Wouldn't think that, given our security clearance, Torchwood would still have to check in two hours before a flight, international or otherwise. But here we are, checked-in and waiting at Heathrow Airport. When I left it last time, I really thought I'd never come back to London again, ever. Not after all that'd happened here… Now that it wasn't my choice to come… Now that we're here… While we're driving in, I'd thought about suggesting we go and take a look at Canary Wharf, now that it's been fixed and turned into a real, regular office building, full of real, regular offices. Now that it's no longer Torchwood One. Dunno quite why I was tempted to propose it. Maybe as a test, to see if I'm really over everything that happened there. Then I thought better of it. Recon that it'd be a distraction, and more distractions are something we don't need. Something I don't need. Especially right now. So here we sit, waiting. Not usually a lot of waiting, working for Torchwood. Not since I've been out of the Tourist Office, at least. Well, yeah, there's when it's slow and we're waiting for Rift activity, but once there's something to do, we do it. We don't sit around in uncomfortable plastic chairs strung together in rows, with immovable armrests so you can't even lie down after spending all night planning and packing for a trip to the other side of the world for a reason you can only guess at. (Looking back at what I've just written, I must be tired. Went and ended that sentence with a preposition.)
Now that there's time I should start over, where I left off yesterday. So looking back, last I wrote, Gwen had just had her rather one-sided conversation with Harold Saxon, Minister of Defence, and future Prime Minister (probably.) It actually took three cups of tea before she was able to talk about it (and stop blushing over what she'd said to his secretary.) Not quite sure how, as we're supposed to be 'outside the government' and all, but Saxon's decided to send us on a mission. And as Gwen has already said we'd go, I guess we go. Anyway, the mission… The Himalayas. We're to go to the Himalayas. So that brings us to the details of the mission: well there aren't any, are there? No details, whatsoever. Hello? Have you got any details? Nope. What do you need details for anyway? Off you go… That's what's got me most confused. The absolute lack of information. What's the threat? What's the rush? What are we up against? Any special weapons? (Or shall we just defend the planet from whatever alien attackers we come across with a pointy stick?) Jack wouldn't have had us head out like this, unsure just what it is that we're supposed to be doing. He'd have asked all the right questions, demanded the right answers. One rather vital question that seems to currently be going unanswered… where exactly, are we going in the Himalayas? It's not like they're small or anything. As it stands, we have a flight to Lhasa, and a hotel for the first night. After that… who knows? Certainly not me. Saxon's people have arranged the flight, but not much else. I've had to see to getting our equipment packed and shipped. There was too much to do. Simply too much. Gwen was on the phone with Rhys most of the evening, and while I didn't envy her that conversation, there really were more pressing matters. No time for anyone to go home and pack last night (not that anyone else had proper sub-zero, mountain trekking clothes in their wardrobes anyway,) that left me at the local sports shop buying everything new. (Don't know how that Wales National rugby shirt got mixed-in with all the rest of the necessary purchases, but as it's just my size, I'm keeping it. I'll reimburse Torchwood for it when, or if, we get back.) I've arranged for cold-weather camping gear and other necessary supplies to be rented and ready for us in Lhasa (what is it with Torchwood and camping?!?) So we only have to transport Tosh's tech kit and our packs (Gwen actually tried to debate me when I got back from the sports shop. Said she always uses 'wheelie' suitcases when she travels. Gwen, my dear, have you ever even seen a picture of the Himalayas? Not exactly conducive to 'wheelie' cases.) Too bad we can't take the SUV, but it's just too much of a paperwork and time-table headache (and I've enough of those already.) But still, the idea of Torchwood in a rental car… Would you like the optional CDW? Uhhh, yep, think that'd be wise. And about paperwork… Have we even got the proper clearances? Hate to be driving along some treacherous mountain road in our rental car and get blown-up by the Chinese military 'cause we'd crossed into some disputed zone that wasn't on the map they gave us at the rental desk. We're just going to have to get all that sorted when we get there. The details are to be sent to us in a packet, via courier. When we arrive at our hotel, we should find out why, exactly, we're even there. Really hope it isn't something ridiculous, like pick out an anniversary present for Mrs. Saxon.
So in any case, what it all comes down to, is since Gwen hadn't asked the questions and Saxon hadn't volunteered any kind of helpful, pertinent information, that left me to deal with all those questions that could be answered, those of a normal, logistical sort. Important bits and pieces that only I seemed to consider important... such as: Is anyone going to notice the Tourist Office closed for so long? Should we put a note on the answer-phone message and e-mail auto-reply? What if the Rift and/or weevils get active while we're away? Should I put a hold on the mail? But most of all, who'll feed the pterodactyl? Not like there are a whole lot of pet sitting agencies in the phone book that specialize in pterosaurs. Finally decided to let him loose with a radio collar, to hunt for himself for a while. (Hope he behaves himself while we're gone.)
