Author's note: This shouldn't have taken me so long, but have been busy with other whatnot. Not sure how this turned out, since it's mainly exposition, which I'm not so good at. And it's Lester, whom I adore, but is a tricky balance keeping him brilliantly witty and sarcastic without lowering him to being vindictive and annoying (so well executed in the series).
Two hours later...
There was a rap on the door, and James Lester looked up from the report he'd been perusing to see a motley crew of employees file into his office, like schoolchildren reporting to the headmaster. Correction. Like schoolchildren bothering an adult with some incoherent whinging. At least, he assumed it to be the case from the look on Jessica's face. The last time he'd seen someone so determined to chew a hole through their bottom lip, there had been some serious tattling going on.
Behind her, Abby followed, looking far more grave than was the young woman's nature, even when her precious prehistoric pets were concerned. Matt was a bit of a surprise. Somehow, Lester had managed to find a man with the same streak of independence as Cutter or Quinn. Yet for the most part, the maverick in Mr. Anderson seemed to be buried under a bit more decorum. He hadn't expected him to be in the parade of complainants into his office.
He had decided to treat them as he did all annoying employees lodging petty grievances, by ignoring them and returning to reading the report he'd been in the midst of labouring through. Unfortunately, he caught the last person to enter his office in the corner of his eye.
Lady Emily Merchant.
Odd that, considering the sentence he'd been interrupted from had begun to say, if he were any good at predicting spoilers (which he was), that she had returned to her own time. Something that he had also been informed of early that day by both Jess and Matt.
"There's a complaint box in the canteen. Please remember all grievances must be filled out on the appropriate forms and shall take 2 to 10 weeks for processing," Lester said without looking up.
Others would simply be pretending to read reports at this point. But he hadn't gotten where he was by only having the capacity to tackle one task at a time. He finished the report, all the while keenly aware of the protestations of his people that they were not there to complain, and the subsequent extreme tension building over the 20 second period of silence. He signed off on the report, despite the presence of the woman who it claimed had gone. This whole ordeal would inevitably mandate another, entirely new report. Oh, joy of joys.
He placed the papers neatly in his outbox, sat up straight in his chair, fixed his tie and glancing around the room, ascertained the instigator of this little unwelcome soiree. Matt stood firm under his harsh gaze.
"What's the meaning of this late night social call? Did you get kicked out of the pub before last orders?" Lester asked. "Because despite what Jess may have led you to believe, there is not a minibar in my desk. Although Lord knows you people could drive one to drink."
Jess opened her mouth to protest the insult but he cut her off with the raise of a hand before he turned to the oddly dressed Victorian woman.
"And you. Didn't you go back to your own time? What is it? The 19th century no longer good enough for you? Lacking amenities like running water and electricity? Well, can't blame you there."
Lady Merchant looked slightly taken aback by his verbal assault. And Lester felt brief remorse -but only brief- over being so harsh. But this was supposed to be quiet time at the ARC. After all the naughty, noisy children left and the playground was empty, silent, peaceful. This was his meditative time. And they had interrupted it.
Looking more agitated than usual, and perhaps even a bit angry, Matt glared and appeared as if he might be about to say something.
Better to obviate the need for this whole conversation.
"I already said she could stay. Just hope that she doesn't change her mind again. It's getting to be a bloody awful lot of paperwork. And I wash my hands of it."
"Mind you, she'd likely have a bit of a wait for the next anomaly to the Victorian era." But if the anomaly closed behind her as Matt and Jess had said and she was standing here now, then... "How did Mrs. Merchant get back here?"
"If you'd just shut up and listen for ten seconds, that's what we're trying to tell you," Jess said.
They all stared dumbfounded at the young woman for her uncharacteristic outburst. She worried her lower lip in the worst way, shrinking slightly.
"Sorry," she said. "It's just we don't have much time. I've disabled the surveillance on a rolling blackout that should appear to be a glitch, but it won't last more than twenty minutes."
"Why would you do that?" Lester asked.
"I asked her to," Matt said. Perhaps a good enough reason for Jess, but Lester was curious as to just exactly when he had stopped being the head man -er, person- around the place. He sighed. Upon proper review, he knew he'd find that he'd been labouring all these years under the false notion that he actually held some control over his employees.
"So, what precisely is going on here?"
"We have to prevent Philip Burton from destroying life as you know it," Matt said.
Melodrama, our name be Matt Anderson.
Lester bit back any number of sardonic retorts searing his tongue. For all their eccentricities and tendencies to aggravate, he trusted his people. And if whatever was going on was enough to sway the pragmatic man to the uncharacteristically dramatic overstatement, there was trouble.
