By the time John catches up with Sherlock, he is already folding his lanky self into the backseat of a taxi. John slides in beside him and tilts his head to one side.
"What the hell was that?"
Sherlock shrugs and tears his gaze away from the window.
"Don't." John's voice threatens to freeze the atmosphere inside the cab.
Sherlock backtracks so fast John can actually see it in his eyes and gives him an encouraging nod.
"The communication lines are two-way; whoever set those rings up to be such devices have been sending a signal to them over the past few days. However, a return signal could not be picked up until I clicked the button on one of the rings last night." Sherlock tells him, his words falling rapidly in the small distance between them. As has been the case many times, he tells John more than the words falling from his mouth.
John comprehends the unsaid and gives Sherlock's hand a squeeze where it lays on the seat. He lets go and they are silent until they step out onto the pavement in front of the hidden entrance to the Hub.
ooo
Jack regards the broad-shouldered and ham-fisted humanoid standing in front of him with a mix of curiosity and delight. Curiosity because he has never seen an alien quite like this one before and delight, well, for pretty much the same reason. He smiles at the big guy but only receives a frown in response.
Toron's large hand rests on Jack's shoulder as he speaks in his own language to the guard. Jack makes note of the heavy, guttural sound of it as he keeps his eyes on the guard, waiting for any reason to fight. Up until now, he has kept his hands clasped together behind his back and follows where Toron leads. He has been unrestrained the entire time he has been with the alien in the white suit.
The conversation between Toron and the guard wraps up and Toron pushes Jack's shoulder lightly to move him forward. A large door opens and Jack finds himself being marched down a long, dimly-lit corridor, the sound of the door cranking upward echoing off the cinderblock walls. Jack squares his shoulders and keeps his hands behind his back, as those same impulses that always assault his senses in times like this fight for dominance in his mind: the quest for knowledge and the need to protect himself.
Being unarmed, protecting himself is not even a factor at the moment. Toron left his revolver on the ground under a bench outside the seedy pub. Probably not the most responsible choice, but it is certainly effective. Jack snickers.
"Captain Jack is laughing?" Toron questions, his accent growing clipped in his surprise.
Jack tilts his head up toward Toron and grins.
Toron frowns down at the human and wonders if perhaps Captain Jack Harkness is a few marbles short of a full set. After a few seconds, he regards the human as another curiosity and moves him forward again. They move in step through two sets of doors until they finally stop in a huge room that reminds Jack strongly of a premium pent-house suite in some five-star hotel, even though they are still on the first floor of whatever this building happens to be.
Toron gestures around the room, comfortable as it is appointed with several luxurious couches, winged-back armchairs and silken cushions spread about the wooden floor that has been strewn with a myriad of colorful thick carpets. Directly in front of them is a massive desk that is completely bare save for what looks like a flat monitor lying on its back on top of it.
Jack feels like he has stepped back in time as he gazes about the room; though it is a feeling he knows from experience, he grudgingly admits to himself that he has never seen anything like this before. It is almost a perfect mix of luxury from Ancient Egypt to Persia. He starts towards a particularly lovely couch but the broad hand on his shoulder tightens.
"Shoes. If you would be so kind." Toron growls.
Jack is aware of the fact that he is a prisoner here, but his inquisitive mind needs to be fed, so he toes his boots off wordlessly, then leans down and strips off his socks as well and stuffs those into his boots. Toron nods towards the door. Jack carries his boots over and even hangs up his coat, all in all a civil guest.
Toron snorts at the idiocy of human customs and proceeds to ignore the sloppy way Jack flops down on the couch. He moves towards the desk at the opposite end of the room from the door and settles into his chair, unbuttoning his jacket at the same time.
"So what exactly do you want from me?" Jack asks as he threads his fingers together underneath his head, figuring that if Toron had plans on injuring him; the Khizgaar would have done it already. One leg dangles off the side of the couch.
Toron laughs, the tone of it an oily sludge on wet pavement. "Oh, Jack, apparently you have been around so much you automatically assume that is why I brought you here. Because of you." Toron slides back into his chair in order to kick his legs up onto his desk. "As if I would contemplate such things with a human! Let me tell you something, captain, you may be willing to entertain any species in your bedroom…your life is positively vanilla when compared with the happenings onKhirz."
"Sounds like a place I'd visit." Jack swings his foot, his stockinged toes knocking against the wooden frame underneath the soft material of the couch. He smirks to the ceiling.
Toron slides from his desk to the back of the couch and before Jack can blink Toron's black eyes are boring into his. "It is not you I want, Harkness."
Jack frowns up at him and fiddles with his leather bracelet.
"I will take that now." Toron states and holds out a hand.
Jack figures that his team is already making some sort of headway to come and get him out of this situation, so he powers it down and hands it over.
Toron strides back to his desk in order to toss the bracelet into one of the drawers Jack presumes are there. He slams it shut and turns back to Jack. "We have some time, and you have questions."
Jack nods. "Since it seems I'm stuck here for a while, you could at least tell me about yourself."
Toron frowns and studies the human for a moment, trying to calculate how long it is going to take Jack's team to find them. "Fine. We will pretend to be civil." He touches a button on his desk and requests something in his own language. "Drinks." Toron says as Jack sits up on the couch with an inquisitive expression.
