A/N: There we go - a nice little Lucas-shaped curveball! One can't continue without including the anti-prodigal son, of course - he was always going to resurface sooner or later, and I hope that his arrival was nice and unexpected.
Thanks again for that lovely review, Leona - and to all my readers for your continued support. On we go!
As always, I own nothing other than that which has emerged from my own imagination...
PART THREE
THE HARDEST CHOICE OF ALL
Chapter Nineteen
The Wrong Taylor
Elisabeth shuffles slightly as she stands at the door. All she has is a rather garbled message from Jim - but she knows she can't keep it quiet. There's someone who needs to hear it - and it's going to hit her horribly hard. Pulling herself together, she knocks.
It takes a few minutes, and she almost hopes that there's no one in; but no such luck.
"Elisabeth! Hi, what're you doing here?" Yseult is quite startled; and, if her rather oversized pyjamas are anything to go by, not expecting company. Then she sees the Doctor's face, "Oh God…please, Elisabeth…" her face drains of colour almost at once.
"Easy, Max," Immediately Elisabeth catches her elbow and guides her into the house to her sofa, "I don't have a message like that."
"But something's happened, hasn't it?" Yseult demands, rather desperately, as she sits down heavily, as though her legs will not hold her up. Holding her hands, Elisabeth crouches beside her.
"Jim was called to a house this afternoon; a fume alarm was triggered by a chemical spillage. It was a bottle of hydrochloric acid in someone's kitchen."
"I don't understand."
"Hydrochloric acid was what was used to corrode the joists in the building that came down. We discovered that a short while ago. It made him suspicious that someone had planted it, so he searched the house - and found some newspaper clippings about an incident that occurred prior to the sixth pilgrimage. It was a colonist's sister - she committed suicide because she was turned down to come on any future pilgrimages. Jim's found the person who's been setting those accidents for Malcolm."
"You mean - you've got him?" Yseult looks at her, confused, "Why's Jim not come here to tell me? Isn't that good news?"
"Yes - and no." Elisabeth sighs, "It's Robert Stanley."
Immediately, Yseult is on her feet, and making towards her bedroom, "I have to get dressed; they can't go without me. I'll take my bloody sword if I have to…"
"Max. They've already gone."
She turns, "They've gone? No - they can't. I have to go with them - I lost Niall out in the forests and I wasn't there. I can't let it happen again."
"And what would you do if you got there?"
"What do you think? Get my bloody parang back off that bastard - I'll chop his hand off if I have to…oh God, Elisabeth - what if they're too late? What if he's already hurt? Or dead? What if he's being hurt right now?" her anger is faltering into fear, "Why is this even happening? Why does Robert want to hurt him?"
Elisabeth guides her back to the sofa, "I didn't get all the details - they're confidential. As far Jim was willing to tell me, Robert's sister was turned down for a place on the fifth pilgrimage, but deferred to the sixth; which was the pilgrimage he was expecting to get onto. Apparently, for some reason or another, she was so desperate to get onto the fifth that she made a false accusation - and got caught out - she killed herself a few months after the pilgrimage left. He blames Malcolm - though Jim's insistent that it wasn't Malcolm's fault."
"Not again…" Yseult whispers, miserably, "What is it about me? Why do I send people I love to their deaths? He doesn't deserve that - he's a good man…"
"There's only one person to blame for this, Max; and that's Rob Stanley." Elisabeth says, firmly, "You can't do this to yourself - this isn't because of you, or anything that Malcolm's done. Jim and Commander Taylor are on their way out there right now. They'll stop this and bring him home. Trust them, okay?"
"I trusted Commander Taylor with Niall - and, I know he did his best, and I'll always be grateful that he did - but Niall died."
"Malcolm won't. He's not up against a Nykoraptor - he's up against a podgy botanist. If nothing else, it's a hell of a lot less one-sided."
"I wish I could think that. All that I can think right now is that history's repeating itself - and I'm going to lose Malcolm, just like I lost Niall - and…" she begins to cry, "I can't go through it again - I can't…"
Elisabeth is startled by the sound of a knock on the door, "Do you want me to get that?" she asks, gently.
Trembling, her face in her hands, Yseult nods.
"Hello Doctor - there's rumours flying. Is Max in there?" it's her woodsman, Pete is it? Elisabeth nods.
"Leave her with me. We've been best pals for a decade or more. Don't worry - I'm gay; so it's not like I'm going to use this to try and get in her knickers."
