"Will this technology work?"
"It's so simple and yet so complex!"
"We have that technology shared by the Altairians. I bet we could make this completely fossil fuel independent."
"Completely," came a chorus of agreeing voices, nodding and humming to themselves appreciatively.
All of it made Peter Tyler smile widely as he quietly regarded them all. They were the cream of the crop, Torchwood's finest minds in aerospace development, each hand selected for this venture by Pete not only for their research capabilities but because above all they were loyal. And they were willing to tell little white lies to keep Torchwood's greatest secret just that, a secret. To all the rest of the world this new, jet engine technology will be a product of years of research coming out of Torchwood's think tank, part of their public initiative as the germinating place for new ideas and products. In reality, it was born out of the years of collected data surrounding Torchwood's real mission, to connect with alien races as they came into contact with the Earth and enter into treaty if possible, protect the Earth if they must, but to always keep the presence of their alien visitors and their doings secret. And this was just one of a long string of products that Torchwood had cobbled together out of borrowed technology and human ingenuity. Except, it wasn't exactly technology from any alien or even this universe.
Yet one of many secrets Torchwood and its scientists kept from the public at large.
"So, if I were to present this to a discrete group of Vitex investors to get the word out there about this project and maybe get some funding for it, you all could, in theory, produce a product?"
The group of wide-eyed engineers all looked at him and blinked.
"Excellent," Pete replied, clapping his hands together in satisfaction. "So, the plan is this. We have fake documentation that states that jet engine technology was theorized by several professors over the decades here in the British Republic, as well as America, Germany, Japan, the usual suspects. However, for various reasons, funding, doubts regarding its viability, it was never really considered viable until you lot began playing with it."
The conglomeration of women and men all nodded, knowing already where this was going. They'd all worked at Torchwood long enough to understand how the game was played. Besides, Pete could tell that more than a few of them liked this idea of being attached to the invention of this new, world changing technology, a nice line on their resume should they ever choose to leave Torchwood. It was the least he could do, since they could never speak about what they truly did while they were there.
Pete continued, wandering around the long, oval table where they had gathered, scattered with notes, wads of scrap paper, and an elegant, holographic image of a prototype engine. "So, we will credit you for the invention of this technology, since we can't really tell anyone we borrowed it from another version of Earth. In exchange, I need a working prototype to show investors. How long do you think it will take?"
The lead on the project, one of Torchwood's senior engineers, Alicia Ninaji, glanced amongst her cohorts, before offering Pete a game shrug. "Perhaps eight to ten months? That's just in order get a prototype that works."
"If you do it in six, I'll pay you double," Pete tossed out, earning bemused and askance looks as he beamed brightly. "No one said progress was easy."
"If it can get me across the Atlantic in less than twelve hours, I'll take it," one young, bearded engineer at the end with a clear, Midwestern American accent thumped his hand on the table.
"That's the spirit! Now, Dr. Ninaji, I've assigned you as team lead engineer and key liaison for this endeavor. Think you can meet and greet with a few stuff shirt, rich types who want to know why they are parting with their hard earned money?"
"Are champagne and caviar involved?" One dark eyebrow quirked on her dusky face, belying the smile that curved up her lips.
"Yes, and maybe a few parties with the type of people you usually only see in the tabloids."
"I know you, you're tabloid fodder enough," she teased, nodding her dark head. "Sure, I'm happy to wine and dine with them. So what is the end goal here?"
Pete pressed his lips together thoughtfully. Like most ventures Pete had done in his life, he had a brilliant end goal in mind, but the execution he'd always left to others more capable than himself. This, however, he had to shepherd very carefully. "My goal is that at the end of the day, we will have created a means of travel that is less harmful to the environment, that is faster than what we have presently, safer, and most importantly, cost efficient so that travel isn't only the purview of the wealthy. And frankly if it gets another one of those damned dirigibles out of the sky, I'll be pleased."
Even as he said it, outside of the long window of the Torchwood conference room, high above London, a fat, silvery behemoth drifted past, one of the many legacies of John Lumic left in the world. While zeppelin's hadn't been his invention, they'd been used for decades before, since the early years of the 20th century, they were popularized by him. It was his development of the high tensile, super light steel that went into their construction, born of information he'd been given by Torchwood of course, that had made zeppelin's easier to construct and popular amongst those who could afford them. And yet, for all that the zeppelin's were relatively harmless in the grand scheme of things, even beneficial to the world, it was his Cybermen that were his lasting legacy. The memory of the horror and pain of that long ago night, when so many died innocently, their brains stuffed inside those bodies made of the same steel, still stung as a painful wound, and reminded Pete just how innovation could get drastically out of hand.
"Above all," he murmured, watching the zeppelin as it made it's way down the Thames. "I want this project to be a boon to humanity. I don't want it turned into a weapon. Is that clear?"
