Chapter 1

Girl Power

Gwen O'Toole's Apartment.

Bayswater, London.

It was Wednesday night, and for the last few months it had been a girls night in for the Blue Watch Babes. Originally it had started as a way of introducing Angel to "chick flicks", in a light hearted attempt to educate her in the ways of human female interaction. Being the first alien Special Operations Field Agent, Angel looked to her work colleagues for guidance on how to integrate into society.

Not only did she have bat-like wings and cute, pointed ears which made it obvious that she wasn't human, but also she had a quirky way of speaking which gave her an endearing, childlike innocence. Her Torchwood friends had taken her under their wing and made it their mission to show her what it was to be human.

Joining Gwen "Numbers" O'Toole in her apartment, were Rose "The Wife" Smith, Julia "Van" De Graff, Alice Dimaggio, and Chrissie "Brains" Anderson. A late edition to the "girls night in" was Sarah Green, the girlfriend of Jake Simmonds who was Julia's field partner. Amy "Legs" Williams, had recently joined the Watch, and was obviously invited to these informal and unofficial bonding sessions.

The rules were simple. Each member of the group brought a bottle of wine, a selection of dips and nibbles, and a DVD to enjoy. They would democratically decide which film they would watch, and if it was a hung vote, Angel would close her eyes and pick one at random. They were currently watching "Grease", where John Travolta and Olivia Newton John were singing "Summer Nights".

'Why is it that their recollections of the same event are different?' Angel asked with a frown.

'Ah,' Gwen began as she fumbled for the remote and looked for the pause button through a drunken haze.

'That's because he is a bloke,' she said, pointing at the screen with her wine glass in hand. 'And she's a virgin.'

'I know I'm not a virgin now, but is that how Andre recalls things about us?' Angel enquired.

'Oh no, no, no, no,' Alice said, shaking her head and then staring at the wall wide eyed to get rid of the dizziness. 'Andre is a mature, emotionally well balanced chap . . . A gentleman.'

'Yeah,' the girls said, nodding in agreement. 'A gentleman.'

Gwen found the play button and started the film again.

'Jack's a bloke,' Rose announced out of the blue, trying to think of an example for Angel.

There was a pause as their alcohol hindered brains processed that thought, and then they burst into a fit of alcoholic giggles.

'And Jake,' Julia said laughingly as she thought about her field partner. She then suddenly stopped laughing as she realised that Sarah was sitting on some cushions on the floor next to her.

'Sorry Sarah,' Julia said as she leaned forward to hug her around the neck and plant a kiss on top of her head. 'No offence.'

'None taken,' Sarah laughed. 'He's a Geordie . . . Course he's a bloke!' That elicited another fit of tipsy giggles.

They continued to watch the film, imparting little gems of wisdom to their friend on the way, until they arrived at the part where Sandy "vamped" it up.

'Doesn't she look different,' Angel observed.

'You're telling me,' Chrissie agreed. 'How the hell did she get into those trousers?'

'Apparently, she had to be sewn into them,' Sarah informed them.

'A bit of a bugger if you wanted the toilet,' the ever practical Amy said.

There was another fit of giggles, and then Alice surprised everyone. 'Nice arse though.'

'Alice!?' Rose exclaimed.

'What? She has got a nice arse.'

'I've got chills, they're multiplyin',' Sarah and Rose started singing as the final song started, and when it came to the chorus, Amy told them she had thought of some better words.

'You've the bum that I want,' she sang.

'You've the bum that I want, ooh, ooh ,ooh, honey,' the impromptu chorus responded, and the film ended to raucous laughter filling the apartment.

'So. What about your hen night Angel?' Julia asked as they finished laughing. 'Do you know what you want to do?'

'Ah, well. I have been researching hen parties, and it says they are usually planned by the brides' closest friends, often the maid of honour or bridesmaids,' she quoted. 'So that is you lot. It also says that the festivities can be held in a public place, such as a restaurant or bar, or may be held in a private home or rented room. The location often depends on the amount of exuberance expected of guests. How much exuberance am I expecting?'