Elisabeth stares at him, startled at his forthright comment. Yseult isn't kidding about his manner.
"Pete?" Yseult looks up, her face streaming tears, "Oh God - Pete, it's Malcolm. The man he's gone OTG with is the man who's been trying to kill him…"
"Bleeding hell." Pete marches into the living room, "I know he's a berk, but that's a bit harsh isn't it?" Leaving Elisabeth still standing at the door, he gathers Yseult in his arms, "Come on. Sob it out onto Aunty Pete." He turns back then, "Sorry - that was a bit rude of me, wasn't it? Can I get you anything once I've calmed Max down?"
"Its alright. I think she's best with you, Pete. I'll leave you to it - call me if she needs me, alright?"
"Will do." He immediately returns his attention to Yseult, "Do you want to cuddle me or Schmidt?"
Schmidt? Elisabeth thinks, bemused, as she departs.
Lucas has turned Malcolm onto his back, and he lies, uncomfortably, within the locker; looking up at the man who has rescued him.
"Is he coming to get you?" Lucas asks, "That would be quite fun - but I don't have time to mess about with my father. I've got some more important work to be getting on with." Then he grins, "I like this thing. What is it? A machete? I can't believe how sharp it is. Don't worry about the fatso - this thing went through his throat like it was melting butter. Very efficient."
"You killed him?" Malcolm stares, horrified.
"You can thank me later." Lucas looks quite impressed, "I have to say - this is a truly horrible way to die. Tubby here must've really hated you. I think we would've been great friends if I hadn't had to kill him. I can so completely relate."
It's not possible; surely it's not - didn't Skye shoot him twice? Yes - he managed to get away from them while they were distracted but, still…he should've been dead. But he isn't. In fact, he looks remarkably healthy for a man shot twice…
"I can guess what you're thinking. Yes - I'm in remarkably rude health for my wounded state, aren't I? Courtesy of my dear, darling Bucket. The thing is; without me, there wasn't any way that my colleagues were going to be able to return to the future, so they had something of a vested interest in bringing me back from the dead."
"And how are they going to manage that, given that Jim Shannon destroyed Hope Plaza with a pyrosonic device?" Malcolm asks, shifting awkwardly; his arms are pinioned beneath him, and he can feel pins and needles starting in his fingers.
"I've been busy. You have no idea how much complex mathematics is involved in solving a problem like that. I can make a two-way portal, but I can't control it. Not yet, anyway. I'm very close now - but without a working terminus, I can't get any further. We could've come for you at any point in the last two years; but taking you would bring down the wrath of my father and send an army in our wake. Best, I think, to wait until we were ready to fire up a terminus before fetching you in to repair it."
"What difference does it make? You can't connect to the other end. Hope Plaza's destroyed - you could end up anywhere."
"What do you think I've been working on?" Lucas asks, still looking down at him from above, "It took me years to work out the calculations to get a portal to go both ways. I need to find a way to open one before the eleventh pilgrimage - that solves the problem at a stroke."
"I'd suggest that the fact we're having this conversation would be a pretty strong indication that there's no damned solution at all." Malcolm snaps, crossly, "I assume you're intending to go back and try again with your accumulated knowledge?"
"At this point, I'd settle for going back; but, yes. I think so. Though I'd opt for sending the eleventh through unmolested, and trying again with the twelfth."
God above - is he mad? There might well be a fracture in time, but it's not customisable; it can be tethered when it opens, yes - but the passage of time at both ends is the same. It's not Narnia, for God's sake - a year at Hope Plaza is also a year in Terra Nova - Malcolm cannot hope to match the degree of mathematical knowledge that fires Lucas's genius; but even he knows that controllable time travel in the sense that Lucas is dreaming of can't possibly exist. If he opens a portal, then it'll open two years on from the destruction of Hope Plaza. Somewhere. What if the time fracture in the badlands doesn't even go back to the future they left? Is he so fixated on his crazy project that he can't see that?
Apparently so. But then, unlike Lucas, Malcolm has no wish at all to return to 2149.
Then, unexpectedly, Lucas jumps down into the pit and lunges forward to grab at Malcolm's arm, "Time to go, I think. I have no idea if my dear darling Father is coming to your aid - though it would be a bracing experience to meet up with him again - but we should go, don't you agree?"
