the future. Back underneath his console, Jack's grin turned into a fond smile. He had thought from the beginning that this was going to be a fun trip, and generally speaking he was right about such things - except when he was wrong, anyway. This time he was definitely getting a good feeling. And things were shaping up all the time.
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Fate was a lot of fun, sometimes. She could be cruel, sure. She could be damn well vicious at times. But she could also, like today, be a whole lot of fun to be around. Jack had come to the twentieth century on a whim; had stayed around merely because he had detected the use of some primitive form of time travel technology - and now here he was with a shot at a good shipment of tallite, and a decidedly interesting individual to help him get at it. Mike Yates had a nice smile, when he used it; he certainly wasn't bad to look at; and it was as clear as a bell that he had some kind of story to him. A past in UNIT, a dismissal for some reason that still stung, a rather charming acceptance of Jack's story of time travel, as though it were the most normal thing in the world; and a fascinating set of night-vision lenses that by the look of them had been cobbled together from various materials that had no business being on Earth in the nineteen seventies. They had no business being on Earth at all, come to that. Jack couldn't help wondering who had made the device, and how a stiff-backed, proper young army officer had come to be in possession of it. Certainly he was hoping that he might get the chance to find out. Over dinner, perhaps. Maybe a bottle of wine or several, with the sea view from his spaceship as a backdrop. Twentieth century military types tended to need more persuading than most, but sometimes it was worth the effort. And Jack was the optimistic type. Mike Yates would defrost, eventually. He just needed the right approach.
The right approach not necessarily being a transmat voyage right into the heart of the lion's den, but then danger was traditionally a great melter of ice. In theory. Besides, Jack had kick-started the whole endeavour, so he could hardly step back now and suggest that they takes things slowly. Best to strike whilst the iron was hot - and while it was still dark outside. With luck the guards wouldn't be expecting a second attempt on the house tonight, and they certainly wouldn't be expecting anybody to appear inside the walls. As the haze of the transmat beam faded away, and Mike and Jack covered the immediate area with their highly contrasted weapons, there was not a movement nor a sound anywhere. Apparently they had achieved step one.
"Do you want to split up?" asked Mike. His torch was in one hand, but he was wearing the night-vision lenses again, and for the time being it was turned off. Jack, who was relying on the sensors in his wrist-computer to help him find his way, shook his head. The other man would be able to see it.
"No. Not yet, anyway."
"We can cover more ground alone."
"Sure. We can also get picked off more easily. You usually split up in enemy territory?"
"Not always, no." He did have something of a record for tackling things alone, though, as Jack had more or less guessed. He smiled to himself.
"Easy, tiger. We've got the whole night ahead of us. There's no reason to go off half-cocked." He turned his head slightly, so that Mike would see the smile. "Though I do like the enthusiasm."
"We should... probably get a move on." He couldn't see Yates, but he was almost certain that the other man was blushing now, or looking disconcerted at the very least. Jack would have laughed, but he didn't want to tease the poor guy too much just yet. That came later, when a few of the walls had come down. For now he contented himself with enjoying the faintly flustered sound in his companion's voice, and turned up the flirtation one further notch.
"Lead on, soldier boy. I'll bring up the rear."
"If you say so." Professionalism was taking over. Mike stuck his torch into his belt, then taking a two-handed grip on his gun, led the way at a quick pace to the nearest end of the corridor. There was nobody in sight when they peered around the corner, and Jack's equipment confirmed that there were no living beings other than themselves within two hundred yards. That was handy for not being discovered, but not quite so handy for helping them find what they needed.
"That's a computer, isn't it." Mike gestured at the leather strap around Jack's wrist. Jack nodded. So did Mike, his invisible face showing no reaction that Jack could see. "Good. Can it track down whatever source of power this place is using?"
"I've had it scanning since we came in here. There's a shield, so I couldn't check out the terrain before we came down here. You have to shield tallite to stop the emissions from affecting electrical equipment."
"Like with radioactive materials?"
"Yeah." Jack flashed the other man a highly appreciative smile. "You catch on real fast for a twentieth century primitive."
"A twentieth century primitive with A-level Physics," shot back Mike, this time with a faint smile of his own. Jack would have enjoyed it, had he been able to see it. Instead he merely chose to assume that it had been there, and matched it with another.
"Cute. Anyhow, we're inside the shielding now, so I've got my computer mapping out the corridors. Pretty soon we should be able to find our way about in here like one of the natives, so that ought to help. In the meantime, if we hang a left here, we should be on the right track. Probably."
