Torchwood: Marathon

by Mirwalker


Collections & Connections

The event set-up team swarmed onto the Plass, advancing foot-by-foot as the paving crew finished, racing to set up tents, stages and other festival infrastructure by torch-, street- and moonlight. Blessedly, the previous night's rain had passed and mostly dried; but this was small comfort to the organizers, already well behind schedule to be ready for the morning, and now paying extra for last minute and late night installation.

Not all evidence of refurbishment would be gone by kickoff; but the larger construction pieces that could not be removed without creating further delay, were at least out of the way and could be decorated over so as not to detract from the space or look. In some ways, thought one of the logistics managers as he peered out over his clipboard, it actually was easier to remove, deliver, assemble and decorate on the now uniformly flat and attractive space, now that the foot and vehicle traffic along the waterfront were lighter because of the late hour.

All told, this annual gathering would be a good christening and test for the Plass' new surface—if everything went according to plan. "Move that bloody loader," he began to shout, running into the hive of activity to head off a potential glitch and the loss of even more precious time.


Meters below, other shouts echoed into the evening. In an instant, Tylo had begun screaming hoarsely over the klaxons that again filled the Hub. Gwen watched helplessly as his body seemed unsure what would bring it the most relief: curling into a tight fetal position or overextending itself in every direction.

All she could do was try to ensure that his panicked folding and stretching did not slam him into the table and chairs from which he'd slid to the floor. "Owen!" she shouted again, wondering what was taking him so long to return with something—anything to help Tylo's apparent reaction to the Rift activity that had drawn Tosh and Ianto back to the monitoring equipment downstairs. And still no sight of or sound from their withdrawn leader.

The doctor crested the stairs at a full run, a travel med kit sliding to a stop beside the patient as he did.

Sensing her judgment at his delayed response, Harper offered as he prepped the injection. "I heard Ianto and Tosh babbling at each other as I passed. This episode is lasting longer than the others, much longer and stronger; something's changed."

"And Tylo's suffering for it," she stated the obvious, also reminding Owen of that focus in the crisis.

As if on cue, their visitor began to settle, despite the continued flashing lights and excited chatter from their tech crew. Harper stowed the syringe, and reached for the computer tablet compiling readings from the sensors scattered across the prone figure before them.

Watching his brow furrow even more at whatever the screen told him, and hearing the excited chatter from the computer station one level down, Gwen considered how they seemed to have no lack of information about the escalating and yet deteriorating situations—plural—facing them. What they needed in quantity, and what they continued to lack, were explanations.


"He's broken his more aged arm," Owen reported, stepping toward the huddle as he ran his hands over his tired face. "The bone had degraded so much, it fractured on impact with the floor, I guess. I've sedated him lightly to keep him still…"

Despite his gruff demeanor and direct dislike at being vomited on, the physician's displeasure at his patient's worsening condition was evident. His teammates could read the professional concern behind his fatigue and frustration; they suspected there was genuine compassion under there somewhere as well. His expectant look at them suggested they should return their attention to other topics.

Ianto resumed his summary, "So… with the exception of the one small, more typical blip the day before Tylo showed up—"

"Which we now think was, in fact, his arrival in our time..." noted Tosh.

"Yes. All the rest have been very unusual in that, while there certainly were fluctuations in the Rift energy readings during them, the net levels of each incident were negative. And, with each incident the net negative has gotten larger."

"Something is absorbing Rift energy?"

"Or diverting it. Or consuming, cancelling or otherwise using it up. Yes."

"So Jack was right about its vector…," deduced Gwen. The old boy wasn't so totally checked out as he seemed intent on being. But, "If it's going somewhere, can we tell where it's going?"

"Or not coming from anymore?"

"I thought the Rift was centered here in the Hub?" the newest team member wondered aloud, quite sure she didn't understand anything beyond the broadest picture of the phenomenon at the center of their work.

"True, but it isn't a single point here either," Tosh tried to explain as best she understood it. The detailed data on their screens were easy enough to comprehend as discrete measures; but the overarching patterns, much less the underlying causes, were much less clear. She took a breath, and tried to paint a 3D picture. "I find it helpful to think of the Hub as being at the energy epicenter; but if you want to think about the Rift like a geologic fault line, it runs well out into the harbor and a little further inland as well."

"So…?" Gwen asked, still not having enough information to make the leap to explanation or action.

"So," summarized Ianto, "it's a good guess that whatever is happening, is happening near the Rift. We're likely looking for something new and different going on fairly nearby and starting recently."

"The first unusual, net-negative incident was just under two weeks ago."

"What's started or changed in the area about that time? Anything else that might be connected?" asked Gwen, finally feeling like they were getting somewhere with this investigation.

Tosh pulled up a calendar, several news, and a few about-town events websites. "Let's see, two weeks ago was… The new chippy opened in the shops upstairs... Senedd session resumed… Shakespeare Day 'act outs' across the city... Rugby Millennium Magic…" She scrolled through various other miscellaneous events and occurrences, from cultural calendars and police blotters. "Fairly quiet actually; nothing of any note anywhere. This weekend's Art Festival is really the kickoff for the spring social season." She looked up, disappointed the clues weren't panning out any better.