It takes several minutes for Lucas to drag Malcolm out of the locker, and its enclosing pit, and get him back out into the small clearing again. Retrieving the parang, Lucas slices through the cable ties that enclose his ankles, looped together as a hobble, "There. Come on - I take it you've still got that rover you get so possessive over?" he yanks Malcolm to his feet, pauses to retrieve a small backpack, which he sets on one shoulder, and the sonic rifle which he sets upon the other, and pushes him forward, away from Rob's body, and his own near-grave.
The walk is awkward, as his wrists are still bound, but Lucas appears not to be in any particular hurry, and he is able to maintain his balance as they emerge from the forest to the exterior of the outpost, where his rover is still parked.
"Excellent." Lucas beams, "In you get. I'll drive. What's the key code?"
"Are you serious?" Malcolm asks, "Do you really think I'll tell you? It's not like you've got two Sixers with a shock prod this time around, is it?"
"Suit yourself." Lucas sniffs, "I'll just do it the slow way." Shoving his prisoner aside, he uses the parang to jemmy open the access panel to the control board, then sighs, "Malcolm Wallace - I have to hand it to you. Tubby must've really hated your ass. He's taken the power cell out. This rover's going nowhere."
"In which case, I presume," Malcolm advises, "neither are we."
"Of course we are." Lucas says, crossly, turning to him, "There's a rhino at the edge of the forest to get us back to the encampment, but until then it's gonna have to be…what do you colonial types call it? Shanks's Pony?"
"You want us to walk?"
"You scared?"
"What do you think? It's dangerous enough in daylight - but at night? We'd be a walking buffet menu!"
Lucas chuckles, "I like your description. What do you think I've been doing all these years in this damned forest? When darling Daddy thought I was dead? Even with those cable ties on, there're plenty of places for you to get out of the way of the local predators. There's one barely a mile from here. I'd suggest we make a move, before our squabbling attracts any interested sets of jaws. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Lucas - forget it. I haven't got the first idea what your calculations look like - but you're trying to achieve the impossible. We might as well stay here. Why can't you just reconcile with your father?"
"And the funny keeps on coming. Why the hell would I want to reconcile with the man who let my mother die in front of my eyes? Get moving. There's water and rations - so if you shut the hell up about my dear father, I might even let you have something to eat."
Lucas swings the sonic rifle off his shoulder, and jabs Malcolm with it. Even though he knows that Lucas - mad though he sounds - isn't crazy enough to kill the person he most wants to make use of, he knows he has no choice but to comply.
"It's nothing personal, Malcolm." Lucas adds, disinterestedly, "You're just a valuable commodity these days."
Fighting to conceal a sudden feeling of real misery, Malcolm allows Lucas to take the lead, and begins the enforced abandonment of his only hope of rescue.
The promised shelter turns out to be a cave set well back from anything resembling a track, the entrance extremely narrow - far too narrow, in fact, for anything of worrisome size to reach them once they've wriggled in themselves.
"Great. How am I supposed to get in?" Malcolm demands, turning slightly to display his bound wrists.
Lucas snorts, dismissively, and swings the backpack off his shoulder, "Do you really think I didn't raid the outpost? If I cut that cable tie off, I have plenty of spares. Don't think it'll be that easy. They come off while we're in there - but if you even think about trying something, they'll be back on again and you can just watch me enjoy the rations." Then he smiles, "Or, of course, you could just run off into the forest."
Malcolm looks at him, helplessly. Capable though he is - he has no worthwhile survival skills. Those that he was first taught when he arrived have long been forgotten, and he wouldn't last more than a few hours - if that - if he did try to make a run for it. Like it or not, Lucas is his best hope for survival until something better comes along. Assuming something does.
Looking smug, Lucas severs the cable tie, and Malcolm is able to examine his wrists. The thin plastic has cut into his skin in several places - though not deeply. He is not bloody - but he is sore, and a night without the damned things on would be welcome. Best not to give any trouble, then.
Somewhere off in the distance, the distinctive, almost horn-like roar of a Carnotaurus filters to their ears. With a quick shove, Lucas pushes Malcolm to his knees and urges him toward the small hole. He is not a particularly heavy-set man - but even so it's one hell of a squeeze, and he has grazes on his elbows by the time he's inside.
Lucas, being more practised at such entry, is quicker about it, and hastily retrieves a glowstick from his pack, which grants him sufficient light to find a lantern. Once the illumination is more reliable, he delves into a grubby-looking plastic crate that has clearly been there a long time, and pulls out some military ration packs.