He turned to regard the now very somber room. "You all remember John Lumic. I'm sure some of you lost loved ones that night. I nearly did, for years I thought I had. I don't want that to happen again. I know that I can't expect our work to stay in house and out of others hands for long, but I want it made so well it will be damn well nigh impossible to copy effectively. I don't want anyone using it to drop bombs or shoot things. No defense industry contracts. And what's more, I want it safe enough that people are falling out of the sky. Make it as safe as a automobile, safer even."
"There's only so much any of us can do towards that," Dr. Ninaji warned practically.
"I know. Just try." He smiled tightly as outside the door the sudden appearance of his assistant, Amanda, caught his eye. "Ahh, yes, have to get to the other job, Vitex. Got some party to go to where I plan to drop rumors on what we are doing here! See what I can turn up! Remember, I'm depending on all of you!"
The enthusiasm in the room was energizing as he made his quick exit, leaving them in Dr. Ninaji's capable hands. He strolled to the glass door, where Amanda stood, tablet in hand, tapping her watch pointedly.
"I know, I know, I'm running late." Pete wasn't surprised. He couldn't remember a time in the last twenty years he'd ever been on time.
"Jackie's called twice wondering if you'll be home in time for the party tonight."
"I bet she's going spare," he huffed, smiling to himself. It was Jackie's big night. She'd been fretting on it for a week. "Tell her I should be home in an hour."
"I doubt that," Amanda replied promptly, not bothering to glance up from the tablet her manicured nail was tapping against.
"Doubt that? Why? I'm done with my meeting. Went a bit long, but if I hop in the car now…"
"Miles is waiting in your office."
Miles? Damn! "Can't it wait?"
"He wouldn't be waiting in your office if it could," she murmured, still busying herself with whatever was on her tablet. "Besides, I tried telling him you were busy and his response was that you could hold off twenty minutes from getting your nails done."
Pete glowered. "You could have bothered keeping him out of my office."
That at least got his assistants attention. She turned brilliant green eyes up at him in disbelief. "Sir, this is Miles Conner. You do realize he could make my life miserable if I did that."
"Miles wouldn't do that?" Pete tried to at least sound convincing when he uttered his obvious lie.
"He knows I'm deathly afraid of snakes. No one knows that about me."
"I know that about you...now." Pete let his steps drag him back to his office.
"He wouldn't be above putting one in my car, I know it."
"Miles wouldn't do anything to damage you...much."
Amanda didn't look convinced.
"Right, I'll just go talk with him now," Pete muttered irritably, wondering how it was that his Director of Field Operations could just have free reign of the place. Not five years ago, Miles Conner was Pete's personal assistant, much as Amanda was now. He was efficient, acerbic, and brutally regimental regarding Pete's schedule in ways that frankly terrified many. Few knew Miles was assigned to Pete because of his actual role at Torchwood, that of a field operative who worked primarily with unknown and unnamed threats to Earth. Former SIS, he had the background of a spy and a past that Pete was well aware of and loathe to bring up. But it was his level head in the face of crises, coupled with his brutal honesty and unerring desire to do what was right that had Pete elevating Miles to the role of Field Director once Pete took over at Torchwood. Beyond being one of the few people Pete felt he could trust in such a delicate role, he considered Miles perhaps the closest thing he had, personally, to a best friend. It was Miles who had tried to keep Pete grounded at the worst time of his life, and who helped him out at perhaps the strangest moment. He didn't think he could thank the man enough.
However, at that moment, seeing his Field Director kicked back in one of his office's leather chairs, with a glass of fine alcohol in his hand, Pete could perhaps cheerfully killed him, both for interrupting his day, and for helping himself to Pete's cherished Lagavulin.
"Want a bowl of pretzels with that? Maybe a few biscuits?" Pete sniffed as he entered his office, glaring at the crystal decanter sitting in front of Mile's pleasantly smiling face.
"Don't like pretzels. And biscuits would taste awful with something like this!" The other man pulled slowly from a neat finger of the warm brown liquid, eyes closed in appreciation behind his dark-framed glasses. "Like drinking liquid smoke, that."
"Yeah, I know, it's why I buy it. Didn't realize anyone could waltz in and help themselves." Pete threw himself into his desk chair, eyeing the tall, blonde, impeccably dressed
man across from him. Miles rarely ever looked not put together, his lavender tie was well knotted and perfect with the charcoal gray suit he wore, a half-step up from Mile's usual uniform of geek chic slim trousers and waistcoats. "You are dressed up today."
"Had to be. Had a bit of a diplomatic crises on my hands, or did you get that memo?"
Pete had, he'd just forgotten. "What was it again?" He only just did manage to avoid the disapproval shot at him by the other man.
