WE HAVE NOT INFORMED MISS TYLER
A familiar blip as Mickey's security badge ran through the scanner, and then the door opened. It was the Codex Wing of Torchwood, a secretive facility within the massive complex that only the orgainsation's elite even knew existed. Fortunately, his experience with time travel, computers and vanquishing aliens had helped to fast-track him into the upper echelons.
A man in a dark suit greeted Mickey on the other side of the door.
"Mr. Smith," the man said, shaking hands.
"Mr. Randall. What's this about?"
Another man in a lighter-coloured suit came out of nowhere and took Mickey's hand, shaking it vigourously. "Mr. Smith. It's an honour, sir."
"Yeah, right. Who are you?"
"Oh, I'm Mitchell Whetstone," the man answered, pushing his glasses up. He had a North American accent, and stood a bit hunched over like a mad scientist's sidekick. "I'm the physicist in charge of... well, this." Whetstone gestured to a gigantic device in the middle of a sterile-white laboratory.
"Would you like some coffee, Mr. Smith?" Randall asked.
Mickey stared at him deadpan for a few moments, and then said, "Did you drag me out of bed at two a.m. on my girlfriend's birthday to give me coffee?"
"Indeed not."
"Then get to the point."
Mr. Randall started walking toward the huge device. "Have you ever heard of the Judoon, Mr Smith?"
"Yeah, they look like rhinos, don't they?"
Randall nodded. "Not overly intelligent creatures, but still, they possess a water-based teleportation technology that is beyond our understanding."
"Oh yeah, I've heard they can make it rain upwards."
"Actually, we suspect that it's not of Judoon origin at all, but rather it is borrowed science. No matter. Whatever it is, it is our intention to procure it."
Mickey crossed his arms, stopping near the device. "You mean that you want me to procure it."
"Exactly," Randall replied, stopping near Mickey.
"Why me? Isn't this the sort of thing you usually have Paulson and Danielewski doing?"
The mousy Mr. Whetstone, again pushing up his glasses, came forward. He stood at least half a head shorter than Mickey, which was made all the more obvious by Whetstone's stoop. "Well, you see, there's a problem with that. The Judoon only exist in Dimension Alpha."
Mickey rolled his eyes. Dimension Alpha. The "other world" he'd come from, in which his gran was dead, Pete Tyler was roadkill and Torchwood had been destroyed. He had no particular desire to return there. Never mind that – he didn't know it was even possible to return there!
"How can you do that?" he asked.
"I studied Pete Tyler's dimensional jumper," Whetstone told him. "Fascinating device. It uses the oscillating nature of human cellular activity, and the non-temporally-based properties of the human mind, and fuses them to create a physically oscillating, temporally displaced field which can envelop the body and reconstitute it in another universe. So simple, yet it eluded us for years!"
The machine-gun speech reminded Mickey of a shorter, nerdier Doctor. Well, shorter anyway.
"But Pete's thing-a-majig only worked when the rift was open. Now that it's sealed..."
"Ahh," Whetstone said, holding one finger aloft. "That's the beauty part. I've figured out a way to fool the device into thinking the rift is open by prolonging the oscillation process and extending the the temporal bracket exponentially. If there's a rift between dimensions anytime between now and the year five billion, we can use it."
Mickey didn't like the sound of any of this, and not for the usual reasons.
"That actually sounds dangerous," Mickey said, surprising even himself. He was shocked at how much of Whetstone's insanity he understood.
The small man nervously pushed up his glasses yet again, and said, "Well, yes. There's a slightly greater chance of permanent insanity as a result, not to mention celllllr dispzzznnn."
"Not to mention what?" Mickey asked in response to Whetstone's muffled trailing off.
Randall answered. "Cellular dispersion. It can happen if you oscillate for too long. It means that the cells..."
"Disperse. Yeah, I get it," Mickey interrupted.
He walked up to the giant device, and put his hand on the hard silvery outside. He turned and faced the men in suits, who seemed to be waiting nervously for Mickey to say something, anything. So he said, "I'll ask you again: why me?"
"Because it's your home world, of course," Randall answered silkily, condescendingly. Mickey did not like his tone, but said nothing. "You have experience there, you know the quirks, the pitfalls, the backwardness of the technology. You know how to tread lightly, Mr. Smith, not to mention, you've already made the dimensional jump, so we are pretty certain that you can survive it."
"All right, next question: why not Rose? She's higher up in this company that I am, and she might be pretty cross if she finds out you've asked me and not her. Besides, she understands more about alien technology and politics than I do, she might be able to weasel some intel out of those Judoon characters. Plus, all those other things you said about me, they're true of her too."
The two men in suits looked meaningfully at each other. Mickey suspected they had anticipated this question.
"We considered that," Whetstone assured Mickey. "We have not informed Miss Tyler of this endeavour because... well, because..."
Randall finished his thought. "Because we feel that Miss Tyler's presence in Dimension Alpha would cause her to have, shall we say, undue distractions that would take away from the subject at hand."
"Ah," Mickey said, rocking back on his heels and not making eye contact. "I see."
"We have not even informed her of the device for that reason. Her priorities would immediately shift, and she is too valuable to Torchwood. Her knowledge of the Bad Wolf virus alone..."
Mickey grew defensive. "So you're sayin' you're not going to give her the one opportunity she's waited all year for, the opportunity that means she might not whither away and die before age twenty-three, just because you need her to sort out a couple of computer glitches for you?"
"Now, Mr. Smith, you know it's more complicated than that."
"Is it? Because it looks to me like you're keeping Rose Tyler from the Doctor for selfish reasons. And I swore long ago that I would never let that happen."
"Rose Tyler has inside knowledge of Torchwood. Torchwood is an official enemy of the Doctor. If they exchanged information..."
Mickey's anger flared. "What a bloody cop-out! He doesn't even exist in this universe, you git! How can we be an enemy of a man who doesn't exist? And even stupider than that, Torchwood doesn't exist in Dimension Alpha anymore! What kind of information do you think Rose is going to give him, how to turn on the lights in the canteen? Please!"
There was silence as all three men considered the implications. Finally, Randall spoke. "Does this mean you won't do it?"
Mickey paused for effect, and then announced, "I'll do it. But when I get back, I'm done with Torchwood, and Miss Tyler will be informed of everything."
"Are those your terms?" Randall asked. "Shall we consider this your final mission for Torchwood?"
"Yes. I do this, I'm free and clear, and Rose Tyler knows everything I know, with no interference and no harrassment from you lot. Comprende?"
"Loud and clear, sir," Randall answered. Even when calling Mickey 'sir,' Randall managed to sound contemptuous and condescending. Mickey tried not to let it bother him as they armed him, and then strapped him into a small seat at the center of the large circular device. They gave him a smaller version of the giant machine that would bring him back to this universe.
"Is this going to hurt?" he asked.
Whetstone told him, "No, you won't feel a thing."
"What if my cells get dispersed?"
"We'll tell Miss Tyler you said goodbye, then."
"Lovely."
"Here we go!"