"Not exactly haute cuisine, I'll grant you." He says, quite conversationally, "but you'll need the energy tomorrow, so you'd best eat up."
God knows what the contents of the pack is meant to be, and it's horribly cold and rather slimy in texture. Being extremely hungry however, despite his horrible experience, Malcolm is interested only in consuming it. Any calories at this point are better than none - even with just plain water to wash it down.
Having eaten the rather vile rations, he is now at something of a loose end. Lucas seems disinterested in speaking to him, so he leans back against the wall, massaging his sore wrists, and allowing his eyes to drift over the walls. Then he frowns; more of those bizarre glyphs that people used to wonder at - but which turned out to be calculations. It seems that Lucas has been doing more working out in here, too.
It's a level of physics and mathematics that he has never had the time to investigate; physics and chemistry having largely diverged as disciplines at some point in the early 20th century. The calculations are largely meaningless, and he cannot tell whether they are correct, wrong, or entirely fanciful. Some of it seems to have at least a degree of sense - but he can't link the various bits together.
"Is this new?" he asks, after a while - out of sheer curiosity.
"I'm nearly there." Lucas mumbles, tiredly, "There's a few things that I need to check to ensure that the algorithm's correct. If I can feed that into the systems of the terminus, and you can get it working, then I might be in with a chance of making contact with 2149 - and I can get back there and warn my employers before Shannon delivers his bomb."
Oh God. Not that again…
"What makes you think it's even possible for me to repair the terminus? The induction coils fried - your soldiers…"
"Do you think I'm stupid? It wasn't the soldiers who caused the coils to short out - you blew them, didn't you? Given that you never came back when you claimed you were going to the colony to get replacements. Hooper really believed you would - that's how desperate he is to get back. When we get to the encampment, I'm sure he'll have a few choice words to spit in your face." Lucas is smirking; he clearly anticipates quite an eventful conversation, then.
"Are you the reason why they're still there?"
"Not quite. Hooper is. He's fixed on getting back to 2149 - but then, he's got no idea how these things work. When I get a portal open, and I go back, then he's not gonna matter any more. The old version of him'll be ready and waiting to make the expedition all over again."
"You'd abandon them to die?" Malcolm stares at him, shocked.
"They were dead men the day Mira walked out. Besides, I wouldn't call it that. When I go back, then he'll be there, won't he? This version of him'll cease to exist."
"I wouldn't know. I don't watch science fiction."
"I'll do it." Lucas promises, his expression unpleasant, "I'll get the algorithm right; and, with your repairs, it'll be game over - I'll be back in 2149, and this time I'll know what you're all planning to get in my way. As soon as we get there, I'll kill Shannon in the lab - right in front of you, and you'll wonder how the hell I saw through your little ruse. Don't worry, I won't punish you again - I'll just bring in some of your staff and have them shot down one by one until you speed up your repairs to my satisfaction. I'll cut Bucket's treacherous little throat to make sure she doesn't betray me by dangling my father in front of my nose. Then, once you're finished repairing the terminus, and it's set up, I'll have Hooper shoot you through the head. No matter what you try, I'll counter it. I can't wait."
He's got it all planned out…and yet…somehow Malcolm knows that, regardless of Lucas's conviction that it's possible, it isn't. Even if he can repair the terminus - which is highly unlikely given what he did to it - there's no way back. If there were, then this wouldn't be happening, would it? He has no real understanding of temporal mechanics; no one has - it's a speculative science at best, for God's sake! But Lucas has pinned all his hopes upon it, and convinced himself that he can make it a reality. God help everyone in that encampment when he's finally proved wrong.
Malcolm sighs, and looks across at Lucas, who appears to be asleep. Should he risk it? Would he be able to find his way back to the outpost?
No. He knows he'd get hopelessly lost. Best to get to that encampment. At least Taylor knows where it is. If there's any hope that he can be found, then his best bet is to follow Lucas into the Badlands. Better that than being stuck alone in the middle of the forest where anything could get him - and make him break his promise to Max. Max…oh God, what on earth is this going to do to her after what happened to Niall? The very thought of what she must be going through if she knows he's in danger is more than he can bear to endure - she loves him, and he's hurting her without even bloody trying. Feeling unutterably miserable, he forces the tears back, closes his eyes and stretches out to get what sleep he can.
He is woken by a sharp jab in his ribs, "Come on, sleeping beauty. Time to move. Out you go. I'll follow."
