4 – Wishes Fulfilled

"And thanks in part to you, ATMOS has reached fifty percent worldwide distribution. The reports are in that folder." Junior accepted said folder from his cohort and flipped it open to idly peruse the charts and graphs within. "As agreed, I've diverted forty-five percent of my net profits to your account. It's a substantial amount and I feel that it's quite sufficient to ensure your continued silence about your involvement."

"Silence is indeed golden," Junior murmured and reached up to retrieve his pen from its usual place behind one of his ears, blinking in befuddlement when he came away with a toothbrush instead. "Was wondering where that'd gotten to. You wouldn't happen to know where my pen is, would you?"

Rattigan sighed impatiently and pointed to the other side of Junior's head. "It's – it's right there. Where it usually is."

"Right, thanks." Junior put the toothbrush in another pocket and grabbed the inkpen, uncapping it with his teeth long enough to sign the various forms before handing them back and re-capping the pen. "I'll assume you want me to disappear for another week or so? Or would you like me to go over some of the students' lab work? Don't get me wrong, it's great stuff, but there are a few cracks that need to be mended here and there before something goes poof."

"And heaven forbid that something 'goes poof'," Rattigan grumbled with exaggerated pantomime of quotes around the phrase he found distasteful. "Don't get me wrong, Smith, you're brilliant – but you are also starting to get on my nerves. Do you want an itemized list, or can you guess what's bothering me?" Baffled silence to this. "I'll make it easy for you since it's still early in the morning and you haven't had your breakfast." Pause, nervous grind of teeth, then, "I can't say this politely but, ah – you're a dweeb! Your terminology is deviant, your clothing is – well, I relaxed the policy for you seeing as you're more staff than student, but still – appalling, and your scientific method is almost nonexistent."

"You do realize that if I actually hailed from your portion of the geek-sphere, I would be deeply wounded by your words?" Junior asked mildly, scratching the back of his head.

"You suggested that one of my students sneeze into a Jello culture to study the survival possibilities of microbes in alien environments!"

Shrug. "Okay, so that was one of my off days. I promise it won't happen again."

"It had better not." Rattigan took a deep breath, held it for a count of two, then exhaled slowly. "All right. Go and get something to eat, then check on Jurek's algae experiments. And could you please at least change your shirt before the students see it?"

"But I thought Freud and mother jokes were brilliant - " Junior saw the hint of a twitch developing in the corner of the younger man's eyes and he held up his hands in an attempt to mollify. "Right, I'll try to keep it strictly to science. No double entendres, even if they are intelligent." He left and walked quietly down the carpeted hall, pausing when he heard the distant trill of a phone back from the direction which he'd come and backing up a few steps until he could pick up the gist of the conversation. UNIT, hm? What's he got to do with them? The caller spoke a few more words, after which Rattigan gave a clipped acknowledgment and ended the call. Great. May as well run now before he puts the figures together...

"I know you were listening, Smith. No use in trying to be interested in the artwork." Junior flinched in guilt as Rattigan appeared in the hallway, arms folded across his chest. "You probably guessed already, but we're having some important guests drop by later this afternoon. Be on your best behavior and..." A disdainful snort, then, "Try not to let anything go wrong."

"That's a good lot – I can smell genius!" The man known to Rattigan solely as the Doctor raced up the steps toward the front doors, adding almost in an afterthought, "In a good way, though." Doctor of what? wondered the youth, gritting his teeth and doing his best to bite back an annoyed comment. And why does he seem familiar? It was a question that would dog the founder of the academy as he led his guest and their armed escort through the halls. This man is a thousand degrees of wrongness – no, a million – and UNIT is letting him poke around in my school! They've looked over my inventions, even installed them in their vehicles, so why are they sending an investigator now? I don't like this, not at all. It was all that Luke Rattigan could do to keep tabs on what the visitor was saying and try to form intelligent answers while at the same time trying to unravel the purpose of his visit, and such was his distraction that he realized he'd made a potentially devastating faux pas as he held the safety curtain aside so that the pair could pass into the lab ahead of him.