Miles set down the matching crystal glass, folding his hands in his lap. "It you bothered to put your new toys away for half a moment and read the memos I sent you, you'd know that the Shadow Proclamation is reaching out to us again."
Pete vaguely knew of the organization of sentient beings from across the universe who acted as one part government, one part police force. Since the inception of Torchwood, they had reached out to Earth in the hopes of cultivating a relationship with the planet and its people, with the desire of fostering humanity along enough that they too could reach out into the stars and participate in the larger, universal community. Pete had long suspected it was primarily because the Shadow Proclamation had tired of babysitting a planet that many other races thought backwards and primitive and ripe to take over just to get the raw materials off it.
"What the bloody hell do they want?" Pete pulled open his lower drawer to scrounge in his desk for another crystal glass, reaching for the decanter as he did so.
"The same old song and dance. The Earth needs to grow up, take it's place in the universe as a member planet, start letting its people in on the secret that 'we are not alone'."
"'Cause that will go over well," Pete huffed, frowning as he poured a larger amount of the scotch than perhaps he should. "Everyone's just now starting to get over the shock and trauma of John Lumic, now we want to plop down aliens into the mix?"
"It's not like people don't already suspect about them," Miles pointed out with the sort of diplomacy that made him much better at deal with the alien races than Pete normally was. "Torchwoods been leaking all sorts of information on it for a century already."
"And most of that is taken with a large grain of salt, which was also the goal. Every time someone gets up and states they are abducted, people roll their eyes and ask if they saw their little green man at the bottom of a beer glass." To demonstrate, Pete tipped his own tumbler back. The fiery, smoky liquid burned pleasantly across his tongue and down his throat.
"What if we maybe up the game a bit?"
Pete opened his eyes from the moment of scotch zen he had been enjoying. "You agree with the Shadow Proclamation?"
"I'm just saying, they do have a point."
Pete stared at his friend across the desk. Miles was known to be many things, one of which was extremely cautious. Which was why his response was so surprising. "Why the change of heart?"
"Who says it's a change?"
Pete's only response was to eye him over his glass. Mile's blue eyes met his own evenly.
"I'm simply saying that the Shadow Proclamation has a point. Torchwood was founded by Queen Victoria over a hundred years ago because she was attacked by an alien life form, one no one but a few people even suspected existed. How different would that situation have been had there been relationship between humanity and the larger universe?"
"Honestly, do you think any of us was ready for it a century ago?"
"No, but we are ready for it now. Things have changed, Torchwood has fostered that change, in part for this very reason. We were founded under the auspices of protecting Britain and the Earth from alien incursions and to prevent the misuse of any technology or artifacts against humanity. And we've done that. Rather than attacking and destroying every alien in sight, which our counterparts in another universe tried to do, we've built relationships with other races, have worked with the Shadow Proclamation, and have spent decades building a global society that may not work well, but at least works in some capacity. Now is as good a time as any to go for this."
"They've gotten to you, haven't they?" Pete growled, taking another large pull of scotch. Miles, as usual, was unperturbed.
"You know I'm right, Pete." How often did Miles ever actually use his first name? "How much easier would even everything three months ago have been if we'd been able to at least approach others regarding assistance."
"And yet, we managed all right by ourselves without outside intervention, didn't we?"
"Not really," Miles pointed out. "We wouldn't have succeeded if it weren't for the Doctor."
Pete hated it when Miles was right.
"Well, there is no Doctor or Time Lords in this universe, so where does that leave us?"
"Vulnerable," Miles countered archly. "Listen, humanity is going to find out about it eventually. We won't be able to keep it secret forever. We might as well control how the information gets out and do it in a way that won't leave us with riots in the streets. Torchwood has kept too many secrets in its past, and that nearly destroyed all of us."
There was truth in Miles' words, even if Pete hated to admit it. "If we do this, we have to be strategic. We have to plan this well, or there really will be riots in the streets. Work with the Shadow Proclamation to see what bloody suggestions their lot has."
"And who would you want working on this then?"
"You have been working on this. Why not you?"
Miles snorted. "Because after a while I have the strong urge to kill people. They talk to me now because I'm the point person for all alien contact."
"And you know the Shadow Proclamation best. And you get on better with them than you admit."
Miles at least had the grace not to dispute that. "Truth is, I'm not interested in being an ambassador and never have been. We need someone who can play the field with other races and not be afraid to do it."
"And whois this magical person you have in mind?"
"No one on this planet," Miles muttered. "No one in this universe even."
Pete didn't have to ask him who he meant.
"All that aside," Pete continued. "Who on this planet would you suggest?"
"Why not you?"