"Fine. Maybe you'd better lead." Mike was already falling into place to cover their rear, so Jack moved ahead, setting a swift pace down a series of corridors. Once or twice they passed the glow of light beneath a closed door, but Jack didn't bother stopping. He was fairly sure that there was nothing of particular interest here. There was no shielding, and as yet no sound of equipment in use. Only when a distant humming noise reached them did he slow down, and glance back over his shoulder at Mike.
"Sound familiar?"
"Yes. It's the same noise that I've heard outside. It'll rise in volume soon, and then there'll be vibrations and flashing lights. Have you seen it at all?"
"I caught a real light show here last night, yeah. That was before I detected the tallite." Jack grinned. "I was just going to forget it all. Put it down to quaint Cornish customs or something. I'd have missed out on the fun, then."
"Missed out on a chance to get rich, you mean." Mike moved into the lead, more cautious now that they seemed to be growing closer to their goal. "Anything could be happening here. Any kind of alien forces might be planning who knows what. And all that you care about is making money out of some space-age mineral."
"That's not all I care about." Jack caught up with him. "Anyway, you make it sound like a bad thing."
"Being happy to run off and leave your planet in the lurch isn't a bad thing?"
"I suppose it is, to a certain way of thinking. Anyway, I didn't know that the planet might be in danger until I found out about the tallite. And I didn't run off then, did I."
"Because of the tallite. Not because of Earth."
"Well, yeah. So?" Jack took the lead again, apparently faintly exasperated by the unfathomable morals of the twentieth century. "I think I can feel the floor move. You?"
"Yes." The conversation about Jack's ethics seemed to be over, and Mike was content to leave it that way. It wasn't as if it was going anywhere useful. "The humming is getting louder too. We should see the flashing lights soon. Any idea what kind of machinery could be causing it?"
"We're closer now. My computer might be able to come up with some answers." He tapped out a brief command, and scowled. "The shielding must be stronger. I'm getting some weird readings."
"I can't see any shielding."
"No." Jack waved his wrist-computer at the nearest wall. "It's in the paint. That's another thing that shouldn't be on Earth in the twentieth century. Somebody sure came here all kitted out."
"And you say that this tallite can be used to manipulate the weather?" Mike was frowning, staring down the corridor through his night-vision lenses. "The more I see here, the less I like that idea. Outside it didn't seem so immediate. In here, when I can feel the walls vibrate - it all feels bigger somehow."
"Yeah. Whoever is behind this means business alright. All those armed guards, a big consignment of tallite - it's adding up to something. I just wish I could figure out what. Weather control is just one of a whole lot of possibilities."
"We have to take a look at the machinery. We might find our answers then." Mike started forward again, only to stop almost at once when a deep red light flooded the corridor. Seconds later a burst of yellow-orange light replaced it, then yellow, green, blue and purple. Over and over again the colours chased each other down the corridor, flashing in angry slow motion, and making Mike whip the lenses from his eyes in sudden pain. Jack swore.
"There's your light show. Could have done with a dimmer switch."
"Couldn't it just. Come on." Putting the night-vision glasses away, Mike let the brightly flashing lights guide him onward, not bothering to see whether Jack was following. Around a corner, a big black door greeted him. There was a window in it, through which the coloured lights were pulsing, and when he put his fingers against the door he could feel the powerful vibrations of machinery throughout his arms. He was touching some kind of metal, he realised, but he knew instinctively that it was not one that he had ever encountered before. Alien metal, then, or just something from Earth's own future. That was alien too, in its way.
"I wonder why there are no guards?" he mused, barely aware that he had spoken aloud. There didn't seem to be any security cameras either. Jack joined him, his movements inaudible beneath the humming of whatever machinery lay behind the door.
"There are probably a few guards in the room. I guess they're pretty sure that their perimeter is secure. Most people don't think about enemy agents with transmat beams. Not in the nineteen seventies, anyhow."
"I suppose not." Mike took a step back, rather at a loss now. It wasn't that he couldn't plan out a course of action - he was a captain in the British Army, or had been. He could plan an assault, command a combat team, and he didn't need the Brigadier to point him on his way. It was just that now he was actually here, with the enemy more or less in sight and the target reached, it was hard to be sure what to do. He had no idea what kind of weaponry he might be coming up against, or who or what might be behind all of this. The identity of the brain behind the pulsing machine might well be important in deciding upon tactics. He didn't really have enough information to be sure of how to handle things now. Jack Harkness, however, apparently wasn't bothered by such shortcomings.