'A lot,' Gwen said with a mischievous grin.

'Yes, it said that some celebrations can get quite wild, with frenzied dancing and inappropriate behaviour. Alternately, it suggests a day of drinking champagne at a day spa, but said that would be considered a tame version.'

'Nothing wrong with drinking champagne and being pampered,' said Chrissie.

'Boring!' Gwen said in a sing-song voice.

'Now, now Gwen,' Alice said as the voice of reason. 'This is Angel's do. We have to respect her wishes . . . So, Angel. Loud or quiet?'

Angel sat and thought about her friends, and the kind of night out she would enjoy. She pointed at the TV with her glass. 'I liked all the dancing and singing. Can we do dancing and singing?'

'A "Grease" theme!' Rose exclaimed. 'Brilliant! We could all get dressed up like Sandy at the end of the film.'

'Yeah, and we could all strap on some wings so that we looked like Angel . . .' Amy suggested, waiting to see if anyone thought it was a good idea.

An impish smile spread across Angel's face. 'I love it.'

'We could go to "Fire" in Vauxhall,' Gwen said enthusiastically.

'What's "Fire"?' Amy asked, being new to London, and not knowing the nightclubs.

'We can't take Angel there,' Julia said. 'You'll corrupt the sweet young thing.'

'Yeah, it is a bit wild in there,' Alice said, and then blushed when they all looked at her.

'You've been there?' Rose asked in surprise.

'Er, yeah . . . Research. It was for research into the modification of people's moral conscience by exposure to promiscuous behaviour,' she replied a little too quickly.

Gwen gave her a lopsided smile. 'Right. And did it?'

'Did What?' Alice asked suspiciously.

'Did the exposure to promiscuous behaviour modify your moral conscience?'

Alice gave an embarrassed smile. 'It certainly did Alistairs.'

The girls whooped with laughter.

'It's always the quiet ones,' Chrissie laughed.

'In fact, I think it was that night that I fell pregnant with Lillie,' Alice added.

'Oh that is so sweet,' Rose said, leaning over and giving her a hug and a sloppy, tipsy kiss on the cheek. She turned back to Angel. 'Don't worry Angel, we'll find you somewhere nice to have a hen do to remember.'

The Smith's Residence.

Northumberland Place.

Notting Hill, London.

Around midnight, a shadowy figure tiptoed across the unlit bedroom towards the king sized bed. It was an exaggerated, almost comedic creep.

'Police . . . Freeze!' said a female voice from the doorway to the en suite bathroom. The WPC shone a bright light in the intruder's face, making him screw up his eyes. 'Any sudden moves, and I'll mace ya.'

'Okay. No sudden moves,' the intruder assured her.

'Good. Now turn around and put your hands behind you. I'm arrestin' you for burglary. You do not have to say anythin', but anythin' you say may be taken down and used as evidence,' she said as she secured handcuffs around his wrists.

'In that case, I'll have to say trousers,' the intruder said cheekily. The WPC couldn't help chuckling at that.

'I'll have to do a body search,' she informed her prisoner as she turned him around, put her hands inside his jacket, and ran them down his chest. 'Anythin' in yer pockets?'

'Ooh yeah. Lots of stuff,' he replied, waggling his eyebrows.

'Hmm,' she replied. She stooped down and ran her hands up his legs, stopping at his crotch. 'Anythin' in there I should know about?'

'Er, just an erection.'

'Ooh good,' the WPC said in a sultry voice, and proceeded to unzip his trousers.

'This isn't standard police procedure,' he said in a high voice.

'I ain't a standard police officer,' she replied, as she slipped her hand inside his underpants and massaged the bulge she found there.

'You're telling me!'

'Yes, I am.' She pulled his underpants and trousers down. 'Now, sit on the bed,' she ordered with a mischievous sparkle in her hazel eyes.