After about two hours sleep in the hub last night for everyone, we finished the last minute details and drove to London. What a sight we must have been, jammed in the SUV, bags tied on the roof. Really must've looked like we were headed out on a family vacation. We arrived at Heathrow and I dropped everyone at check-in and took the SUV to long-term parking. For some reason, that term made me shudder: long-term parking. Don't really know why, it just felt… wrong. Anyway, met-up with everyone else again (they hadn't gotten very far in the queue, but that's apparently because Owen had gotten them in the wrong queue.) Once we had moved all our gear to the right place, and we picked-up our tickets, discovered that Mr. Saxon (or at least whoever books travel arrangements for him) really must hate us. They had us booked on a flight where we'd have to change planes five times. Five times. And, as if that weren't bad enough, total flight time: 47 hours, 45 minutes. Two days? On an airplane for two complete days? On an airplane with my co-workers for two complete consecutive days? On an airplane for two complete, consecutive, coach-class days without a shower? If we headed for the Chunnel, the speed he goes, I think Owen could drive us to Tibet in two days. Needless to say, I've had a little talk with the woman at the counter. Thanks to Ms. Lee, We're down to two plane changes, 22 and a half hours, and she's working on moving-us up to business class.
Another chat at the counter. Once Ms. Lee… Cho, heard that we we're all business associates traveling together, that Gwen was engaged, and that Tosh had a crush on Owen, and that I wasn't seeing anyone on a regular basis at the moment, we suddenly found ourselves re-booked into first class. Apparently, I also have a date with Ms. Lee for sometime after our return to London. Don't know quite how that happened. She does seem very nice. Really not sure how that happened, but I said okay. Anyway, as it was a last minute change in flights and all, we're not sitting all together. Two up front and two in the last row. Really don't see an issue, but it's just like a road trip in the SUV. In any case, when I came back from the shop with the coffee, they were still 'discussing' who would sit where. Which is exactly what I thought they'd be doing, and exactly why I brought the coffee stir-sticks, two short and two long. Gwen and Owen drew long. That left Tosh and I together. Sorted.
An hour, or so, into the flight Owen came back and asked to switch seats. Apparently he'd reached his endurance limit of Gwen's wedding plans, and additionally, they'd gotten into another argument. Tosh agreed to switch with him as a strange looking bloke sitting across the aisle kept looking at her. As Tosh got up, Owen whispered something to her that made her laugh. I will choose to assume that it wasn't about me.
Owen, for some absolutely unknown reason, seems determined to read my diary, over time this trip could prove challenging. As he is currently in the galley, chatting-up the fight attendants, suppose it's safe to write. Even though we were room-mates for a while and have managed to get along, this flight we seem to have gotten along amazingly well… so far. Nothing I've said has prompted a scathingly sarcastic attack. Only a handful of months back, Owen always seemed primed to cut me down, any chance he got. Now however, feels different. As if something, a block or barrier, had been removed from between him and me, and we don't need to be aggressive… or defensive, anymore. (That having been committed to paper, it will surely change again dramatically and one of us will be forced to shoot the other. And to top it all off, I'm sure Owen will truly believe it's my turn to be shot.) In any case, we've spent the last few hours talking movies, sport, and the like. Asked him what he and Gwen had been arguing about earlier. His response? Whether Latveria is a real country or not. Latveria… like where Dr. Doom came from in The Fantastic Four? Owen said that he 'Had her pretty much convinced in the end.' I asked him if that's what he whispered to Tosh, to have her tell Gwen that it was real. He'd just smiled that smile that makes him look just a little too much like a smug rodent.
Met Gwen in line for the lavatories. She asked me about Latveria. Told her of course it's real, that I'd gone there years ago on a school trip, and that she should consider it for her honeymoon.
The hamsters are getting restless. Still not sure it was the best idea bringing them along. But what else could I have done? Otherwise what would happen to my needy little space hamsters… if something happened to us in the Himalayas? So as it now stands, they're trying to get my attention again, shaking their dog-carrier under my seat. I've told the flight attendant, Ming-Li, that they're a rare breed of puppy: the Tijuana Sapphire Chihuahua. Now she wants one of her own, as she often gets quite lonesome when she's at home, all alone. She must have had her heart set on it as she seemed sad when I told her she might have a little trouble locating one. Told her that any rescue organization could help her find a good puppy. After she left Owen just stared at me and told me I was thick. Still don't get what he was on about. Anyway, the head Chihuahua, Nash is reaching through the bars, trying to get my attention, to talk to me. Think from what he's signing, he's asking for some carrots. Either that or he wants to fly the plane. He'll have to settle for the carrots.