"You take the left, I'll take the right?" he suggested, hand already on the doorknob. Mike blinked.
"That's it? That's our plan of attack?"
"It works. I've done it before. Listen, soldier boy - they're not expecting an attack. We go in, we take out the guards, I examine the machinery, we find the tallite, and we're gone. I can zap us out of there, straight back to my ship, and even if our alien mastermind does figure out how we did it, I can have us two thousand light years away before he can think about tracking us down. That tallite can be good old fashioned electronic credit before you can snap your fingers. Where's the problem?"
"Problem? We don't know how many guards might be in there. We're up against a possible alien, or human from the future - my future, at any rate - so we can't assume that we're just going to face contemporary guns. They might know about us by now, and this might be a trap. And besides, I don't want to be two thousand light years away."
"You don't?" This seemed to leave Jack genuinely surprised. "Well, two thousand miles then. He still won't find us. I'll drop you off before I go make the sale." He grinned. "You're welcome on my spaceship if you want, though. There's a lot going on out there, soldier boy. No sense in waiting around in this backwater."
"Is this really a good time to be discussing my future plans?" Mike returned his gaze to the window in the door, pointedly ending the conversation. It was becoming uncomfortable. There was a distinct hint of flirtation in his companion's manner that was growing increasingly difficult to ignore. Having some dynamic, handsome American flyboy making a pass at him was awkward enough, without it being in the middle of an operation like this. Jack grinned at him.
"Hey, I'm just making the offer. What you do with it is up to you. You ready?"
"You really are planning on just walking right in there, aren't you."
"Yep." Jack shrugged. "Like I said, in and out. No problem. Listen, I'm no hero, soldier boy. I don't go throwing my life away on a whim. Have a little faith, yeah?"
"Faith." It was utterly absurd having faith in a quite obviously insane space pilot with a highly overactive libido. And yet... He sighed, and nodded his head. Somehow he really could see this working. The Brigadier would have had him sectioned at the very thought, he was sure; and he could picture Benton, too, with an eyebrow quirked in a wordless question. The Brigadier was no longer the boss, though, and Benton was no longer at Mike's side. What they thought was immaterial.
"Knew I could count on you." Jack's grin was horribly infectious. "Ready?"
"Probably not, no."
"That's my boy." Jack clapped him on the shoulder. "See you in hell."
"Not if I've got any say in--" but Jack had already gone, throwing the door wide and running fast and low into the room beyond. Mike's sarcasm fell away, his military training taking over as he followed the other man without another thought. The room was a grey space, filled with instrumentation that he didn't recognise, machinery that he couldn't hope to identify; unimportant things that he shut out of his mind. It was the people that he had to focus on; scientists, in white coats; a pair of guards in black uniforms; a smaller, darker man who was obviously in charge. Mike's gaze zeroed in on him then, shutting out the scientists, who hadn't reacted to him at all. Hypnotised - he could see that straight away. Shutting out also the two guards, already falling in a blaze of blue light from Jack's gun. All of the room was narrowed down, then, to just the few square feet where the small, dark man stood. A bearded man, slight, neat, dressed in a tasteful and expensive black suit. His dark eyes gleamed with annoyance, with indignation - with something else. Mike skidded to a halt.
"Jack?"
"Up here." Jack wasn't interested in what he was doing. He wasn't interested in any of the people anymore. Quite probably he hadn't noticed that the scientists had been hypnotised, or that Mike now stood in the centre of the room with the chief of operations at gun point, and a very uneasy feeling in his stomach. "Be finished in a second. No problem, right?"
"Jack..." 'No problem' wasn't exactly how Mike would have phrased it. The man with the dark beard was smiling now, recognition replacing the anger on his face; a curl of contempt showing in the line of his mouth. Mike wasn't sure whether to stare back at him defiantly, or look away. The latter might be less than impressive, but the former was asking for trouble. Eye contact could be a dangerous thing. "Jack, get down here!"
"Working with the Americans, Captain Yates?" The smooth, silky voice was at once both polite and insulting. Jack's head appeared over to Mike's right, peering across a bank of controls.
"You know this guy?"
"Sadly, yes. Listen, we have to get out of here. However this looks right now, it's not going to be as simple as we thought. Forget the tallite. I have to report this."
"Report it? Am I to take it that you're alone?" That silky, unctuous voice, inquiring so politely, made Mike want to forget himself, and punch the bearded face right on the nose. Not that that would do any good. The Master was a Time Lord like the Doctor, and would probably barely flinch. That or he would use some of that confounded Venusian Aikido like the Doctor himself had mastered, and have the tables turned in seconds. Jack frowned.