As the intruder sat on the edge of the bed, he could just see a hint of her stocking tops and suspenders below the hem of her micro-miniskirt. The non-standard WPC knelt on the bed as she straddled his hips, and lowered herself onto him. She ran her fingers through his unruly, sticky up hair as she proceeded to snog him.

After a few minutes of "jiggling" up and down, the intruder gasped, and the non-standard WPC squeaked as they reached their orgasms. The intruder fell back onto the bed, his hands still handcuffed behind him.

The non-standard WPC leaned forward, grabbed the lapels of his brown pinstriped suit, pulling him into a passionate kiss. She took off her hat, and her blonde locks tumbled over her shoulders.

'Phew!' she breathed. 'I forgot to ask you . . . where did you get this outfit from?'

'It was "Legs". She gave me the address of the theatrical outfitters where she got her kissogram outfits from,' Doctor John Smith, her husband explained. 'And thanks for wearing it.'

'Good old Amy,' Rose giggled. 'And lucky old Rory.'

'Yeah. I can't think why he always looks so gloomy,' he said with a grin.

'Don't worry, I reckon she's gonna put a smile on his face when she takes him to "Fire".'

'Blimey,' John said, remembering their first visit to the uninhibited nightclub. 'Is that where you're taking Angel on her hen night? I'd have thought that was a bit risqué.'

'Gwen was keen, but we agreed on somewhere a bit more mainstream. And we had a brilliant idea of a "Grease" theme, y'know, where she vamps it up at the end.'

'Ooh, I can't wait to see you in that outfit. You'll be the one that I want,' he sang.

'Ooh, (kiss) ooh, (kiss) ooh, (kiss) Rose replied.

'Now then officer Smith, back to business. I presume you'll want to try and extract a confession.'

She gave him a lopsided smile. 'I'm gonna extract somethin' from ya, but it ain't gonna be a confession. Now then, prepare for a severe and extended grilling.'

Whilst they slept, after a very severe, extended and enjoyable grilling, events in the Oort Cloud at the outer limits of the Solar System conspired to postpone Angel's hen night.

Rikki Stormgren, the Secretary General of the United Nations was sitting in his cold office in the United Nations Secretariat Building located in the Turtle Bay area of Manhattan, in New York City. It was a standing joke that the Secretary General liked living in an icebox. But he found the cold helped him to stay on task, kept his thoughts sharp and focussed.

He was working on the latest annual report to the General Assembly. There were a number of reports from various agencies around the world, on a number of issues. He knew that some of the issues were interconnected, such as regional conflicts that led to atrocities, refugees, and protecting children. It was his job to collate all these reports into one cohesive response.

There was a knock at the door, and his assistant, Pieter Van Ryberg entered.

'What is it Pieter? I am a bit busy.'

'Yes, I know sir. And I'm sorry . . . but there is something happening, something big. It's all over the news.'

'What is? What are you talking about?'

Before Pieter could answer, they heard a sonic boom outside, and the building vibrated.

'What? An earthquake? In New York?' Stormgren asked in disbelief.

His assistant shook his head and nodded at the window. 'No sir, not an earthquake.'

Stormgren stood and went over to the great window, staring down at the crawling traffic on 43rd Street. He sometimes wondered if it was a good thing for any man to work at such an altitude above his fellow humans. Detachment was all very well, but it could change so easily to indifference. Or was he merely trying to rationalize his dislike of skyscrapers, still unabated after twenty years in New York?

There was no evidence of an earthquake, or anything else that could have caused shaking. As Stormgren watched, the crawling traffic came to a chaotic halt as a shadow seemed to fall over the city. It was as though a sudden storm cloud had formed, blocking out the morning sunshine, and he looked up to the sky. 'What was that then . . . a rumble of th . . .'

It wasn't thunder. It wasn't any natural phenomenon. It wasn't anything on Earth. A dark shape moved across the sky, pushing clouds aside as it moved inexorably towards him. It came to rest tweenty miles above the United Nations Headquarters, and once the clouds had drifted away, Stormgren, his assistant, and every New Yorker could clearly see what had arrived.

