PART TWO

REVENGE - INTERRUPTED

Chapter Ten

Solstice

Skye sets down two large coffees, "There you go. Rocket fuel."

Taking one mug, Josh looks up at her, "It's been a long day; that was one hell of a party."

"Thats what you get when a rash of babies get born at once." Skye is grinning cheerfully, "No idea what persuaded so many people to start families all at the same time."

"Anything for entertainment, I guess."

With six children born to various couples around the colony in the last two months, the approaching solstice is likely to be a considerably larger celebration than usual, as several more are due by late December. Given the limited population of Terra Nova, the suggestion that Taylor made at the beginning of the year that having kids was now something of a patriotic duty, the number of women who visited Doctor Shannon to have their contraceptive injections reversed was quite startling, as was the speed with which a rash of pregnancies commenced.

"And, if you haven't noticed." Boylan plumps down on a nearby stool, a precious glass of golden liquor from his last butt of cider in his hand, "All the girls have the name Alicia lurking somewhere, and all the boys are cursed with Nathaniel."

"Apart from the girl that's been named Taylor." Skye adds, brightly.

"How the hell can you be so chipper?" Boylan complains, looking around at a bar that has only recently emptied of patrons, and the accompanying mess of plates, dishes, glasses and God-knows-what that needs to be cleared up and washed before they can seek their respective beds.

"I'm happy for everyone. Besides, the Commander's practically my dad, so I think I have the right enjoy the fact that everyone wants to name their kids after him." She sips at her coffee, still smiling, "Bask in the reflected glory."

Boylan rolls his eyes.

"C'mon people." Josh sighs, "This bar isn't going to clean itself."

With the end of the year approaching, the weather also seems to have decided that a party is in order, and the Head Meteorologist who stands before Taylor's desk looks rather worried, "The indications are that this is going to be at least a category four, Sir; we may need to consider activating our shelter evacuation protocol in case it goes up to five - or possibly even six."

"Six?" Taylor asks, concerned; on the scale that the Meteo-team have devised, four means 'severely damaging' while five means 'devastating'; but Malcolm regularly claims that they only added the category six because someone wanted to have a scale that included the word 'catastrophic', "Do you think that's likely?"

"We're sending up radiosondes every six hours, Commander." The nervous woman advises, "The indications are that we're facing one of the worst winter storms that this area has seen since we've been here. I've discussed this with my team, and with Malcolm, and he's agreed to authorise us, with your ratification, to issue appropriate warnings to take shelter should things deteriorate in the next forty eight hours, but he's also suggested that we consider taking steps to secure buildings and property immediately."

Taylor nods, "He would - and I agree with him. I'll ratify his authorisation, issue orders to the security teams to start work on getting things battened down, and I'll send out a general early warning. There'll be storms anyway, even if this one doesn't end up being the humdinger you're predicting, so now seems as good a time as any to get prepped." He sighs, "Good work - keep monitoring the situation and update me on your readings from the radiosondes. I may not understand what the hell they mean, but if I need translations, I'll ask."

"Yes Commander." She gathers her plex and hastens out as Taylor snatches up his comm. unit, "Shannon, get to the Command Centre, stat."

Within three hours, the first warning has issued, and people are already gathering to volunteer their services to help clear public areas in preparation for the coming weather. Anything that is likely to be blown around is being fixed to the ground, or moved to somewhere that is, while the large population shelters are being stocked with appropriate supplies.

"Any updates?" Taylor asks Malcolm, as the senior staff gather to discuss progress.

"Not so far. The indications remain rather bad, I'm afraid. Whether Carol was right about hitting a category six remains to be seen - largely because we only created it as a bit of a joke. None of my weather team really believed that the weather could get that severe; though she's willing to stick her neck out and suggest it's going to hit category five." He looks at his plex, "I'm not a meteorologist, so I have no idea what half of these charts mean, but the ones that do make sense suggest that this storm is moving quite quickly. It'll be over us and gone in about two days, or thereabouts - but while it's here, it's looking as though it'll be pretty damaging. She anticipates that we'll start feeling the first outriders by late tomorrow, so I'd suggest that everyone evacuate to the shelters by twenty-hundred hours tomorrow evening."

"I'll send staff out to make sure there are no stragglers." Jim adds, "If it's going to cause damage, then I'd rather make sure that no one tries to be a hero."

"My team has finished preparing at our end, and I've ordered everyone back up to the main compound for the duration." Yseult advises, "We can assist with anything else that needs doing before and after. I've ensured that our smelting equipment is both safely stowed and easy to get at, so we'll be ready to assist with any repairs or recasting of aluminium joists or connections if that's needed." She turns to Elisabeth, who picks up.

