Nine: The Angel from the Rift
Omnium enim rerum principia parva sunt. (The principles of all things are small.) – Cicero
April 26, 2009 (Meanwhile, on Earth, in Cardiff)
"Rift alert, Rift alert!" Toshiko yelled, waking up the Hub. After the strange incident with the flowers from Owen and yet another weevil, a quiet spell had befallen Torchwood Three… but not longer than four days it seemed. Quickly, the team gathered around Tosh's station. "Holy cow, it's huge!"
"Let me see," Jack cut in, the blue eyes scanning the lines before widening in shock. "Fuck!"
"What is it, Jack?" Gwen asked, worried.
"Call your friends at the police, we're about to have a spaceship crashing into Cardiff Harbour; Ianto, get the truck ready. I reckon the pilot will be more than just banged up," Harkness ordered quickly. These readouts… it can't be.
"Got it!"
28 minutes later, the Torchwood Truck rumbled to a halt before a banged-up warehouse on the waterfront to Cardiff Bay; and banged-up meant in this case pretty much cut in half by an elegant, tetrahedron-arrowhead-shaped starship, its surface shimmering dark blue. Strangely enough for the team, said surface didn't seem to have a single scratch despite having obviously materialised over the bay and then, like a skipping stone, crashed into the warehouse front, cutting the roof in half before screeching to a halt. In fact, only the damage to the surroundings betrayed the less-than-by-the-book landing of the ship, which was altogether nearly three quarters the size of the warehouse, and thus as big as the poor star whale from a few weeks ago. Damn it. That's tech-grade tritanium armour plating. Why in Gallifrey's name do I have to be right? Jack cursed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
"I think we get it, Jack," Owen scoffed. "What is it anyway?"
"That's an Antesia-class Interdimensional Space passenger transport ship. Can't say if it travels in time too. Minimum crew is one, maximum four, number of passengers maximum 400, it's from Antares and the pilot had it customised," the immortal rattled down.
"That ship can never carry 400 people!"
"Parts of it are bigger on the inside, you'll see. Come on… oh my god." Having reached the side hatch, Jack came boot-to-wings with the near-mangled pilot… a three-winged Antarian woman, and judging from that, the cobalt-blue hair and honey skin (not that you saw much with the blue-bleeding gashes), a pureblood Seraphim of high breeding. "Shit." She was lying on her side, and looked as if she'd tried to fly out before collapsing.
"New one today," Gwen noted, grinning. "What is it?"
"It's a she, an Antarian from the choir of Seraphim from Antares VII. I need gloves. In fact, we all will need them."
"Met one before?" Owen asked.
"Every time I did, I did have to fight the urge to drop my jaw into a black hole. Her people are what younger races call angels. But you can't touch her with your bare hands."
"Why? And how am I supposed to help her then?"
"Wear gloves. And her blood is so full of free radicals and poisons you could drop dead even touching it, Owen, so shove it. And yes, her race is that awesome," the captain grumbled, making his way to the open hatch. "I'll check if I can find her medical supplies. Under no circumstances touch her wings, you hear me? All of you."
"Got it Jack," Ianto nodded before the others could protest.
9
After finally finding the woman's medbay – it was a portable version stuck into an upright flatspace (dimensionally transcendental) trunk – Jack returned with some basic supplies and a couple of blankets. "Why the blankets, Jack?" Owen wondered.
"Look Owen, apart from myself, none of you is telepathic enough to deal with a full Seraph, especially a three-wing twin. And as I said, touching her wings is taboo – they detest that being done without express permission – so the only way to transport her is to wrap her in Tefallah blankets," the Torchwood director explained, spreading two of the blankets on the floor, carefully pulling them under the half-open wings. Using them and a pair of gloves, he managed to fold the snow-owl-like embodiments of power into the rest position. "Come on, help me wrapping her up, then we can get her to the Hub."
"What about her ship?" Tosh wondered.
"Not like we can move or use it. No, seriously. Humans lack the psychic abilities and the senses to operate Antarian ships," Jack explained to the disappointed Japanese as they pushed the alien woman onto the blankets and then on a stretcher. "Gwen, ask your police contacts if they have a few kilograms of heavy narcotics ready for disposal, we'll need them."
"Drugs?!"
"Preferably cocaine; or heroin if they don't have cocaine hydrochloride."
Owen, who had picked up the stretcher together with Ianto, shot his boss the same incredulous look as the former police officer. "What the hell do we need that stuff for?"
Jack calmly shouldered the strap of the metal case he had brung from the ship. "To recharge her energies of course. Closest we have on Earth to the stuff they use in these situations in the empire is coke. I know, that stuff is a nightmare to humans, but then again, our blood is red and poison-free, Owen, and we can't even process the calories in alcohol properly."
"You're telling me she can't get addicted," the doctor grumbled.