But their second-in-command was deep in thought in a good way… "The Festival! Coming and going the past week, I've heard the builders and organizers bickering about whether the Plass would be ready in time."

Ianto picked up the synthesis, typing wildly on his workstation. "The Rift activity began just after the Plass resurfacing project began, and right about the time they enclosed the new concert hall."

"You think Auntie is up to something?" pondered Owen, through squinted eyes.(1)

"No," Gwen concluded quickly, as she sensed they were closing on something important. "Given its proximity to us, Tosh and I went through all the construction and renovation plans before they were approved; there was nothing alien or otherwise suspicious in any of it. And we've spot-checked the construction several times to make sure they're sticking to the plans."

Tosh was typing furiously on her computer, as building plans, permits and material lists flew past. Finally, she stabbed at the screen, a manifest of supplies delivered to the construction site. "Here's something: The new grout that's being used between the pavers on the Plass, it's silicon-based. The plans said it was more eco-friendly and more durable; but the special refinement is also significantly more expensive than the standard grade."

"So, we'll have luxury dirt among the stones upstairs; so what?" asked the rapidly losing interest physician.

"Silicon is conductive," explained Ianto, "at least of electrical energy. With just a few tweaks to the formula, it could carry temporal energy."(2)

All four faces slowly turned upward as the possibility settled across them.

"The entire Oval is going to be part of a transmission grid?"

"And paid for with Council monies!" Owen half-raged.

"Actually, the special grade of grout is being underwritten by a private sponsor…," corrected their computer whiz, already turned back to the investigation. A few more keystrokes, and she pointed to a string of text on the large screen. "A collection of nearly a dozen companies across the city."

Gwen's gaze took in their two most computer-savvy colleagues, "Tosh, you check out that grout; Ianto, keep digging for information on these generous donors. Owen, make sure our guest is comfortable and then grab a field interrogation kit. We're going to do some midnight surprise records audits…"


When the first address on record proved a literal dead end, the at-base investigative duo sent the field team to a series of other empty offices and mailboxes. The attempt to hide the true source of the funds was as obvious as it was effective. And, though informed, their Captain remained uninterested and unhelpful.

Eventually, Gwen had ordered everyone to bed for the remainder of the night, in hopes a fresh start might be more productive. Owen had turned in without a word; but she'd had to order Tosh and Ianto to at least trade off sleep shifts as they continued to work back through complex corporate records and material analyses. She'd even managed a few hours of fitful sleep herself, before another round of Rift activity had woken everyone, and further weakened their guest.

Setting down the cup of electrolyte water, she ran a hand gently over his damp, warm forehead. "Tylo, are sure there's nothing else you can tell us about what we're experiencing now? Does any of this seem familiar to you? Sound like something Jack mentioned to you?" She was frustrated and fading; he was just fading. And she was growing desperate to tap the knowledge he might take with him, as much for their larger duty as to end it and his suffering.

"Not t'interfere," he reminded softly.

"Well, I hate to surprise you with this," she chuckled with no small amount of seriousness, "but by coming back through time, you have changed things."

"Here t'change future, not today," he countered.

"Your people picked a good man to send back on their behalf," she acknowledged as she took a seat beside him, and took his hand to offer what tactile comfort she could. "You're strong, smart and stubborn as all get out, even chock full of strong meds…"

"Tell me 'bout Jack?" Tylo asked, without any reaction to her compliments. Gwen couldn't tell if he was intentionally changing the subject, or just acting from a less conscious focus as he fought against the sleep he probably desperately needed.

"Smitten with him already?" she laughed. "Most people take a little longer to fall under his spell."

"Not yet," said Tylo confidently. "51st Century pheromones not so special in… future. You have someone special?"

"Aye, my boyfriend, Rhys. Speaking of, it's been a while; I should probably let him hear from me," as she fumbled in her pockets for the phone.

"Children?"

"No, thank goodness," she smiled, as she sent her likely worried beau a text, not wanting to wake him simply to get into a long explanation when there was no easy explanation. She glanced up at Tylo, who was still looking at her with perhaps a little surprise. "Why do you ask?" she wondered suddenly. "Tylo, do you know whether I will have any? When? How many?" She paused, daring to ask the next question. "Who with?"

His eyes closed, and his face gave her no indication about whether and what he knew of her possible progeny. "I'd a daughter," he said simply, with a new sadness layered into his fatigue.

The disclosure was as unexpected as it was understated. Gwen swallowed, and immediately followed up on the novel opportunity. "What's her name, then?"

"Gwen..."

"Hold on! Are you speaking to me? Or was that her name?" Her eyes grew large, as she shook his hand for some clarity. "Am I like your great-grandmum or something?"

"No blood relation; he chose the name," he explained with a quick grimace, perhaps realizing he'd shared something he shouldn't.