Sighing, Malcolm sits up, rubs his hands through his dishevelled hair, and crawls back to the hole. Getting out is no easier than getting in, and his already sore elbows are even worse by the time he is outside. Again, he is briefly tempted to flee - but he hasn't the first idea where he is, and without that, where will he find himself? Wanting Taylor to find him won't make it happen.
Then Lucas is behind him, rifle in hand, "On your knees - hands behind your back."
With no alternative, he does as he is told, and another cable tie is secured about his wrists. Pinioned again, he has little option but to move as Lucas pushes him forward, "Come on. It's a long hike to the next stop."
They tramp in silence for a while. Such is his mood, that Malcolm has no wish to talk to the man behind him. Lucas, however, has no such qualms.
"How is my father these days?"
"He's very well. He's been a good leader: the colony's thriving under his command."
"Even without Alicia?" Lucas's tone is so unpleasant that Malcolm stops dead, and can't stop himself from turning to glare at the man who killed her, "That's nothing. She died fast - that was nothing compared to what they did to my mother. And he let it happen."
He doesn't know the details, but Malcolm is well aware of the appalling choice that Taylor had been required to make: his wife, or his son. Like any parent would, he chose his child - his wife would never have forgiven him if he had chosen otherwise. What kind of monster demands that sort of choice? Is it even a choice at all? It's not one that he's ever had to face - being childless; but what would happen if he were forced to choose between Max and their child - assuming that they were to have children? How could he do it? And yet Taylor had done it. Lose one, or lose both…
"He could've done something. If he's so all powerful, then he could've saved her. But he didn't."
"He chose you - and she would've done the same. It's what parents do - make sacrifices for their children." He hates to remember that time - the time that his mother had been forced to sell her wedding ring to find money to bribe border officials and pay for a rail ticket from Carlisle to London…the only real memory he has now of that ghastly journey south is of crying himself to sleep on her lap. Perhaps not on the same scale - but his mother never once - once showed even the vaguest hint of resentment to him for the decisions she made to shield him from the fallout surrounding his father's indictment. To protect him, she would've given her own life - of that he is certain. Doesn't Lucas realise that it's love that saved him? His parents' collective love for him that kept him still breathing? And it's not as though he's been left without either parent - he still has his father; a father who, despite all, still loves him…
It's more than he, Malcolm, has.
"Crap. He could've done something. Why didn't he offer to die instead?" Lucas complains.
"Was he given that option?"
Silence.
"Thought not."
"Shut up and keep moving." Lucas jabs him in the back with the rifle.
They walk in silence again for a while, but it seems that Lucas just can't keep quiet about his grievances, "God, when I get back, I'll be ready. I'll make him pay for that choice."
"Oh, for God's sake."
"What's it to you?"
"Both of my parents are dead. I'd lost them both before I was twenty eight: COPD. They both effectively drowned in their own lung fluids. If you think that's an easy death, then bloody well try it for yourself." He can't keep the bitterness from his voice.
"You mean you're free of them?" Lucas asks, almost with admiration.
"I beg your pardon?"
"My God - that must be a real sense of freedom. No obligations, no weight. God, I'd love it if I could say that about my father."
"You have no idea what it's like!" Malcolm suddenly shouts at him, "You selfish, snivelling ingrate! Your mother willingly sacrificed her life to save you - there's no way; no way on earth that she would've wanted to live in your place - what loving mother would? And you want to sully that incredible bravery and selflessness by whingeing endlessly about how much you hate your father? There's only one person to blame in this - and that's the person who made your father make that choice, and then acted on it. God above! I had no idea you were so pathetic!" He stops abruptly, nervous that his words will serve only to cause Lucas to act against him with violence; though, for a moment, he is vaguely hopeful that they might even get through to the idiot.
He is rather taken aback when they appear to do neither.
"It's not important." Lucas says, dismissively, "When I get back to 2149, I can start over again, and get what I've wanted from the moment I was first dumped here. What does it matter what you think of me? It's hardly important given that, when I've come back, I'll have the pleasure of watching Hooper blow your brains out."
"Frankly, at this point, that sounds a better option than listening to your whingeing."
"Then don't listen." Lucas jabs him with the rifle again, and he plods on.
God alone knows what they're going to talk about when they reach this next promised stop. Once again, Malcolm's only protection is his ability to repair the terminus - but what'll happen when it becomes clear to everyone that it's beyond repair? That's something over which he has no wish at all to speculate.