"Wrong, she's already addicted in a way. Has been since the day she was born. Energy, raw, pure energy, from whatever store she can get. Drugs are just the quickest way to do it as they go straight up your head. Now move it, all of you."
"Got it Jack." Sighing, Gwen wondered what she hadn't done yet for Torchwood.
Back at the Hub, Owen watched Jack and Ianto putting their patient to bed with disgruntled fascination. "I feel useless, Jack. I'm supposed to be the medic."
"You can't help it, Owen. Humans are as mayflies before her people. And you all know by now what time I am from, otherwise, I'd be as helpless as you are," the tall American dismissed. "And besides, it's not like you cannot help her at all." He pointed at the metal medkit box. "Put on some gloves, clean out her wounds, wrap them. Just don't touch the wings."
"But they look like they need to be wrapped too," the doctor argued rationally, having calmed down a bit. Reaching into the alien kit, he put on a pair of gloves and started with the suggested treatments. "Look, she's even losing feathers."
"As I said Owen, only telepaths can do that. And empaths come to think of it…"
Ianto, who had stood aside to watch Owen Rant-another-Harper, blushed and lowered his head. "Right now, I wish you hadn't taught me that, although I apparently have the capacity. So it's you and me, Jack?"
"Pretty much. And oh, put an IV into her while you're at basic patch up, Owen," Jack ordered, diving into the kit – and disappearing halfway into it, coming back with several rolls of bandages from the same material as the blankets they'd used to carry the alien woman as well as an IV needle set. "What? Antarians use flatspace technology."
"It is bigger on the inside?!"
"Yeah."
Quietly, the three men got to work. A band-aid here, a bandage there, IV… When Owen wanted to stitch up one of the gashes, Jack dove for the man's hands and replaced needle and thread with a surgical glue that left the medic gaping with its effects. "That stuff's unreal."
"Not at all. There are already experiments here on Earth for things like that."
"Yes, but they are just glue, not 'Seal & Heal'." He shook his head, shrugging off his scrubs and gloves. "What now?"
"Now we wait for Gwen, feed her with psychic energy in chemical form and wait some more."
"Can I at least do some basic scans?"
"Feel free, although, she'll leave you gaping."
"I can imagine."
Ianto followed his lover out of the medbay, laughing with him.
9
Later, much later that day, Gwen came back with the Torchwood truck, annoyed as hell. "Jack, I hope for your own sake this works, because otherwise, I'll never be able to face them again."
In answer, the Torchwood director threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Oh Gwen, you have no idea."
"Jack!" Owen called them over. "What the hell is she?" he demanded.
"I said it already – oh, that." Owen was glaring at a series of Roentgen and MRI scans depicting the woman's odd structure. "How high did you have to turn the output for these?"
"300 %, you walking sex advert. How… oh no. You said it yourself, she takes any energy." He slumped his shoulders. "She's absorbing the radiation from the scanners. But that still doesn't explain these bones, if you even want to call it that."
Gwen studied the images of the bones. "You know Owen, that looks more like a bulletproof vest to me."
"Yeah, I thought so too. I've never seen something like that before in a living being – her bones are like crystallised polymer-reinforced carbon fibre. We're lucky she doesn't have any breaks, they'd look ugly, like ripped fabric I'd guess." He turned to Jack. "And that heart… I first wondered about her near-nil pulse. But it's because of this, isn't it? 3-D multilayer muscle structure, and the density… Just how strong is she…"
Jack nodded slowly. "That, and she's not completely physical in the first place." He shot the unmoving patient in the medbay a look. "What you see is merely a shell, an avatar, a container slash conductor for a ton of immensely powerful thoughts and energy. Her race chose to retake physical form on a whim, just because apparently, the higher forms of existence are pretty boring. But both forms need energy."
"And until we've recharged her avatar, she's not going to wake up, right?" Gwen sighed. "Lucky for her then, I did get us all the cocaine in Cardiff. Though, I still don't believe that will work."
Now it was Owen's time to sigh. He held up a plastic slide with a sample of the woman's blue blood. "If I hadn't found the iron traces in her skin, I'd have wondered how she can look that rosy with that blood, Gwen. That stuff's not just poisonous, it's an alkali. Trust me, most drugs and poisons don't affect her unless you give her doses which would kill a whale." Putting the papers away, he turned to Jack. "How high the percentage?"
"As high as you can while still making it a solution. Feed it to her by IV." Jack shook his head again. "I'll check on her ship. Maybe I can find out her angel-name."
"Do we want to know?"
"Not really. Tosh, with me."
"Coming Jack."
After the two had left via the invisible lift, Owen shook his head again. "I'd never thought I'd have anything to do with this stuff…" Rolling up his sleeves for emphasis, he put on scrubs and mask. "Come on you two. You can as well help me cooking."
"I was so afraid you'd say that," Gwen groaned, a sound matched by the other Welsh.
Inside the Seraph's ship, Jack was that close to throwing a fit. "Isomorphic, musically encoded controls. Well, that proves that she has the right to wear these implants around her neck," he muttered angrily. "Not even her name. Just that of the ship."