"Trouble?"
"From little me?" Once again there was a mocking courtesy in the question; an appearance of utter harmlessness. With his small smile and perfect composure, the Master could almost have been a vicar, talking gently to members of his parish. Mike shot him a murderous look, and wished for a bigger gun.
"Trouble," he confirmed. The Master could have any number of tricks up his sleeve; any number of plans and counter-plans. He could outthink any human, and even after some years of first-hand experience with the Doctor, Mike knew that there was a great deal he had yet to discover about the Time Lord race. Short of shooting the Master on the spot, he didn't know what to do to contain him now. He didn't have any handcuffs with him, and he couldn't see anything that might act as bindings. He certainly couldn't take his eyes off the prisoner in order to look. Jack hardly sounded concerned, though, and showed no sign of abandoning his attempt to collect the tallite.
"He's only one guy!" His head disappeared back behind the bank of controls, then reappeared again a second later. "UNIT stuff, right?"
"Sort of, but--"
"Well I'm not a member of UNIT. Just hold your horses for a while, okay? I'll grab the tallite, and then we can go make reports wherever the hell you like. Another hour can't make any difference."
"Another minute could make a difference! He's not human, and he could be one of the greatest threats that this planet has ever faced. You have to trust me on this, Jack. He's got something up his sleeves. This place is probably booby-trapped."
"Booby-trapped?" Jack's bright eyes turned themselves around to stare at the Master. "Booby-trapped?"
"I resent that insinuation. Captain Yates has rather an overactive imagination, I'm afraid. He's probably been badly overworked, isn't that so, captain? All these pesky problems that keep coming your way. All those dastardly plots to foil. All that work, all that paranoia, building up week after week. You should take a rest. Sit down."
"I'm not tired. And I am not overworked." All the same, Mike did feel a little rundown. His sleep had been interrupted a lot of late, with his night-time vigils over the mysterious house, with its curious lights and rumblings. He probably did need to sleep. Perhaps to... to--
"Woah there!" There were hands on his arms; a gentle grip that held him up, and kept his pistol pointing forwards. Mike blinked. Jack seemed to have his arms around him, which, aside from being not entirely unpleasant, certainly seemed extremely inappropriate. A low chuckle sounded close to his ear, and his first thought was of the Master. It wasn't the Master's laugh though. This one was warm and gentle, with no hint of mockery. It sounded like Jack. Mike blinked.
"What's...?"
"Easy, soldier boy." Jack held onto him until Mike was more secure on his feet - though Mike was by no means clear on why he hadn't been steady to begin with. He was almost sorry when the arms left his, and Jack was no longer standing so close. "Don't you people get any training against hypnosis?"
"Hypnosis?" That brought him back to his senses. Hypnosis. Damn it, and he had been thinking about that just a few moments before. You couldn't lose concentration for a moment with the Master. "You see what I mean? He's dangerous. The people around us - these scientists. Look how unconcerned they are about us. They're hypnotised. He has power over people."
"Well he doesn't have power over me." Already half the room away, his mind firmly back on thoughts of his impending wealth, Jack grinned suddenly. "Though tallite sure does - or the money it'll rake in does, anyhow. You're really worried about Captain Nemo here?"
"You don't know the half of it." The problem was that he wasn't entirely sure what to say. The Master came under classified UNIT information - strictly need to know. Mike was still bound by the Official Secrets Act, and Jack Harkness was still just some bloke he had met on a beach. He could be anybody. He seemed to be trustworthy, he seemed to be from the future - he seemed to be a lot of things. He almost certainly wasn't cleared for top secret UNIT information, though. The Master smiled his smug smile, and Mike came to a sudden decision. "You say that you researched this period, and read up on some of the attempted alien invasions that there have been recently? Well this man was behind half of them. He's lethal, and he's sure to have some kind of contingency plan. Jack, we're not safe here. This place could be swarming with guards at any second. For all I know, he's capable of sending them some kind of psychic message, warning them that we're here."
"You think?" With an athletic leap, both graceful and arrogant, Jack vaulted the bank of controls that separated him from Mike. He landed barely an arm's length from the Master, sizing him up with a gleaming blue stare. He saw a man smaller than himself, with an unimpressive build and a natural sort of grace. Dark eyes, bright and vital; a neat, dark beard, pointed and sharp; neat dark hair, sleek and well-groomed; all darkness, all neatness, all precise and exact and intense. A half-smile met his appraising gaze; a smile that was cold and threatening through no more than a twitch of one corner of the thin, tight mouth. Jack saw great age in that face then; great age and experience; unimaginable travels. A man who was not a man. Not a human, and not a man to ignore. Jack smiled his own half-smile, and clapped Mike on the back.