"And you'll notice that it's grown more resistant to radiation and other potentially damaging elements, which will be crucial in its transfer to a hostile environment." The tall, skinny young man had changed his shirt from the potentially offensive Freudian joke to a harmless depiction of a caffeine molecule, and Rattigan breathed a sigh of relief to this as well as to the refreshingly professional dialogue held between the older male and the female student he stood next to. Smith glanced up briefly and acknowledged Rattigan's presence with a nod, then resumed his discourse with the student.

Wait a minute -! Rattigan looked from his colleague to his guest, stunned at the resemblance, and risked another look at Smith to see if his theory could hold any weight. Smith had disappeared, though, and Rattigan was distracted from investigating this further by the Doctor's enthusiasm over the various projects in the laboratory.

Junior held his breath from where he hid under a lab table, safely ensconced away from prying eyes by reinforced steel and the legs of the student with whom he'd spoken moments earlier. Shit, he noticed me! And he definitely noticed that we look alike. What's he going to do about it? He breathed a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deities were in attendance that Ms. Jurek, the student whose sweatpants concealed him from view, had not made any sign of distress at his sudden dive under her lab table. Junior then tried to suppress a groan as the all-too-familiar blue suit pants and sneakers passed by, appending his prayer to request that she would not make audible note of any similarities between the bookishly enthusiastic older man complimenting her work and the bookishly enthusiastic younger man who had just helped her with it.

The moment of fear passed as quickly as it had approached, leaving the students to chatter amongst themselves in open speculation about the visitor and his escort after the two had left. Junior waited a beat before considering emerging from his hiding place and was only snapped from his startlement by a calm inquiry from above. "Excuse me, Mr. Smith, are you having some kind of episode?"

"No, Ms. Jurek, I shall be fine. Just hate strangers, especially strangers with guns." Junior carefully eased himself out from under the table and dusted himself off, then resumed his review of the student's calculations. "Now, we were talking about... algae. That's right, algae."

Algae was the farthest thing from Junior's mind when chaos broke out almost two hours later. The distant wail of sirens called him from the laboratory where he now worked out the minor flaws in another student's chemical equations on a wall board and, after absently stashing the marker in a random pocket, he dashed outside to investigate.

He stared in disbelief at the sight offered from his vantage point on the front lawn of the Academy – the sight of not-so-distant London swimming in bilious gas unlike any smog he had seen before. He could also only imagine the effect that it was having on the residents of the city, a guess that was confirmed when the first of the students ventured out onto the green next to him. "Frightening, isn't it?" Junior mused aloud as the rest of the group joined him, doing his best to remain calm even as the first signs of panic manifested in the young humans. "Anyone know where it's coming from?" Though I can hazard a pretty good guess.

"It's the cars, sir," said one of the boys. "Something's gone wrong with the ATMOS and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it."

Exactly as intended. "Well, everyone, it hasn't reached us yet. Why don't we all wait here until our fearless leader comes by and tells us what to do?"

Another student, this one female: "But what about our families? Haven't you got anyone down there that you're worried about?"

"Not a one. You're here for a reason, so leave the common folk to their common government."

Cries of outrage arose in response to his comment. "What are you?" hissed a third. "It's like you're not even human!"

"Spot on," Junior muttered, his words lost in the hubbub as the doors flew open to reveal Luke Rattigan.

"Leave it! Turn away," commanded Rattigan, and Junior could almost hear the pleased smirk in his tones as the students obeyed. "Civilization is falling..."

"And they refused! I gave them the chance of a lifetime and they refused! After all I've done for them, they deserve to die along with the rest of the lemmings." Rattigan stalked down the corridor towards his day room and the awaiting teleport device, Junior a few steps behind and offering no comment as the younger man fumed. "A chance to build a better Earth! So what if they had to make a few sacrifices along the way? There's no progress without sacrifice. And what am I supposed to tell my colleagues? Tell me that, Smith."

"Far be it from me to guess the inner machinations of an armored potato-head," Junior replied with a shrug. "What makes you think I've got an inside line?"