Toshiko disconnected her laptop from Jack's vortex manipulator, which they'd used akin to a USB hub to connect to the ship. "Is she paranoid or what?"
"No. She's a World Maker." Jack sighed. "I really should have guessed earlier."
"What you mean 'world maker'?" she asked.
Jack laughed. "Exactly as it says on the tin. In cap letters. She can construct entire solar systems when she has enough energy and resources. It's her, well, job doesn't fit, life-profession. It's a title gained only by a handful of Antarians. An order of scientists so to speak. To them, the Skasis Paradigm is a part of their mental makeup, only limited by resources."
"Wait, are you saying if you have the cash, you can have her create planets for you?"
"Pretty much. The whole thing evolved from professional terraforming and planet maintenance," he recalled. "And only a World Maker of the highest rank wears these particular blue tech-grade tritanium interface implants. Strange though…"
"What?"
"She's working alone. That's rare. Really rare." He shook his head. "Well, at least we got the name of the ship. And her approximate age."
"This ship is…it's…beautiful," she beheld as she looked around. Glittering crystal and smooth black surfaces betrayed the main construction material – carbon. There were no visible displays, indicating either a purely telepathic or a holographic interface, or, most likely, a combination. "I could spend my whole life examining the workings of this ship and still not scratch the surface."
"Literally. It's carbonite after all." The captain shook his head. "She's at least 2990 years old if that ship is to be believed."
"Doesn't look that old at all."
"I'm nearly 200 Tosh, and does anyone notice? No? Now, she ain't immortal, but her race is long lived to the extreme. They stop aging physically altogether at around 30 to 35, that's when their energy gets so great they're made of only 30% matter, the rest is power. And the reason I can say she's that old is that this ship is at least 2850 years old." He put on his vortex manipulator again. "It takes a millennium to become a Master World Maker on the average, and while they originally age at the same pace as humans, adolescents are considered full adult only when they're over 180. Between 18 and that, you're neither teenager nor adult." Leaving the ship, he walked back to the SUV, the young woman hot on his heels.
Tosh took the passenger seat and shook her head. "How is it though she crashed like that? The damage suggests she was in very slow flight, but why?"
"I can only guess, but probably it has to do with the way that ship travels extremely long distances and opens interdimensional gates."
"Which would be?"
Starting the black car, Jack frowned in concentration. "It's called rift drive. The ship opens a small spatial rent and just slips through the 9th plane – Anti-space – to the destination. Near instantaneous travel anywhere. It's even quicker than through the time vortex, but then again, that has other configurations than space or even anti-space, needing dematerialisation."
It dawned to the pretty Japanese. "Do you think she crashed into the other end of the rift?"
"It would make sense, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah."
As if the presence of their powerful but unconscious guest had caused Cardiff to hold its breath, the quiet spell from before continued unceremoniously while she slept. For five days. In fact, it was so quiet that 1) Ianto had time to reorganise the archives 2) Gwen took the day off to spend it with Rhys and 3) Owen managed to perform physicals on the entire team. Naturally, the last one to come around for his check-up was Jack. "Stop being a baby, Jack. You're what, 181? Act like it!"
"182, thank you Owen," the team leader grumbled. "You know why I don't like being examined."
The medic stopped his ministrations and sighed. "Jack. Do you really think I'd ever do that to you? You said it yourself – we're not Torchwood One."
Shaking his long-ingrained fear off, Jack sighed and stopped fussing, allowing the man to finish. "I know. What's the verdict?"
Making a few notes, Owen snorted. "Honestly, the only thing I can currently complain about is you needing a break. You've been on edge the entire time we've had this quiet spell."
Buttoning up his shirt, he asked, "Don't you know why that is so?"
"Tosh attributed it to our guest here being totally out of it, but I think that's bullshit."
"It's not," the immortal smirked. "She's a spatial being. So much power that nature itself will hold its breath. Anyway, how much coke is left?"
"Two kilograms, why?"
"She'll be up soon then," the Time agent mused. "I can sense her dreaming."
"Anything concrete?" he wondered, changing an empty IV against a fresh one filled with liquid cocaine.
"Can you see through concrete?"
"No. Is that how high her defences are?"
"More, but I can't find an analogy that would make sense to 21st century people." Jack focussed on the mind of the woman, but to no avail. All he got was the 'shop window' front, the public persona that identified and presented her to telepathic people. Well, when that part of her personality is online again, it really won't take long…
Just then, in a rather eerie emulation of Jack waking from death, the Seraphim woke with a huge gasp and a start, rushing into a sitting position. Only Owen's careful positioning of the IV right beside her hand saved her ripping it out of her arm, but the same couldn't be said about the bandages wrapping her wings: The moment she stretched the white feathered limbs in a dramatic burst, the strips of cloth came off, sailing to the ground. "Sheltera, kales – eih, Assianes?" She shook her head in confusion and groaned.