"I've assigned med-teams to each of the shelters, so that there'll be a basic emergency service to tide people over if there are any injuries. There's not a lot I can do to prep the main infirmary that hasn't already been built into the structure, so if repairs are needed, I'll advise. Otherwise, we're as ready as we can be."

"I've also made sure that there are spare generators on hand in case we lose power in the freezer units." Malcolm finishes, "The last thing we want is to lose our stock of frozen supplies."

"Anything else?" Taylor asks, pleased that everything seems to be largely covered. He is met with a combination of silence and shaking heads, "Good. Get to anything that still needs to be finished. We issue the evacuation order tomorrow at sixteen hundred, that'll give people four hours. Hopefully, when they emerge, things'll still be standing and everyone'll hate our guts for sending them to the shelters."

No one objects to the evacuation order. As always seems to be the case, the news has gone round with remarkable speed, and everyone knows that a bad storm is expected. Even as the winds begin to pick up, a rather weird sense of foreboding seems to have made its way through the population, and everyone seems quite relieved to be within the protection of thick, concrete walls. No one has gone to to the wrong shelter, and Jim's security teams found no one sitting in their home refusing to leave. While Yseult and Malcolm live in different residential areas of the colony, Taylor has taken pity on them, and assigned her to his designated shelter, so the pair sit together to wait out the bad weather; hoping, as everyone else is, that things will not be as bad as forecast. Having been talked through the last set of results from the final radiosonde that went up, however, Malcolm knows that it will.

Yseult is asleep, her head resting on his lap, as Malcolm is jolted awake from his rather uncomfortable slumber against the wall of the shelter by the sound of an almighty crash from outside. Blearily, he checks his watch to discover, to his disgust, that it's only two in the morning. While the roar of wind, and hammering of lashing rain, is largely dulled by the thick walls that protect everyone within the shelter, he knows that something large must've come down, and he dreads to think what it might be. If it's as large as it sounded, then it's going to take a hell of a lot of work to set right. Now that he is awake, however, he's almost certainly going to be on tenterhooks for another loud noise, so there's little chance of him getting back to sleep again - particularly as he's sitting up.

Like all his fellow evacuees, he has brought a small bag of those things that are most precious, though his is very small in comparison to others, as he has few possessions that he treasures that much. Apart from his personal plex, as opposed to his work one, he has no heirlooms, no items that he cannot bear to lose. But then, the one thing in his life these days that he would be most agonised to be without is currently asleep with her head resting on his lap. He has not seen what Yseult has in her bag, but he knows it will contain the other of the two swords she made, her photo of Niall, her personal plex, a small cuddly toy cat called Schmidt, and a slim packet of family photographs and letters that she hasn't digitised.

He tries very hard not to feel a sense of jealousy at the presence of that photo of her dead husband. Niall may be gone, but he is still, nonetheless, very present. The fact that he knows what she has brought with her, even without asking or sneaking a look, is evidence enough to him that their relationship is very solid and strong; but, nonetheless, there is still that long, long shadow - one that hovers behind him, and - if truth be told - seems to stand as an almost tangible barrier that blocks their way to the bedroom door. No matter how close they are, no matter how charged the atmosphere between them becomes when they are alone together, she seems - at the most intimate level - to be all but untouchable. People think it's quite sweet that she visits him regularly, but always leaves the same evening, not the following morning. Perhaps it is, but he longs for her to want to stay with him, aches to touch and explore every inch of her body; but he can't. Niall is still a constant presence, and she can't seem to let him go.

The sound of another violent crash pulls him out of his rather sad reverie, and now he is more concerned. If that's a large structure that's fallen, then God alone knows what else is being blown about out there. He can't see out, and he is loath to reach for his comm. unit in case Taylor or Jim are asleep. There is little point in calling them, as they are no more able to see out than he is.

A movement on his lap causes him to look down; the noise has also woken Yseult, who gradually sits up, "Was that something coming down?" she asks, in a low whisper. A lot of people have managed to sleep through it, though there is a low-level mumbling sound as others, who have also been woken, speculate nervously between themselves.

"I think so."

"That doesn't sound good." She mumbles, tiredly, "I dread to think how many joists we'll have to re-cast if it's something big."

Malcolm's plex beeps discreetly to indicate the arrival of a message, and he looks down, "At least we still have the comms. network." He indicates a message from Taylor, "Hell of a crash by the sound of it. All well at your end?"