"You have interesting friends."
"He's not exactly a friend."
"No, probably not." Jack had put his gun away since getting rid of the guards, content to let Mike keep watch. He drew his weapon again now, though, eyeing the Master speculatively. "Evil?"
"Very." Mike didn't like this conversation. They should be leaving. They should be securing the doors, or doing something to tie the Master up, or looking for a telephone to call for some kind of back up. Anything but standing around making eyes at the enemy, and chatting with an apparent total lack of concern. Jack nodded slowly.
"Still, you've got him at gun point. What's he going to do? Just don't let him look you in the eyes again." He started back off across the room. "Nobody knows we're here. It'll be fine. Trust me."
"Is that tallite really worth taking this kind of a risk?" Mike sounded angry. Jack ignored him. The guy was good company, but good company couldn't get in the way of a good score - and a load of tallite was more important than staying in the good books of a nice looking soldier with an agreeable smile. "Confound it Jack, do you ever think of anything other than money?"
"Stop being such a killjoy." He growled the words without thinking them, and certainly without meaning them; turned even as he was saying them to consider making an apology. Apologies weren't exactly his forté, but he hadn't meant to snap, and Yates probably had good reason to be jumpy. He didn't make the apology. With an odd squawk, the communicator in his wristband burst into life, and the ever calm voice of the shipboard computer resounded out of the tiny speaker.
"Increased activity has been registered outside the house. All exits now blocked."
"Huh?" Jack blinked down at the little unit, the computer's words registering only after a moment. He glanced up, his eyes meeting Mike's, and they each saw the realisation in the other's eyes. Increased activity, the exits covered. The guards knew that they were here.
"We have to get out." Yates muttered something under his breath that Jack couldn't catch, but that the Master obviously heard. He laughed quietly, and his dark eyes flashed with clear mockery.
"My guards will be here in seconds, gentlemen." His voice was rich, smooth, and infused with an unpleasant humour. "You might shoot a few. Between you, you might even shoot most of them. But never all of them. Never all. If I were you, Captain Yates--"
"Happily for us both, you're not." Mike looked up at Jack, busy tapping something into his leather wristband. "Jack?"
"Don't worry." There were booted feet sounding in the corridor. Guards coming towards them at speed. A lot of guards, by the sound of it. The Master laughed long and hard, and the noise reverberated around the room. One by one the scientists stopped what they were doing, and at last looked up from their work. Mike considered covering them with his gun, but decided against it. He still had the Master to worry about. The Master and however many men were now coming to join in the fun. And still Jack was doing nothing save tapping away at the computer strapped to his wrist. The Master was watching now, obviously intrigued by the leather band. Jack had sparked his curiosity. Mike didn't like that one bit.
"Jack?"
"I'm getting there!" Blasted shielding. Blasted protocols. Blasted Chula ship, refusing to stay the way he had programmed it. Always reverting to its default settings, as though it wanted to get him into trouble. A guard loomed up in the doorway, and barely missing a beat Jack shot him down. A burst of blue laser fire lit up the doorway as the guard froze before falling - then suddenly there were two more men coming, and two more behind them, and Mike was falling back in search of better cover.
"Straight in and out, you said! We can zap straight out of here if there's trouble!" Yates was converging on him, but quite suddenly somebody else was opening fire. Jack ducked down behind the nearest convenient bit of cover, and swore loudly in Xorvian. It was a good language for swearing. Guttural, angry syllables, that sounded like they meant business.
"Done it!" With a beep from the wrist-computer that told him he had succeeded, he glanced across at Mike, grinning a reassuring grin that was only slightly dampened when the console beside his head exploded. "Ready?"
"Just get us out of here!" Mike ducked sharply as a bullet ricocheted off something that was rather too close for comfort. Jack nodded.
"No problem." The ship might be a pain in the neck with all its protocols and defaults, and its insistence on rarely doing as it was told, but it wasn't such a bad machine really. And he was getting used to its little quirks now, getting the hang of circumventing its more annoying traits. With a sigh of relief he dragged out the little silver remote control that was his link to safety, and hit the button on the side. Lights flashed, and his last glimpse of the control room was a shower of sparks kicked off by a fusillade of lead. He wasn't sorry to be leaving, all things considered. It was just a shame about the tallite.
Still, he was alive. And that was certainly an improvement on the alternative.
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