Jack had heard the question though. "Sar, yansirrah-arika-leiran. This is Assiah." He stepped into her line of vision and bowed, presenting his palms while bowing. "I'm Captain Jack Harkness, and you are on my base. And yes, I know what you are."
Breathing hard, the ageless woman brought herself under control. "Rakatiel, Order of the World Makers; Space Weaver, Interdimensional Class. Where and when…" She closed her eyes and vanished her wings, concentrating. "2009 by the calendar of Assiah… northern hemisphere, Europe, British Isles… Cardiff?! Zinu. I can't believe I did a rift crash. What in the Creator's name are you feeding me?"
"Cocaine."
"Oh. Never had that before; it's not bad, for not being keskha." Staring down at her hands, she flexed them experimentally.
"I wasn't sure if you had any on board, and given how different it can look… I'd rather not risk it," the human explained, sitting down beside her on a chair. "How are you feeling?"
"Sluggish. My head is swimming – is that my medbox?"
"Yes. Do you have keskha in it?"
"What's keskha, if you don't mind asking? Owen Harper, MD. I'm the healer of this lot."
"Drug. Liquid psycho-physical energy. Normally it's golden yellow, but at the strength I'm used to, it's bright orange," she muttered, focussing. In just a few seconds, the IV full of coke had been sucked dry, and she stretched abruptly again. Before Owen could protest, she'd removed the IV, and with an absent-minded gesture, she healed the puncture mark without a trace. "Thanks, but I could use a charge right now. Look for a clear lock box with a couple of auto-injectors filled with a transparent bright orange liquid in it. And what is your 'lot' if I may ask?"
"You… can use keskha eres." Jack's head spun with the implications – that particular version was so highly concentrated it caused problems for most normal Antarians. A drop of it would get a human addicted for eternity. Or kill them.
"Space Weaver. I've been conditioned to handle high yields of energy."
"How come you were so out of it then?" Owen wondered. "If you have that much power…"
"I got it knocked out of me when I crashed into that damn natural rift you watch from the fixed end. Question, when my ship and I turned up here, was there some brilliant flash just before? Come to think of it, where is my ship?"
A zap, a small explosion, and one of Tosh's monitors was no more. "There was a flash, and your ship is exactly where it came to a stop, in a warehouse not far from here," Jack explained gently, trying to keep her level-headed – one exploding computer screen was enough, and she was probably lightning element judging from that. "We've guarded it, so it's okay. And to answer you earlier question: Welcome to Torchwood Three."
"Torchwood, Torchwood… oh, you then?" A sly grin played around the seraph's lips.
"Heard of us?"
"More in passing. Guardian Koral's reports are somewhat contradictory."
"Torchwood One was led by a bitch who only cared about themselves and screw the consequences, that's why. Unfortunately, she was also the boss until they got blown to kingdom come. After that, well, there was just me, so I'm the director now. I still have to get the charter updated somehow…"
In answer, the woman chuckled.
Meanwhile, Owen had been hanging in/digging through the medbox and came back up with a triumph, holding exactly the lock box she had described in hands. "It's this, isn't it – hey!"
Snatching it from him, she opened the thing with a touch and put one of the injectors to her neck, discharging its contents with a hiss of the tool, and leaned back in relief. "Stars, that feels good. I could feel my damn hair crawling before." Shooting the men a look, she smiled gratefully. "Thank you for your help. Did you patch me up, gentlemen?"
Pouting a little, Owen nodded. "Yeah, although it was downright awkward; Jack insisted we shouldn't touch your wings, at least not barehanded."
"Really." Sitting back up again, she pulled her long legs towards herself, sitting cross-legged. "Then I must thank you for your respect, Captain, Doctor." Bowing her head, the grateful smile was back.
"You're welcome. So how are you doing, Master Rakatiel?" Jack asked carefully.
"Still sluggish, but nothing some meditation, good food, sleep and some running won't fix," she checked herself over, sighing, "I'm totally out of balance." And you being around doesn't help, Captain Fact. 51st century? No, that's not it. Why is it I feel him in my soul? Hmm… not now, besides, there's someone else too. Get back to working order, clean up the planet for thanks would do it I think.
Now the men grinned. "I think we can manage that," Owen declared.
"Just don't order the pizza under 'Torchwood' again," his boss grumbled, causing the entire hub to erupt into laughter at the healer's expense.
Promptly, the Antarian added, "Extra garlic please."
In the end, Rhys joined the merry round in the hub for an impromptu sleepover, aided by a box of an Antarian fizzy liquor Jack managed to peruse out of the woman's ship after getting directions into the cold storage – well, technically, from the fridge, but then again, it was another flatspace – called veichta-lin. Much to Owen's and Gwen's surprise, the best-behaved of the whole group tonight (apart from Ianto) was Jack, who apparently had dug out his officer and gentleman personality, and, together with his lover, practically waited on their guest, who took in the attention with a bemused smile and a few chuckles. Seeing the same, Tosh nudged her female co-worker. "Don't you think it looks a bit like they're trying to get her to date them?"