He sends a quick reply to the affirmative, before settling his arm around Yseult as she rests against him, "It's only twenty past two, I'm afraid."

"You could rest your head on my lap for a bit if you like." She smiles, as he stifles a yawn.

"Believe me, I might just do that."

Another ping on Malcolm's plex awakens Yseult, who finds that she is still slumped against him, though he is also now slumped against her, the pair of them holding each other up against the wall. Unable to unlock the device, she prods him gently in the ribs, "Message for you, Doctor Wallace."

"What?" He emerges from sleep rather vaguely, looking about in mild confusion. For a moment, she is quite captivated at how ridiculously endearing he looks.

"Here." She hands him the plex. Pulling himself together, he reads the message, "It's Commander Taylor. He decided to see if the weather had died down; and it has. The storm was large, but it was moving pretty swiftly - it's largely passed over us. Actually, it was even faster than I was expecting it to be." He adds, almost as an aside, as though he is disappointed that the weather disregarded his scholarly prediction.

"Does he want you to join him?"

Malcolm nods, "I suspect it's not quite as quiet as he's making it out to be - I'll have a word with our security detail on the way out; I think we need to keep everyone here for the time being. It's likely to still be pretty blowy out there - but the worst should be over."

"That depends on what you mean by 'worst'." Yseult sighs, "I'm thinking about the clear-up job it's left us with."

Taylor rubs at his forehead and sighs, "So, where are we?"

Jim checks through the reports on his plex, "So far, we've managed to repair the damage to people's homes, so at least people have roofs over their heads. Our storage facilities came through okay, and the Infirmary held up well. There's some damage to the laboratories, but I've got a team on that now. We only lost the large hall - that's pretty much totalled. We'll need to reconstruct entirely on that one - but we can manage without it for now."

"Anyone left in the infirmary?"

Elisabeth shakes her head, "We didn't have any significant injuries as a result of the storm itself; just accidents afterwards caused by exposed sharp metal and unstable structures coming down when people went to investigate the damage. I have two people left who were most severely injured, and they're both recovering well and should be discharged by the end of the week."

"What about out in the fields?"

"The Greenhouses are largely glassless shells, I'm afraid," Malcolm reports, "The polytunnels are also nothing more than plastic rags hanging onto their supports. There were no crops in the fields to be flattened, as everything's been harvested and gone into storage - but I'm not relishing telling Tom Boylan that we lost almost all of his apple trees. They were planted around the edge of the orchards largely to protect the main cropping species, and they did their job; but most of them came down in the process."

"I'll tell him." Taylor says, with mildly sadistic relish, "I want to see the look on his face when he finds out that another of his liquor schemes has gone to the wall - and he can't blame me for it."

"I'll see if we can set one of the furnaces aside to make new glass, Malcolm," Yseult offers, "We might have to try building something specific - but I'll see what Geoff can suggest." She smiles then, "I can't help with the plastic, I'm afraid. It's too modern."

"I've got miles of plastic sheeting." Malcolm shakes his head, "That's the one thing that I'm not short of."

Taylor sits back, relieved. In the three weeks since the storm hit, the entire community has pulled together - again - to repair, mend, salvage or rebuild. The evacuation protocols have proved their worth once more; he learned very early on how violent the weather could become during the storm season, and he aims never to make the same mistake twice if he can avoid it. While a lot of the repair works are rather Rube Goldberg, given the speed at which they had to be effected, they're fixed for the winter, and can take some time to deal with the larger projects once the weather improves.

Yseult's comm unit suddenly beeps, and she fetches it out with a quick apology, "Go ahead, Mike."

"Sorry to bother you Max - we need a medical team. Graham's been pinned down by a tree bough that fell on him. It's not looking very good - he's been here a while; we didn't know he was in trouble."

She turns to see that Elisabeth is already on her feet, "I'll fetch Nurse Ogawa and a surgical med-pack. Tell him to meet us at your compound."

"Mike - Doctor Shannon's on her way. Meet her in the compound, okay? I'll be over as soon as I can." She looks across at Taylor, "Sorry, Commander, I need to go."

He nods, "You need to be with your people."

"How is he?" Malcolm asks, as Yseult picks at the dinner they are sharing, clearly lacking much appetite.

"Not good. We were lucky, though - Elisabeth was able to stabilise him and get him back to the infirmary, and she reckons he'll make a full recovery." She sighs, "We don't know how long he was there - but it could've been three hours. No one knew he was hurt."

"I'll see if I can re-rig a tag into some sort of emergency alarm for you lot to have. That compound is pretty isolated - if you've got something that can trigger an alert in the Command Centre, and show a beacon, then we can get help to you. It shouldn't just be the security staff that have that safety net."