Instead, Lester only permitted enough frustration to show through as to lend a warning tone to his voice.
"Can someone please speak plainly? You are capable of communication on a level beyond that which belongs in a David Lynch drama?"
"Whatever Philip's researching at Prospero's facilities goes wrong," Matt said. Apparently the man was inured to Lester's sarcastic wit. "It causes a cataclysmic reaction that extinguishes all life on the planet."
Matt glanced at Abby.
"We believe Connor predicted this event and went to Philip, not knowing he's responsible for it."
"And they nabbed him, to keep him quiet," Abby said. Her voice was all fire and passion. What he had mistaken for solemnity on her part was in actuality her desperate attempt to keep her anger at bay.
He looked back at Matt, who held his eyes with determined blue ones.
He surveyed the maddeningly peppy young woman who -though he'd never openly admit- basically ran the ARC. Jessica was an emotionally open person. It was blatant she believed what the others said. Lester could see that it terrified her.
Lady Merchant, he hardly knew. And what he had known no longer seemed to apply to the much more hardened woman standing closely behind where Matt was sat, hand resting upon his shoulder -damn. So that was the cause for her involvement in this. She could have returned to her time, lived out her days in relative comfort. Whatever happened a hundred years after she'd grown old and died was no concern of hers. Except, she had made it so. Lester only need glance at her pretty yet determined face to confirm his suspicions about her motives.
Okay. So they were all on the same page. And they all believed it was the truth. And maybe Lester had never really cared for Philip Burton -neither the man, nor his ambition. However,
"I do hope you have proof to back these allegations."
Matt looked to Emily, whose hand slipped from his shoulder to undo the top button of her shirt. Oh dear lord. Lester averted his gaze as her hand disappeared beneath the fabric. When he hazarded to look again, he found she had produced a thumb drive from her unmentionables and was handing it off to Jess. The computer savvy young woman promptly produced a small laptop, setting it up before him by sweeping away his already open and employed one.
"And just what was wrong with mine?" Lester asked.
Jess gave him a condescending look. As if he were the childish one amongst all present.
"It's not secure," she said whilst sticking the drive into a port and opening the contents. "This one isn't networked."
Was she going to read it aloud to him, too? He shooed her away.
"I'm not completely incompetent."
Lester perused the contents. Reconstructed files, reports from the news media, the government... the ARC. Interesting. Or not. Some research papers heavy in technobabble and scientific jargon. Ah, an elocution he recognized. Unlike some of the other blathering, grammatical atrocities against coherent thought, an eloquent and concise report that could only be penned by one man -himself. He had just reached a particularly elegant turn of phrase when he was quite rudely interrupted.
"Well?"
It was Abby's impatient tongue that broke his admiring reverie as it had just begun to turn from smug appreciation to ill-ease. He scrolled down the document, just to make certain. There, at the bottom, was his signature, sure enough. Although, in this day and age, and given the abilities he knew Jess to possess in her little finger alone, it could all be forgeries.
But he knew these people. In all their dull, predictable unpredictability, deceit (on this level, anyway) did not have stead. The odd lie-by-omission... He glanced at Lady Merchant who once more was standing territorially close to Matt.. They certainly were capable of that. Their motives, however, were easy enough to discern. Everything he had seen them do -whether it be within the rules or in blatant defiance of his authority- was to protect others, preserve life.
So, there were but two possible explanations. One, this was the truth that they had laid out before him, or Two, someone had lied to them. But who? And to what end?
Lester turned his full scrutiny upon the unknown factor, and oddly, the source of all this 'vital' information. Lady Emily Merchant met his gaze without flinching or shying away -a rarity in itself, for he did take quite a deal of pride in his intimidating manner (which he had honed over many years of practical use). Her large, brown eyes were every bit as bright and sincere as their first meeting- if less some of their innocence. They had gained an even sharper edge. If she were playing games, she was one hell of an actress.
All there was to do was to put it to the people he trusted to convince him why to trust the stranger.
"Why should I believe any of this? No offense, my lady, but one can hardly sanction taking action -if I correctly understand what you lot have come to me for- against a man like Philip Burton for a possible future event based upon some poorly reconstructed files and the word of a woman from the 19th century."
"It's the truth," Matt said.
One thing was for certain. The woman possessed undeniable charms to have Matt wrapped so tightly about her finger. Odd, he hadn't seemed the type to fall to something as trite as feminine wiles. Could there be more going on here?