"So I'm not the only one. But you know what's the oddest about it? It looks like they want her without breaking up about it. As if they want a permanent threesome," the Welsh giggled, taking another sip of her drink.
"They're not even conscious about it. And she… she looks like it's exactly what she wants," Toshiko snickered, taking another slice of pizza. "Can't blame them though, she's quite the sight."
"Too tall for my taste," Rhys piped in, sounding a bit whammed, "but you have to admire an evolutionary art piece if she's really that advanced… Jack meant her entire people look somewhat along these lines."
Tosh nodded eagerly. "Oh yeah. Heck, even her wings are gorgeous."
"I wonder what you'd look like if you were one of them, Gwen."
"Apparently a lot depends on the choir you're in by the time you become an adult," his fiancée shrugged, taking a sip from her drink. "Let's see if I remember correctly. Seraphim: dark blue hair that strangely enough turns malachite when really angry, purple eyes, light to honey skin; Cherubim: light blue hair, aqua eyes, light skin; Thrones: honey to dark skin, dark hair, green eyes… oh, the next is really amazing, Powers are redheads with dark blue eyes, like the centre of a flame, fair skin, and they're never taller than 1.70 metres. She said their leader is the ultimate punk rocker, warrior and engineer."
"Virtues are literally gold-headed with amber eyes and honey skin, pretty tall too, but apparently Thrones and Seraphim are the tallest of all of them," the Japanese added. "In that order. What's next, oh, Dominions or Hasalim? No, Hashmallim. Black hair, nearly white skin and dark eyes, that's it. And the lowest are the Principalities, silver hair, silver eyes and nearly the same skin as Dominions."
"Toshiko-kun, you'd make a great Power," the Seraphim interrupted, startling the party. "And yes, I could hear you, so thanks for the compliments." Smiling, she added, "Although, with your thirst for knowledge, you would be also a good cherubim."
Owen shook his head, chuckling. "Right, when we are already at it, why don't we play 'what kind of Antarian are you', Master?"
"Sounds good, but what do you think, ladies and gentlemen?"
Jack downed the last of his glass of veichta-lin and shrugged, grinning. "I'm game."
"Same here," Ianto consented.
"All right. Let me get my side straight again, and you can guess then. Toshiko-kun is your tech genius, and loves the good life." Rakatiel smiled. "All the signs of the Powers. Moreover, of a Fire element. Next, Owen Harper. Healer, local source of sarcasm, pained past as far as my senses can tell, and no, no details; determined to a fault. What's the guess, doctor?"
"Hmm… Dominions?"
"Do you see yourself that way? The answer is Virtues. The greatest healer of all is the leader of the Virtues after all. Although, unlike in your mythology, Raphael is a woman actually." She smiled quite crookedly.
"Dang. I wasn't quite sure if it was that or the lower, so I took the low road."
"Usually, the higher is the right answer. I know, surprising, but it is what it is. Who's next?"
"That would be Gwen," Ianto reminded her.
"Oh yes. So, Gwen Cooper. Security, police liaison. By the way, thanks for the stuff."
"You're welcome, although, I'd rather not do that again for a while."
"I can imagine. Anyway. You, Miss Cooper, are a Throne, protecting and helping people, keeping order."
"Really? I wonder… alternatives?"
"The alternate choir for that are Dominions, whose leader is a prison warden historically." She cracked her neck. "Zadkiel Zaphikel is still the same cranky bastard if you ask me, so you fare better with Thrones."
"Oh. Okay."
"If you ask me, you'd be gorgeous either way, love," Rhys added.
"Definitely," the Antarian agreed.
"Hear, hear," the others agreed.
"Guys, you're making me blush."
"Does the fiancée want his stamp too?"
"Thanks, I'll stay human if you don't mind," he declined.
"No, it's fine." Smirking, she turned to Ianto. "Now then, gentlemen. Ianto Jones. Communications, cleanup/cover up, archive, mother hen, and apparently, Coffee King."
"I'll have to remember that one," the Welsh remarked with a grin, remembering all the times Owen had called him tea boy.
"Feel free to do so. Anyway. You, Mr Jones, are an excellent example of a Cherubim."
"Really?" He couldn't quite picture that.
"If it comforts you, I have a cousin who's a cherubim, and his hair is almost white."
Picturing that on his head was a lot easier. "Now that sounds a bit more fitting. What about Jack?"
"Yeah, what would Jack be?"
"Jack…" Shaking her head, the woman closed her eyes in concentration, bowing her head in a way it was clear she was focussing on her hearing. "Jack's the boss, can't die, knows more than all of you about this job of yours…" Opening the eyes again, her expression changed to one of total absence. "Burns with thunder, burns with fate, strike, in the name of the Learned Man, strike, Guardian, watch the times…!"