"'He'? Who's 'he'?" she asked with curiosity, as Tylo's eyes opened with a sadness she hadn't seen since he last looked at… Jack.

"Tired," he whispered, pulling his good hand free and turning away.

"Tylo," she sighed, suddenly understanding so much more of what he'd risked on this journey, and why. She placed a hand gently on his, and looked up in the direction of their sulking connection to the future. "That's why you got sent… You all hoped you might still have some connection to him that others wouldn't. That he'd listen to you."

The visitor just lay there, not needing her exposition to remind him of his goal, risk or reception.

"And look how he's greeted you," she named for him.

With a gentle squeeze, she took a deep breath, stood and turned to march to a certain office and give a certain man a piece of her mind.


But, she was stopped by an impromptu meeting of the team, none of whom had been able to get back to sleep after this last alarm, and instead were discussing their situation over tea in the main chamber.

"The silicon they're using on the Plass does seem to have some reaction to the Rift energy. There was definitely some conduction during that spike," reported Ianto. He held up a little vial of the sand-looking material, while pointing to a map of the plaza above them. "I doubt it's a coincidence; but it doesn't yet tell us what its purpose is."

Owen rubbed his bleary eyes, and summarized with typical dour directness, "So all we know is that we have increasingly frequent and intense Rift activity, centered somewhere around the actual Rift. We have a mystery entity lacing a public space with an advanced temporal energy conductor; and despite the crowds above, the only person who seems to be aware of that activity is the time traveling, tattooed and terminally ill farmer wandering our headquarters…"

Tosh swallowed, and added another dire element to their puzzle. "And whatever is going on, it's nearly ready. The crews worked through the night ahead the Festival; they're going to be finished with the fundamental Plass work within the next couple of hours."

"We're on a very short countdown down to something; and if they know anything, neither Jack nor Tylo is talking," Gwen vented, pacing with hands on hips.

"I could make Tylo talk," suggested their physician. He said it without malice or glee; just offered the possibility matter-of-factly. "It seems our options, and time, are running short. He doesn't have long either; and it wouldn't take a big dose on top of what he's already on…"

Gwen wanted to gape at his idea, but couldn't really argue.

"Tylo and his people knew enough about this time period to send him here, to dress him appropriately, and to accurately determine which team members we were," Ianto reminded, in apparent agreement. "They might know more. It certainly couldn't hurt to ask again."

"Hold on," interjected the police constable who'd last been with patient under discussion. "Just because we have a mystery of unknown intent, doesn't mean we have to resort to forcible interrogation on the off-chance Tylo knows something useful…"

"Jack could ask him," suggested Tosh, looking at the office doorway, where the Captain now stood as if summoned. He looked like he'd missed a nap or two, in favor of one strong drink or more.

"I certainly have questions for him; but it's not about Rift energy," Harkness stated.

"Jack," Gwen reminded, presuming he may have been listening to their updates. "Whatever your issues with him, we could at least learn that we don't need to worry about this construction or activity. And," she stepped closer to him and dropped her voice. "I think he would listen to you in particular."

"What she means," narrated Owen, clearly tired and tired of talking in circles, "Is that you might be able to get more out of him than any of us could, because you are his husband!"

"What?!" shouted Tosh, on her and Ianto's behalf, as Gwen glared at him, disappointed and shocked, but not altogether surprised that he would be unable—or unwilling—to keep the confidence.

"What?" demanded Jack, unsure if Owen was just trying to be spiteful.

"I have monitors on Tylo, remember? I heard what he told you…" Owen explained to Gwen especially. If he felt any regret at letting slip the cat, he had nonetheless done so, and so better to make it work for them all. Pursing his lips for resolve, he opened the bag fully, "It would seem, Captain, that our mononymous guest is actually a future Mister Harkness. Congratulations."

He glanced at his colleagues with his patented there-I've-said/done-it look. "My point is that it's probably not the only interesting tidbit he's failed to share with us. If he knows you and your history so well, Jack, he might know something about the current situation that could help us, as payback for care if nothing else."

"For all his subtlety, Jack," conceded Gwen, almost despite her better judgment, "Owen has a point. If this Rift Activity is as significant as it seems to be becoming, he likely does know something about it from your eventual stories. If he wants you and the rest of the world to last long enough to meet him, there's probably something he could tell us that would help without badly breaking his non-interference rule."

She stepped up to look Jack directly in the eyes. "And he came back, specifically; he took the risk and is paying the price for trying to get you to hear his message. Perhaps if you'll listen to him about the future—just give him that—he'll share what he knows to help us now. He came back not just for you, but to you. Go to him, for everyone's sake."


NOTES

1. An older nickname for the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), whose Wales Orchestra was to be housed in the new hall. The villain in the Tenth Doctor's The Idiot's Lantern (2.7) played on this maternal image.

2. Silicon is also the eighth most common element in the universe by mass, and so would be known to scientific cultures anywhere.