"Because you're one of them." A victorious bark of laughter from Rattigan. "Maybe not so tuberous, but an alien nonetheless. No one but an alien could have repaired the flaws in the ATMOS and made it work so efficiently! Aren't you thrilled, Smith? You've helped kill off a planet full of worthless humans – I bet my colleagues would just love you."

"Probably not..."

"Sarcasm, Smith! Your weapon of choice. I'm almost of a mind to take you up with me and let them kill you like they tried to get rid of that father of yours!"

Junior sighed and stopped in his tracks, fixing Rattigan in a patient look that made the younger man shiver at the age and intensity betrayed in the pale eyes. "You're right, Rattigan. I'm not from around here and I'm glad of it. Enjoy your paradise, you've earned it." Then he vanished with a wide grin that infuriated the human and sent him dashing down the hallway once more.

"You're lucky I didn't have anything more pressing to do than to read through my hate mail," Lilith grumbled, plopping down into the ragged desk chair before she was given invitation to sit. "Normally everything from the Earth-Human Office is immediately flagged for my Go To Hell folder, but you caught me on a good day. What's the crisis this time that you felt the need to scream at me for?"

The Caseworker coughed uncomfortably, unsure of how to handle the tempest that had blown into his office and now kicked booted feet up on his desktop in the overtly uncaring manner that he'd been cautioned about. "Er, it's about your son."

Lilith's jaw dropped in a gape of pleased shock. "My son, you say? It's about time, and a good thing too. If you'd called me up just to bitch about my ex, then I'd just have to tell you to stick it because he is no longer my concern. That train has left the station and I'm quite thrilled to say that I'm no longer the conductor." She caught a glimpse of the flustered flush rising in the younger Sidra's cheeks and smirked as she glanced down at the nameplate on the desk to confirm her suspicion. "You must be new, Erasmus. Was this assignment the luck of the draw, or have you already pissed someone off?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"As your clients say, 'bullshit.' I've caused your office more headaches than the 21st century and I wouldn't be here unless you were either a glutton for punishment, picked the short straw, or gotten someone to hate you." Lilith reached forward to buff a scrape out of the otherwise immaculate polish on her boots. "And I see that Junior's become a chip off the old block. Please tell me he at least stuck to somewhat recent events, relatively speaking?"

"Yes, ma'am." Erasmus ignored the derisive snort from Lilith at his use of the honorific and plunged onward, clinging to the hastily compiled notes on his display. "According to our Field Agent, he not only established himself as a rogue entity at a fragile historical nexus but also aided and abetted the enemy in the slaughter of millions."

The smirk faded only to be replaced by an unreadable eyebrow lift and equally impassive reply. "Really. Show me."

Erasmus complied, rotating the display with a simple finger gesture and nudging it within easy reading distance of his guest. "As you can see, he fraudulently established himself as a genius for hire at an institute of dubious credentials and assisted its founder, Luke Rattigan - "

"I can read, Erasmus. Let me." Lilith glared at the Caseworker, causing him to involuntarily shrink back in his seat away from the cold gaze. Silence assured, she returned to her perusal of the report with a deepening frown of disgust. "Sontarans, UNIT, clone feed... the day saved by alien influence. Yvenda is, as usual, unsparing of praise." She returned the display to its original position and folded her arms across her chest, maintaining her icy consideration of the Sidra across the desk from her. "Pop quiz, newbie: what legal means do you have to deal with this?"

"I – I – " Erasmus turned beet red and glanced down at his desk blotter, then stared up at Lilith angrily. "There are none. Your son is technically not bound to the Commission and thus cannot be governed by its laws."

"Exactly! I would give you a cookie, but I'm afraid I'm fresh out." Lilith swung her feet down to the floor again and rose from her seat, Erasmus coloring further at the sight of loose dirt left behind by his visitor's boot-soles on his obsessively tidy desktop. "And if any of your policy wonks try to tell you otherwise or – Elder forbid – sicc the Chronometrics toadies on my son, pass along a message from me: Over my dead body. I'll handle this on my own."

"That's exactly what we're afraid of," Erasmus muttered.