"What's going on, Jack?" The team was a little bewildered.
"She's having a vision. No surprise with the rift here. Didn't you have an ancestor who could do that, Gwen?"
"Yeah."
"Now imagine how a rift like ours affects someone who had actual training, even if just basic, in the arts of the Visionaries. That's what you get."
"…hold fast, and thou shalt be rewarded, Guardian…ungh. Oh no," she breathed, heavily so, grabbing her head in agony. "I shouldn't have done that. I didn't say anything offensive I hope, captain."
Jack shook his head. "Nothing I haven't heard yet, Master. Still, what would I be?"
"Well, the reason a vision was induced is that you are a Seraphim, kind sir," she answered with a tired smile. "Ungh. I really need to meditate." Curling up on herself, Rakatiel fought rather desperately the pulsing headache into fading.
Owen sobered up instantly. "Need another 'charge', master?"
"No. Just a place where the seven materials meet to get the balance back." Groaning, she muttered Antarian curses under her breath. "It's not that I don't have the power, but I'm so out of it I can't control it properly."
"I think we should call it a day," Jack decided calmly. "We're out of pizza, veichta is a sucker punch of hard liquor to humans, and you still need rest Rakatiel before you can even think of your realignment with the rest of the multiverse."
She nodded numbly. "It can wait. Until twilight, that is."
"Why twilight?" Owen wondered. "Oh, wait. You said it before, among the seven materials are darkness and light, and that's when they meet. You'll need a firepot though I think."
"Shouldn't be that much of a problem," Jack declined. "Alright then. Let's get some shuteye. Gwen, Rhys?"
"We'll be fine in the conference room, Jack," the brunette assured him.
"Tosh?"
"You're sitting on it," the Japanese reminded him, gesturing at the green sofa under the TORCHWOOD on the wall.
"Right. Owen?"
"You might find it morbid, I have no trouble with it. I'm in the morgue. See you tomorrow," the doctor said. "Good night."
"Night Owen," the others chorused.
"Ianto, please get our guest settled in my office."
2nd of May
The next morning, insomniac Jack drove their guest out to the Cardiff Bay Wetlands Reserve, just off the St. David's Hotel & Spa, where a small formation of rocks had been piled to make the foundation for steel bird sculptures overlooking the bay. Originally, he'd been worried about people seeing her, as a full re-alignment meant meditating with wings… until he saw her shadow. It was still winged. "You never fully put them away, did you."
"Can't right now. Too shaky to vanish completely. Besides, that perception filter in your hands would fool a conspiracy theorist," she smiled tiredly, accepting the mat and pillow.
"I still marvel how you managed to put a filter on a fire pot of all things," he joked. Small clouds hung in the air, promising a day of fair weather as he filled the lamp with oil and set it ablaze. "It looks like it's going to be a fine day."
"Truly. Thank you." Taking the bowl by the hanging hook, she set the flame on one of the rocks, sat down beside it and closed her eyes to the visual world. "I'll be back on the Plass when I'm finished."
"Be seein' ya then," he greeted, leaving.
9
Again, the day passed in silence – all that did happen was a Weevil climbing out of the sewers needing to be subdued. "I never, ever believed I'd say this since working for you, Jack, but I'm bored," Owen complained, having finally gotten over the vestiges of his hangover.
"Hear, hear," the others agreed. Gwen turned to her boss. "By the way. That stuff from yesterday, it should be illegal."
"Oh the loss for the multiverse that would be, Miss Cooper," Jack mock-lamented. He had gone and dealt with the Weevil personally to get rid of some tension. "That particular version isn't even strong, it just kicks in with a huge delay."
"Someone should put a warning on it then."
"Ah, but there is," he countered, holding up one of the empty bottles. It was covered in symbols reminding of stars and constellation lines. "It's just not in English. Right now, lingua franca of the galaxy is their language, High Antarian. By my time, it's still more common to know this one to read and write at least than English to the rest of the universe."
"Wow," Tosh marvelled, and then cursed in her head as an email appeared on her screen. "Gwen, there's mail from Andy. We've got a human sushi problem."
"Not blowfish again."
"Unfortunately it IS blowfish. A whole gang of them." Tosh sighed, getting up and opening the arsenal. "At least it's not boring."
Jack shot Ianto a look. The Welshman shook his head. "I feel it too somehow. Something's wrong about that whole lot, but I can't tell what."
"Me neither. It's like she described being out of touch with herself yesterday, like your hair is crawling, but I've never felt something like that before," Jack muttered, grabbing his guns.
"Do you think… she's hyper-telepathic, maybe we're connected to her?" Ianto grabbed his SIG, the truck and SUV keys and threw on his suit jacket. "Or just resonating."
"Maybe. It would certainly make sense. I wonder what she's seeing right now… Let's go kids."