"Your mind, Harkness, it is always busy. I am unsure how you manage to avoid much more trouble than you find."
Jack shrugs because he does not know how to answer that; though he does wonder how this alien seems to know so much about him. Just as he is about to ask, another door slides open and a very well-built and female Khizgaar enters carrying a tray with several clear glass bottles and a single bottle of Guinness. She stops beside Jack and offers him first choice. He takes the dark beer with a smile.
The woman then places the tray on Toron's desk and leaves the room the same way she entered it: smoothly and silently. The sound of the door is covered by Jack cracking open the bottle after taking a second to admire the way the sweat from wherever it has been kept cool sparkles in the light from the room.
Toron watches him as he settles into one of the armchairs with a tall, thin glass of very viscous looking amber liquid; he takes a long draught of it and smacks his lips. "The finest blend from Reyon, Jack, you should try it." Toron holds it out in Jack's direction. "Certainly the best thing the Gribs ever learned to make besides more of themselves."
Jack eyes the way the thick stuff sloshes inside the glass before shaking his head slowly. "No, thanks, I'll stick with what I know for now." He chooses to ignore the name of yet another possible planet and race he has not yet heard of; at the same time he wonders how that is even possible.
"It is your loss, Harkness."
"So, go on, tell me."
They both know they are stalling for time, but Toron decides it will be just as much fun to indulge the human for the moment. The big alien unbuttons his stark white blazer and crosses his right leg over the left one. Jack takes note of the muscular thighs that move underneath trousers so tight they seem only millimeters away from tearing at the seams.
Toron clears his throat, the thick drink changes the timbre of his voice slightly. "As I said before, you have something of mine. Well, something that should have been mine."
"And that is?" Jack asks, closely observing every movement the Khizgaar Master makes.
"I will get to that. You were interested in who I am, I think, in the meaning of my race. Am I correct?" Toron asks, never taking his eyes off of Jack even when he drinks.
Jack nods and mimics Toron's movements then sets the bottle between his legs with a slight hiss; the material of the couch has steadily grown warmer from his body heat and the coolness of the bottle gives him a bit of a jolt.
Toron smiles, his stern face lighting up in a predatory expression. "I am, if nothing else, a decent host, I would like to believe."
Jack says nothing as Toron reminds him in such tiny ways that he is no guest here; he decides to play along.
"My home planet is Khirz. Our race, the Khizgaar, is primarily made up of two castes: the merchants and the producers. Below the producers are the laborers and above the merchants, well, there is me."
Jack is paying attention, wisely refraining from interrupting.
"I am currently in what you would call a 'turf war' from an upstart young Master known as Bachiel. I have already crushed most of his soldiers, yet I have yet to get my hands on him, but I will. I have in my sights a single weapon that I will be able to use against him and therefore, there will never be an uprising against me again."
"Toron, I don't have anything like that. Torchwood has weapons, sure, but nothing…" Jack says.
Toron snarls. "Fool. I know the trinkets you have stocked your headquarters with, Harkness. What I want is something powerful enough to destroy yet can be contained, controlled. I want a living weapon."
Jack takes another drink of his beer then fiddles with the label around the top of the bottle, slowly peeling it off in order to hide the slight tremor in his fingers because he really wants the thought that just popped into his head to be wrong. However, if he is right, how in the world?
Toron interrupts his thoughts. "That brings me back to a, how shall I say this? Ah." He leans forward, his broad hands practically covering the arms of the chair that he is gripping so tightly that his fingers have blanched underneath his tan skin. "I have a bone to pick with you. Specifically, the bone of a species I believe you refer to as Kelfish."
"What?" Jack asks, completely thrown off guard.
"Some time ago, your team," Toron says the word as if it is disgraceful to him. "Retrieved something from the body of a Kelfish; you kept said item. I would like it back." In the space between them, Toron holds out his hand.
"Are you talking about that ring?" Jack tilts his head in Toron's direction but does not remove his hands from the bottle. "I don't have it."
That is mostly the truth, anyway; specifically, he does not have it on his person at the moment.
"Where is it?" Toron asks as he sits back in his chair. Some of the tension in the room dissipates.
"Somewhere safe." Jack twiddles the now-empty bottle between his fingers.
Toron considers this answer, knowing full well that it will not matter very soon. He opens his mouth to say something else when an alarm goes off.
Jack looks up from the beer bottle and makes out the sound of running feet beyond the entrance and exit doors to the room.
Toron stands up and looks over his shoulder at Jack.
"I do believe the party has started, Harkness." Toron growls and reaches for Jack with both hands.
Jack acts fast, raising the bottle and smashing it over Toron's head. Toron's hands clutch tightly against Jack's shoulders, effectively pinning him in place as the big alien shakes off the pain. A single rivulet of green blood starts down the side of his face and he snarls. Jack's eyes widen as Toron smashes his forehead into Jack's.
Jack hits the ground boneless as the doors open.
Several uniformed Khizgaar soldiers come through the rear door while Sirko, Owen and Gwen stand shoulder-to-shoulder at the front one, weapons leveled directly at Toron.
Toron smiles and holds up his hands.
"I've been expecting you, Isaak Sirko." He says very softly.