Their first impression was that it looked like an Atlas moth on steroids. The primary hull was roughly cylindrical, with thick "wings" raised to the sides as though they were ready to flap down. Hundreds of tiny lights could be seen over the shiny structure, and it didn't take much imagination to realise that they were windows. At the rear of the "wings", huge exhaust ports were apparent, presumably to some kind of interstellar engines.

Stormgren reached his mobile phone out of his pocket and speed dialled his wife. 'Emma . . . Yes I know. Now listen. Go get the kids out of school and get out of New York,' he told her. 'Anywhere, just go! I'll meet up with you later.'

He put the phone back in his pocket and looked at Pieter. 'I suggest you do the same.'

'Yeah. I've already sent her a text.'

'Right. Now get me Torchwood on the phone.'

When a vessel travels faster than light, weird things start to happen. The most noticeable is that the vessel disappears, as photons of light struggle to catch up with it to bounce off it. And of course, the reverse is true when the vessel stops travelling faster than light. Photons of light bounce off it and suddenly, it can be seen. Photons from the sun bounced off forty five vessels as they became slower than light at around one hundred million miles out from planet Earth.

In the Despatch Offices of Torchwood One, London; Torchwood Two, Glasgow; Torchwood Three, Cardiff; Torchwood Four, New Delhi; and Torchwood Five, New York, the red alert status alarms were "bonging" for attention.

At Canary Wharf, Rose Smith left her office and strode across the Standby Room to the Despatch Office. 'Chrissie, what have we got?' she asked Chrissie Anderson, the Senior Technical Operations Officer.

Chrissie was rushing around the "Comms" desk, looking from screen to screen. 'Er, forty five ships suddenly appeared one hundred and fifteen million miles out. They are gravity braking around the sun, losing velocity at an amazing rate.'

'Oooh. I hope they've got inertia compensators or that is gonna hurt,' John said as he wandered into the office with his hands in his pockets. He kissed his wife and then looked at the data on one of the screens, pulling a face. 'They have to be pulling about seven G's.'

Chrissie nodded. 'At this rate of deceleration, they should be hitting the atmosphere in about twelve minutes at Mach five.'

'Eleven minutes, thirty eight seconds,' John corrected.

'Stop showin off,' Rose told him. He waggled his eyebrows and gave her a cheeky grin.

Jack Harkness entered the office and walked over to them. 'Chrissie, open a broad spectrum channel to those ships please.'

Chrissie operated a few controls. 'Channel open.'

'This is Captain Jack Harkness, Director of the Torchwood Institute in London, Great Britain, calling the unidentified ships approaching our planet. Please identify yourselves. Planet of origin. Galactic coordinates. Species designation according to the universal ratification of the Shadow Proclamation.'

'You're getting better at that,' John told him.

'I'm getting plenty of practice these days,' he said, as he waited for a reply.

'No response Jack,' Chrissie told them. 'I'm getting a "ping" back from their antennae, so they are definitely receiving us.'

'Unidentified ships approaching the third planet from the star. This is Captain Jack Harkness, Director of the Torchwood Institute in London, Great Britain. I repeat, please identify yourselves with your planet of origin, galactic coordinates and species designation, according to the universal ratification of the Shadow Proclamation,' Jack repeated.

'Have we got a visual yet?' John asked. Maybe he could identify them from their ship design.

Whilst Chrissie was investigating, the shift supervisor at Torchwood New York, Todd Hunter, appeared on one of the multimedia screens. ['Hi guys. I take it you've seen our unexpected guests.']

'Hiya Todd,' Rose greeted her friend and colleague. 'Yeah, we were just wonderin' if we could get a look at them.'

Todd grinned. ['I'm ahead of you on that one. Quebec are just swinging NEOSSat around to have a look at them. I reckon they qualify as "near Earth objects".']

'And in just over five minutes, they're going to be a bit too near for comfort,' John said.