Amidst a formation of rocks, night and darkness fell on one tall figure of a woman with blue hair. Said angel had by now resorted to floating with wings spread wide, confirming her position in the cosmos once more. (Not that anyone would notice – the filter on the firepot made anyone ignore her.) Just as the whispering song of everything reached its normal level of harmony, indicating perfect balance, an image replaced the stunning vista of Tiger Bay at sunset – the team in way over their heads. What in the name of the Creator… Jack? Ianto? Tosh. Gwen. Oh. Blowfish! Oh why you… wait, why am I seeing that? Not now. Again. Time signature – this is the future, but there's not much time. I wish I hadn't left my crystal swords in the ship though – where… ah! Wait for me. Focussing, she snapped her fingers, and vanished in a shower of glowing particles.
9
How did it come to this? Oh, right. We're dealing with a multiple hostage situation. Caused by no less than 10 blowfish. Hooked on apparently one stray seraph feather, Jack thought bitterly. And I thought I'd seen it all in this job already. Bad enough that it's civilians, but Tosh… They were in a shopping mall, and the blowfish had invaded the local chocolatier shop. Which meant it was full of teenage girls, terrified to hysteria. Toshiko, youngest of them all, had tried to get in, and gotten caught, and now these man-sushi were threatening to kill her and the other girls if Jack didn't *fuck off*. There are too many of them. How… A thunderclap resounded in the mall, shattering shop windows and the glass roof, raining glass on the team who had laid siege to the shop. What the hell? It was fair only a minute ago! he thought in shock as a torrential downpour of a storm suddenly soaked them thoroughly. More lightning struck from the sky, hitting the steel arches of the de-glassed roof, causing more thunderclaps. Strangely enough, not one of them seemed to have suffered aural damage from the sound – as if the growling shocks of thunder were not aimed at them. (Neither was at the chocolate shop window, come to think of it.) As if… "Ianto, Owen, Gwen, get back here, quickly!"
"Jack?!" The ex-constable was positively bewildered as she and the others ran over to Jack.
"Just do it! That storm is not normal, it's a…" Another bolt, this time thicker than the ones striking the structure, struck the floor in front of them, the clap blowing open the shop door. "Presentation March!"
Out of it stepped Rakatiel, grim determination glowing in her eyes, but before she stormed the shop, she threw an 'up yours, boys' grin over her shoulder, flustering Ianto and shocking Jack. What followed, was a blur of blue, white and a hell lot of red, as the ten blowfish got literally thrown out of the shop, landing in an inelegant heap somewhere between the team and the shop. When their leader tried to get up, he came face to face with a shower of chaos particles concentrating in one point, materialising the Space Weaver in front of him from the feet up. "Don't you dare getting up. Normally, I don't care about sentients as food, but I've heard your people make an excellent sushi," she hissed, a ball of glowing lightning in her hand. "Although, I'd probably prefer you deep fried. Now, what will it be? Surrender, or Fish Stew Helgoland style?" Clapping, she split the lightning in ten small spheres, distributing one over the nose of each blowfish. Frightened, the leader gulped and gave up, leaving the Antarian to collect their weapons with psychokinesis. "All clear." Clapping again, she vanished the lightning spheres and turned to the mall to survey the damage. "By the way. You guys are even more stupid than the rumours say."
"Why?" the man-fish blubbered.
"You fell for an…" she made an absent-minded gesture, "illusion." Suddenly, the storm dissipated with not as much as a sound, and the glass shards started flowing back towards the windows and roof. "Well, the final trick was one, that is." Focussing, she undid not just her own damage, but also that of the blowfish of this day… and sang as she did so, with a beauty that reminded the team of the starlit sky.
Aria of the Road to Me, Jack thought, smiling. A good, solid choice for repair work. "Owen, check on the girls."
"Jack, why is she singing?" Gwen wondered, having tied up the last blowfish. "Not that it isn't beautiful, but…"
"It's science. Base science of the Antarians is musical mathematics by now. We use numbers, they use notes, sounds, compositions, and numbers to dumb them down and specify them. As such, a song can be used to control energy and matter precisely – like shattered glass to be restored to its original form," the ex-Time Agent explained. "And about that display before, let's say her people are the queens of a dramatic display."
"And overkill it seems."
"There isn't even a proper word for overkill in their language these days, Gwen. The only one is about six billion years old," he snorted. "Let's put it like that, there's always room for more Dakka."
Tosh, who had chosen that particular moment to emerge from the shop, laughed at the reference. "I don't think that even covers it, Jack. She's actually capable of making 'more Dakka' efficient. And a piece of art."
"Why thank you," Rakatiel said, a self-satisfied smile on her face. She had finished her song, and, in consequence, the mall seemed to be gleaming. "What are you going to do with this lot?"
"Load them into a truck and lock them up. Not like we can return them home," Ianto replied. "Wow. Nice work."
Pointing a finger at the fish, she forced them to their feet. "I think I may have a solution for that."