The pair in question were locked in a silent yet loaded exchange.
"Tell them," Emily said. Matt appeared resistant to her suggestion. "Now would be the appropriate time if ever there was one."
Lester watched in barely repressed shock and irrepressible curiosity as Matt caved. The generally laconic man swallowed, visibly nervous. Hell, it made Lester nervous just seeing a man who faced down all sorts of creatures that'd easily have him for lunch without a second thought filled with anxiety... over what?
"I can confirm everything Emily has disclosed," Matt said. "Her information comes from my people. I was not born in the 20th century. My world -this world's future- is a doomed one. I, among others, was sent back in an attempt to prevent it."
"It?" Lester mocked, unable to help himself. "For all you know 'it' could be a solar flare."
"We knew it had to do with the anomalies. We knew about the ARC. That's why we were sent back to infiltrate it, to keep an eye on you."
"We?" Abby asked, preempting Lester's interjection. The young woman looked as confused and hurt as Lester felt (although, he'd never admit it even to himself).
Matt looked away, speaking softly.
"I'm so sorry, Matt," Jess said. Apparently, along with Emily whom was already aware of these facts -he would tell a strange woman the truth about himself after a few days, but not trust people he'd worked with for over a year!- Jess was not feeling betrayed.
"Let me get this straight, Lester said. "You come from a future where humanity is struggling to survive. And to prevent the apocalypse, you were sent here through an anomaly."
Matt gave him a 'How else would I have traversed time?' look.
"You're certain it wasn't, I don't know, say, a Delorean? Or naked in a time bubble? I'm favouring the latter, since you seem to be playing at being John Connor."
Wow. Did he seriously just make those references? He must be more livid than he thought. His brain wasn't functioning correctly. Or he had spent too much time around Connor Temple: Genius Geek Extraordinaire. That's what he got for taking in pathetic waifs that couldn't tell their girlfriends how they felt.
"Lester!" Abby was possibly the only person in the room, let alone alive, that could give him an admonishing look to its desired effect. And she was absolutely right. This squabbling was unimportant, a waste of time. But at the moment, it was all that was keeping his fury in check. It allowed his brain to focus on what mattered. It did not matter that Philip Burton was one of the only reasons the ARC was still in operation. It did not matter that Matt Anderson-
"Is that even your real name?"
"John Connor? No." Was the man really attempting to turn Lester's sardonic wit back upon him? Matt -or whoever the hell was sat before him- maintained a neutral facade. "There was no call to change my name. We built my identity here around it."
Lester had never seen Matt falter, flinch, but for a moment he appeared... weary.
"All my life I've been working towards this point." Steel entered his fierce blue gaze. "I will not fail."
"Well, apparently, it's no longer up to you." Lester did not doubt the man's sincerity. The only question was what -if anything- could be done? And by whom? And to what end? "Obviously, you cannot do this alone. Otherwise, I would be enjoying some peace and quiet in ignorant bliss, believing those around me respect me enough not be keeping gargantuan secrets from me and lying to my face every single day."
Matt glared, but was there guilt in there somewhere? Lester wasn't prone to anything as banal as sentimentality or hope, so he allowed himself to believe that it wasn't just wishful thinking that he found remorse in the man, that this person before him was not as much a stranger as he feared.
Alas, it did not matter whether Matt had betrayed him. Not if this story about Philip Burton and the future was the truth. Lester found himself sighing for the hundredth time that day. The earnestness of all present was enough to convince him. The four gathered pensively around him, even the relative stranger from a different era, held more clout with him than Philip ever would. And what he had seen in those reconstructed files... He wouldn't put it past the conceited bastard to risk all of humanity in an attempt for personal gain.
The fallout would be massive, for the Anomaly Research Center, for all involved, and for him personally. He'd be finished -in every single aspect of the word, except maybe still alive in the technical sense- for making this decision. For although this evidence was blatantly true, it would never hold up to the scrutiny of the wealthy and powerful powers-that-be. A tyrannosaur could roar in their faces and they'd claim the creature had only been a kitten long before its rotten breath ceased to turn their stomachs.
And to be honest, Lester did not exactly care about the distant future. Well, not so distant, according to the sources stood before him. The part of his brain, the part that every single human being possessed, the part that operated to preserve its sanity, could not accept that the apocalypse was imminent. It's what allowed him to coolly consider the facts, consequences, and options without an iota of panic. Well, maybe just a little bit of his mind was screaming hysterically. But it was a small portion, for it required imagination and creativity to consider a catastrophe on such a scale.