"That would be really helpful." She looks up at him, "I'm sorry; I'm not very good company tonight."

"It's okay. I'd be the same if it was one of my team - even if they didn't notice it." He takes her hand, gently, and she smiles at him. He is tempted to ask if she'd like to stay the night; and is then equally shocked that he could be so mercenary. She's worried about one of her team and he's trying to find a way to persuade her into bed? What on earth is he thinking? Furious with himself for even considering taking advantage of her while she is so distracted, he shoves the rogue thought out of his head, "Do you want to check on him?"

"I'd like to. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not." He rises to see her out, and wishes more than anything that he could find the nerve to ask her to stay.

The term 'winter' is something of a misleading description in a land where frost is largely nonexistent, but still people refer to it as such - largely out of convention rather than any real need to do so. Naturally, for those who originated in the southern hemisphere, the concept of referring to December as 'winter' is still rather odd, but it's an interesting novelty when one is used to celebrating Christmas in the summer.

The repairs from the storm are complete, and Yseult is relieved that Graham is sufficiently recovered to return home to his wife and daughter. Other than the unenviable task of rebuilding their assembly hall in the spring, the wreckage of the late autumn storm has been cleared, and the weather has since appeared to be trying to make it up to them for being so vicious.

Once again, there are no alcoholic beverages available to party with at Tom Boylan's bar, but he has still taken it over for the day. Families get together on Solstice Day, to enjoy a celebration meal, exchange gifts if they wish to and annoy the hell out of each other for the rest of the afternoon, just like they did when they celebrated Christmas back in the future. There is, however, a significant proportion of people in Terra Nova who are less fortunate, and it is for their benefit that he has thrown open the doors of his eponymous bar to provide a place where they, too, can enjoy a celebration meal, exchange gifts if they wish to, and annoy the hell out of each other for the rest of the afternoon.

Those who are celebrating privately are not to be spared the requirement to get outside and circulate with their neighbours, as a small, determined committee of stallholders spent the previous evening setting up the marketplace for an evening party to which all are invited. That it is, effectively, a Taylor-sanctioned three-line-whip has not been lost on the populace. Not that anyone minds: any excuse to whoop it up.

As they have done for the last two years, Jim and Elisabeth have invited Mark to join them at their festive table. While they are still engaged, rather than married, he is such a fixture that they already regard him as part of the family. The eventual point where a ring goes on the finger is merely a 'rubber stamp' exercise. Between them, Elisabeth and Maddy have set out a magnificent spread, while Jim, being the Patriarch, is obliged to carve what is optimistically referred to as a 'saddle' of Gallusaur, and Josh mixes yet more of the vivid fruit concoctions for which he seems now to be rather famous. As Zoe considers Mark to be another brother already, she has attached herself to him for the duration, and the pair have been engaged in a game on her plex to keep her out of the way of the busy adults.

Dinner served, Jim seats himself at the head of the table, and tries to recall the name of Tiny Tim's father as he does so. Crotchet…Scratchet, or something… "Happy solstice." He says, after a short bout of failing to remember, and everyone tucks in.

A short walk away, in the Tate household, Skye and her mother are also sitting down to dinner, with her surrogate father also present. It took her rather less persuasion than she expected to get Taylor to join them, but he has always been fond of her, and once he had realised the reason for her betrayal when she was obliged to spy for Mira, forgiveness had swiftly followed. Rather than turn up at Boylan's, which would just annoy the patrons, he is rather pleased to be with a family. It's on occasions like this that he is most despondent that the one person he would most like to spend the time with is not here any more. He has, naturally, visited Wash - as he always does on high days and holidays - but it's nice to sit down to a hot, home-cooked meal with a family. Even if it is not, strictly speaking, his family.

Malcolm, being both an appalling cook and utterly incapable of entering Boylan's bar even if a herd of wild horses had been specially hired to drag him there, has instead been most relieved to receive an invitation from Yseult to dine with her. He couldn't have faced the prospect of hosting her - as no stalls are open, so he couldn't hope to find someone to provide him with a meal to reheat. Instead, he runs the gauntlet of Niall's picture, unaware that it is nowhere near as prominent as it once was, and the pair sit down to a simple dinner together. Having spent every Solstice alone since he arrived in the Colony, to have company this time around is not so much a novelty as a brutal reminder to him just how few friends he really has; and he wonders whether his assumed contentment at having the time to himself was really a smokescreen to cover the crushing loneliness of having no one to share it with. Rather than dwell on the matter, however, he instead allows Yseult to regale him with stories of the ridiculous things she and her friends have done in previous years, as she was one of those who spent their time at Boylan's rather than on their own.