Whatever he had expected, that hadn't been it. Pete spluttered as scotch caught in this throat, burning as he choked, eyes stinging. "Where the bloody hell did you get that idea," he finally managed to croak as he thumped a fist against his chest.
"Rose," Miles replied cheekily, cheerfully finishing off his own scotch and placing the glass neatly on the desk. "Why not? You are handy enough with a board of trustees. And you've got the entire world to drink a product that is essentially nothing more than syrup and fizz."
"Yeah, and they are all human," he groused, clearing his chest roughly. "Rose? Why would she suggest that?"
"Have to ask her, she's your daughter."
His daughter. In all technicalities she was, but he hadn't raised her. He was still just getting to know her. Understanding what went on through her head at times was still a learning process for Pete.
"She's right, you know. You'd be good."
"I'm not ambassador or politician. I'm a kid from the estates who got lucky because Torchwood needed someone to spy on Lumic. That's what I am."
"One whose saved the universe twice over, from what I understand." Miles rose, straightening his suit jacket as he did so. "Consider it, sir. We can't dither around with this forever. We've survived too many close calls, it's time for Torchwood to evolve. We're the only organization on the planet that's free from any government or politics, and about the only one that can speak freely for all of humanity. Our mandate is to protect the Earth, and if we don't reach out to the Shadow Proclamation, then someone else will reach out for us first. And it may not end well."
Pete regarded his subordinate gravely. Miles rarely spoke with such gravitas. "I'll consider it. But I have a lot on my plate now, what with this jet engine project, and getting Jackie and Rose settled. Till then, can you still run point with the Shadow Proclamation. Tell them I'm thinking on how to approach this."
"Will do," Miles nodded perfunctorily, pausing thoughtfully. "I've been considering putting together a small team of field operations staff to deal with them exclusively. Those who've had extensive experience dealing with the races we have treaties with, and who have built relationships with visiting off-worlders."
"Good idea," Pete agreed.
"I was thinking I might ask Simmonds, Mickey, and Rose to be on it."
That gave Pete pause. "Those three? Why?"
Miles knew that Pete wasn't really asking so much because of either Jake or Mickey. "Jake has the potential to be a good leader here. He needs the experience. Mickey and Rose have the experience already, and they are less likely to balk at anything others might perceive as strange."
"And by Mickey and Rose, you really just me Rose?"
"Mickey isn't quite as gormless as he looks, but yeah. Rose is a natural at this, Pete, you and I both know it."
That he well knew. The first time he'd met her, pretending to be a server at his wife's birthday party all those years ago, he'd found himself confessing all to her. He didn't know her, and yet she flashed her wide, inviting smile and he found himself connecting to her as a kindred spirit.
He wondered, briefly, if that's what the Doctor felt when he'd met her.
"Just don't let her do anything stupid, her mother would never let me hear the end of it."
"I can't guarantee that, sir, she's related to you."
Pete ignored the other man's comment and frowned down at the large, platinum watch wrapped around his wrist, cursing quietly. "Jackie is at home waiting for me. We have the Berkley's dinner tonight, with the board and other investors. I'm going to be bringing the idea of the jet engine with me, so I've got to be perfect."
"Caviar with the croquet set?" Mile's perfectly straight expression belied the sardonic twinkle in his eye.
"Those caviar eaters may be funding a project that will keep you in nice, bespoke suits for the rest of your life, Miles, be kind." Pete finished his scotch, gathering both glasses to set aside for cleaning before rising to follow his field director out of the office. "You'd like Andy alright. Bit of a blowhard, but honest. And I need more people like that in my life."
"Clearly, then, I'm not enough," this other man sniffed as he proceeded Pete towards the elevator, pressing the button to go down.
"Ah, Miles, don't say that! Who else will nag me when Jackie isn't around?"
His only response was to grimace as the elevator doors opened without so much as a swooshing sound. Within seconds, the doors opened again onto the parking area, where Pete's driver waited with his Lexus.
"Hold the fort down while I'm gone," Pete joked as he made for his waiting car, but Mile's sudden call turned him back.
"I forgot to tell you, sir, Dr. Singh noticed a small anomaly in the rift between the worlds.
"Anamoly?" Despite Miles' nonchalance, Pete found himself frowning in worry. He didn't understand the physics behind the break between the walls that stood in between his world and the one that Rose and Jackie had left behind. But he did know that as firm was one would like to think they were, they could just as easily be broken. It had taken the Doctor the last time to repair things. They didn't have that luxury again.
"Nothing major, just a blip of energy. Singh wonders if it isn't leftover energy seeping through as things seal up. He didn't appear to be worried, but I have him monitoring it."
Pete felt his expression as well as his body physically relax. "See, didn't even have to tell you. What would I do without you?"
"I've been asking that for years," Miles retorted as Pete snickered and got into the car.