Actually got a couple hours of sleep (even with Owen's snoring.) Tosh was just back for a bit of a chat. Seems she's spent most of the flight with a sleep mask on and her I-pod turned-up. Rather like a North American opossum, when cornered: curl-up and play dead. Seems that without anyone to weary with wedding talk, Gwen's spent most of the flight reading bridal magazines. Tosh said that Gwen had tried to talk to some of the flight attendants about her wedding plans, but they'd managed to get away with excuses of 'Have to serve drinks,' 'I'm a widow,' and 'I'm a lesbian and marriage is another way men control women.' And the attendants haven't been back 'round their seats since. Okay, starting to feel sorry for Gwen. Think I'll go sit with her for a bit.
Sat with Gwen and looked through the magazines with her. She had her eye on a dress that was just not suited to her frame. Think I've talked her out of it and into something much more fitted, and much more fitting. In any case, I think that Tosh was just joking about the flight attendants. They were around quite a bit while I was there.
After what was described to us as 'breakfast,' I've been playing '6 Degrees of Kevin Bacon' with Owen. After one round he's disappeared up to the front. Either he's escaping me, or he's confirming something with Tosh. (Or he's cheating.) In any case, I've gotten more carrots for the hamsters and have had a few myself.
He came back, but after each round of the game, Owen disappeared again. By the time we were ready to be done, Owen told me that he had, in fact, checked my chain of answers with Tosh and Gwen. He also said that the very first time he'd gone up, Tosh had told him he didn't stand a chance against me, and that next time he'll take notice of what she has to say. Owen seemed genuinely surprised when the pilot announced we were beginning our final descent.
Of course, that was just the first flight. We're now in Hong Kong with an hour wait. Too bad we can't take a look around. The city looked amazing as we were landing, with all the islands around it. Still, don't get much time to see the sights when you're on an official mission to who knows where to do who knows what. The planes get smaller from here on out.
The flight from Hong Kong was fine and uneventful. This last plane, however, is something to see. Well, I say something to see… mainly because it certainly isn't something to fly. Small doesn't even begin to do it justice. Neither does ancient, dilapidated, or malodorous. As it was a rather undersized airport as well, I was able to oversee that all of our gear had made it and was loaded on our 'plane.' As nerve-wracking as the thought of flying in that crate is, have to admit I find the sight of all Torchwood's cutting edge, top-secret, and sometimes alien, technical gear being loaded next to a crate of goats, somewhat hilarious. In any case, they're calling our flight now. At least I think they're calling our flight. There's a prehistoric little man waving at us and pointing to the plane. Various prayers are going through my head, but none seem sufficient.
Brilliant. The prehistoric little man was, in fact, waving us to the plane. His plane. He's the pilot. I kid you not, the guy comes-up to Tosh's shoulder, maybe. I'm imagining wood blocks tied to the pedals so his legs can reach. Even the hamsters seem tense. Owen's got his eyes closed, Gwen looks green and Tosh is back under her sleep-mask and earphones.
To be fair, the flight was smoother than any of us would have guessed it could have been. (Note how I waited until we were on the ground again, before writing that.) In any case, the team and all the gear have made it to the hotel intact. It's been a long trip and I really won't be long out of bed tonight.
After all her sleeping on the plane, Tosh couldn't sleep last night. As such, I couldn't sleep either. No, I don't mind playing cards with you, Tosh… all night. Well, at least I was already up this morning, when the farmer's market started setting-up outside my window at 5a.m. Got supplies. Don't know where we're going, but we're well supplied. Just realized, with the altitude and the lack of sleep, thought I'd be in a right state this morning, but I actually feel better than I have in a very long time. The headache is at the most minimal level it's been in months. Not even the smell of the llamas tied to the reception desk made me feel ill.
After getting set to head out somewhere, this morning, we sat down to breakfast in what the hotel is calling the 'café.' (Shouldn't be allowed to be called that, given the state of their coffee.) That was the time that Owen finally thought to ask about weapons. Gwen did that bug-eyed look of hers and Tosh actually felt for her missing holster. All the way to Tibet and this is the first time they realized that the airlines wouldn't allow guns on the plane, even for Torchwood? Whatever would they do without me? Had that sorted even before we'd left Cardiff. Now, if we could only find-out why we're here.
The courier has finally arrived and I've read over the briefing material. If anyone were to ask me, it all seems a bit of a wild-goose chase. But at least we have some idea where we're going now, even if it is still just a somewhat vague idea. The question still remains, even if he is about to be Prime Minister, why in the world has Harold Saxon sent us to find the lost city of Shangri-La? And why the rush? Of all things, why has Torchwood been sent to look for Utopia?