With everyone in their houses, the entire colony seems almost dead, but for those who are carousing, albeit in a muted fashion thanks to the lack of any really worthwhile alcohol, at Boylan's. The weather is benign, and a few people are out for a post-prandial constitutional, as the routine requirement for all Winter Festival celebrants to attempt to use food to convert their abdomens into beach-balls has travelled to the Cretaceous along with the colonists.

By the evening, however, those who have set up the party are not disappointed at the turnout. Being the only available entertainment, most people are keen to escape the confines of their houses, and the marketplace is suitably crowded. Dragooned into attending, Taylor has escaped to his safety zone - and overlooks the activity from his balcony with an almost paternal air.

"Bet you're glad to be one of the partygoers this time around." Jim says to his son, as he is not obliged to oversee the food and drink, thanks to the stallholders who are running the event, "Maybe you'll get up the nerve to ask Skye to dance."

"Dad." Josh's plaint is the traditional response of all young people to an irritating comment by their father, though, truth be told, that is his intention.

Yseult finds Mike, Pete and Geoff holding court near the grill, "What a surprise. I thought, 'I'll look for a food source; they're bound to be there'. And here you are."

"Naturally." Mike scoffs, loftily, "So, where's Captain Khaki, then?"

"Is that your final choice for nickname?" she laughs, "He's chatting to some of his colleagues. He'll be over in a few minutes."

"Jeez, you've got no taste, Max."

"Of course I haven't. I laugh at your jokes, don't I?" she smiles at him, then turns to Pete, "Has Tom recovered from the shock of losing the trees?"

Pete grins, "Mostly - we've still got a couple standing and they're surprisingly good croppers, so it's not entirely the end of his universe. I've sweet-talked one of the aeroponics team into letting us cultivate some seedlings and try to see if we can recreate a proper Dabinett apple. I think it'll work better than the one that we've got."

"Goodness, at this rate, you'll be laying down barrels of Calvados."

"Calvados?" Pete looks jokingly scandalised, "Why on earth would I waste good cider in a still?"

The folk band strikes up nearby, and people all around are soon dancing. Skye has, to Josh's surprise, agreed to dance with him, though to any who see them, the rather triumphant look on her face suggests that she's been angling for that from the off. As always, Mark and Maddy appear practically glued to one another, while Elisabeth has stood aside to allow her husband to be led in something approximating a dance by Zoe.

"Come on, Max." Mike grins, "At least have a bit of a bop until Captain Khaki shows up."

"I don't need to." She laughs, seeing Malcolm emerge from the crowd, "He's turned up. But thanks." She turns to greet him, and then startles the hell out of him by all but yanking him into the dancing throng.

"I'll dance with you, darling." Pete grins at Mike as they watch the pair pull close together, almost oblivious to everyone about them.

"Only if it's ballroom," Mike snaps back, "And you're the woman."

Taylor looks down the stairs to see Elisabeth coming up, "Happy Solstice, Elisabeth."

"And you, Commander. Aren't you going to join in?"

He shakes his head, "I dance like a female Carno trying not to tread on her eggs. I prefer to watch others do it better."

"What is it?" she asks, looking at him rather more piercingly.

He shrugs, "Probably nothing. Just a gut feeling."

Her prompt that he continue is merely a slight turn of the head and a squint.

"We've been damn lucky these last two years." He says, eventually, "And I'm grateful that we have. But…" He sighs the sigh of a man who is used to things going wrong at the drop of a hat, "Somehow, my gut tells me it's not going to last."

"Ups and downs are part of life, Nathaniel. We'll have good luck, and we'll have bad luck - that's just the way things are."

"We got soldiers in the Badlands, Elisabeth; and they're running out of options. If they run out of many more, then we'll be the only option they've got left."

"Then we'll face it down. They're not the ones with the power this time. We are, aren't we?"

"Perhaps." Taylor concedes, "But I'm not one to ignore my gut. I think I'll sit down with your husband after the holiday and think about how we're going to deal with those soldiers." He turns to her, "But not tonight. Wherever they are, they're not here - and that's what matters. You get on down there and enjoy yourself."

She smiles at him, and gives him a peck on the cheek, "I will. Enjoy your evening - even if you're just watching us."

"It's all the entertainment I need."

He watches as she returns to the party, and resumes the brooding that she noticed when she joined him. Something's coming. He can feel it in his gut.