But there was a much more immediate, relevant consequence that he found affected him more profoundly than he'd ever care to admit.
Connor Temple.
The young man was in trouble. At least, Abby believed it to be the case. So much so, that Lester found himself clenching his fists in response to the palpable tension radiating off from her. He felt some fear and anger for Connor himself. Because, although it was difficult to believe, James Lester was a man of few real friends. And though he'd never openly admit it to anyone, he considered Connor Temple one of those few.
It was possibly the worst reason a leader of men could base a decision upon, compassion rather than logic. And it was possibly the best reason.
"Given how utterly unlikely it is that Philip Burton will just let you in if you show up on his doorstep looking like malicious door-to-door salesmen, I suppose that you're proposing some sort of raid." Lester clicked his tongue. "It's a shame Captain Becker is out of commission. You know how he enjoys a good military action."
"We could really use him," Matt said. True, his independent, stubborn streak wasn't anywhere near on the scale of Nick Cutter or Danny Quinn, but it still was somewhat surprising to hear the alpha male openly admit to needing someone else's help to complete what was apparently his life's mission. But it also spoke to an impressive patience, perhaps even (shocking though it may be) wisdom, considering the fate of the world was at stake.
"We've got 35 hours until all hell breaks loose. I think we should give it a little more time. He handled it impressively well the last time he was shot by an EMD. Although, that wasn't a double-tap on a such a high setting."
Lester couldn't recall hearing of such an incident.
"The last time?"
"Boys," Jess muttered and rolled her eyes.
Did Matt looked ashamed? Nope. Just smug and a bit defensive.
"He questioned the efficacy of the EMDs and volunteered for a field test."
"I somehow expect he suffered a bruised ego more than any physical injury." Lester pardoned the adolescent behaviour, realizing their time for discussion was waning. "Do we know the prognosis for his recovery?"
They, every single person in his office, turned to Jess. For they all knew of her near stalker-like devotion to the captain. On anybody else, it might have been creepy. But she was a sweet girl, which surprisingly did not annoy Lester as much as overly sacharine affectations generally did.
Jess blushed.
Dear lord, he was living in the middle of a telenovela! Odd, really, that he hadn't seen it before. Crazy, murderous wives. Women changing identities. Unrequited love. Losses that weren't losses. People coming back from the dead (or cretaceous, as it were). Quasi-comas. Married ladies falling in love with men from the lower classes (or future, apparently). All they were lacking was someone's evil twin. Oh wait. They'd had that, too.
Frankly, he'd never seen much difference (in the little television he watched) between 'quality' drama and a daytime soap. Except maybe the budget and actors' abilities. And while the soaps took a fatalistic view of the world (perhaps because they made their viewers' lowly, oft mucked-up lives seem better), dramas tended to favour an underdog storyline rather often. Well, they certainly possessed that trait. And there was going to be men with guns, maybe some explosions (although on a personal image sort of level he hoped not -being seen to have blown up your private sector partner's research facilities could be taken as petty and vindictive).
However, it would mean that "We're going primetime, people."
Jess stopped blathering on about Captain Becker and everyone who had still been listening stopped doing so as well, turning and staring at Lester as if his interjection indicated madness.
He cleared his throat and straightened his tie.
From the little useful information he had gleaned from Jess' rambling, Becker was expected to wake within a few hours. Knowing the man, just the idea that he was not up to optimal 'ass-kicking' capacity would make him more determined and, well, 'badass.' As far as Lester was concerned, if the soldier were awake and could stand, he would be more than useful in this little endeavour of theirs.
The apocalypse supposedly happened not the coming morning, but the following. They had a little time to prepare. He knew his people were more of the 'winging it' variety, but an iota of planning would make him feel moderately secure of some sort of positive result.
"Let's reconvene, say... three in the afternoon at..." Where would be useful and not have the lot of them traipsing about his personal space? "Jess' place."
The young woman nodded her head in consent.
"We haven't much time before the surveillance system defaults," she said.
"Right, then. Off you go, children. Out of my hair."
When had he begun to pace the room? He plopped back down in his chair after they'd filed out. Pushing apocalyptic concerns from his mind, he turned back to the stack of papers on his desk. If the world didn't end in just over a day's time. There'd be hell to pay if he didn't get through the reports and requisitions, and especially if he didn't get the payroll approved.
A/N: Next parts shouldn't take too long, I hope. Since series 5 starts up soon and once I watch it, I probably won't be able to return to the universe I've created here for its conflicts with the canon, but thus is the nature of fan fiction.