"You'll take them on?"
"Sure, why not? Not like I don't have the room to spare."
"Well then." Jack pulled out the SUV keys and threw them to Toshiko. "Meet us at the warehouse."
"Got it."
"Tosh, what in God's name is 'Dakka'?" Gwen complained as the three psychics left for the truck, and Owen ushered the traumatised customers to the police waiting outside the mall. Most of them swore they'd seen an angel (which technically, they had).
"You never played video games, did you…" Tired, the Japanese sat down beside her colleague, a grin on her pretty face. "The phrase comes from the Tabletop Collection Game Warhammer 40k, but… anyway, it's this: 'More Dakka' is the art of solving problems by firing as many rounds at them as possible; therefore, 'More Dakka' is a variant of a Spamming Attack, but with bullets. The phrase comes from the onomatopoeia for machine gun firing: 'dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka…' and so on. As such, there's also never, ever 'enough Dakka'. In this context we just witnessed, it means you can't overdo it. The more grandiose, the better."
"Kind of like you and your computers?" Owen called, having come back from the exit.
Tosh blushed. "That's… okay, you got me."
As Owen steered the black SUV into the warehouse, he was finally convinced that there was nothing that could shock him any more. Literally in a way – the ship of their guest was trapped in a perfect hemisphere of electric arcs – but the real shock was rather the fearless, immortal Captain Jack Harkness kneeling behind a stack of wooden boxes, looking as if he was about to gnaw his nails. In fear. Around the ship, the ten blowfish lay, burnt to crispy husks. It was a miracle they hadn't been vaporised. Leaving the car behind, the doctor and the two women rushed over to their boss and the terrified Ianto. "I think now I've seen it all, Jack. I thought you and that Hart character was bad, but this… what's going on?"
"It's the Antarian adult equivalent of having a temper tantrum, Owen," Jack whispered, shuddering. "A rage flash. By a lightning-element Space Weaver no less."
"And why is she so angry?" Gwen whispered back.
Ianto looked up and stuttered, "The Arika Yetzirah is k. o. Dead. The crash into the rift knocked not just the power out of the pilot, but also out of the ship. Refuelling won't be a problem per se, not here in Cardiff with the Rift, but…" He shook his head. "She won't go anywhere anytime soon. When the blowfish heard that, they tried to flee, and Rakatiel lost it. They ran straight into the projected lightning."
"It's been a hell of a day for her," Jack added, shaking his terror off. "I'm trying to reach Rakatiel telepathically, but all I get is a haze of malachite green, and that's not good."
"What's the damage on the ship?" Tosh asked. "I'd ask her if she doesn't know better than to use lightning in her ship, given that a minor annoyance blew up a monitor in the hub, but I've seen these circuits – they're pure crystal. Holographic."
"Multiversal Rift Drive and 11-planar Hyperspace drive offline, control circuits are fried. Sublight engines at 30%. Dark-Antimatter/Vortex Core severely depleted," Jack rattled down. "Only propulsion systems online are the manoeuvring thrusters and anti-grav generators, but the latter needs a lot of energy to get started up when she's not properly parked."
"So currently, that ship is a giant paperweight with dimensionally transcendental rooms," Owen concluded.
"Pretty much," the immortal confirmed.
"And we can't get the pilot to calm down."
"Not without getting fried," Ianto piped in. "And thrown away. Jack tried – there's some kind of barrier in place, but it's not from the ship."
"Psychokinetic barrier field, set to 'repel'. Answer is proportional to the original impact, so, I stumbled back," the Harkness explained. "Pretty much the physical representation of her current mindset…"
"Jack…"
"So, we have to get into her head somehow to stop her?" Gwen asked.
"I said I tried already! It's like trying to walk into a hurricane downdraft!"
"Jack!" Ianto cut in harshly, causing the team to snap around to him in surprise. A tear ran down the Welshman's face as he was stuck somehow in the woman's conflicting feelings. "I can feel her. And you would too, if you focussed more on her feelings than her thoughts."
Feelings. "Emotions? You mean, that storm is actually a cloud of severe confusion and frustration?"
"Yes. But why is it so sad?" his lover whispered.
Owen had an idea. "What if you two would try to get to her together?"
Jack, who had been listening to the *melody* of the storm (Tippett's A Child of our Time mixed with something Antarian oddly enough) to gauge her feelings, shook himself and nodded. "It's worth a shot. Since Ianto is already halfway in, I'll just go find him, and then off to find her." He sighed. "I just hate we don't know her calling name or her person-name. Let alone her name-title."
"Would it really help?"
"Unfortunately yes. Think about it. The most powerful word in your life, what is that?" Jack asked before slumping to the ground beside Ianto, slinging an arm around his beloved. Interlacing their fingers, he closed his eyes, and took the plunge.
Strangely enough, the surroundings which the Antarian had chosen to represent the external of her mental cosmos were not, if one would have guessed from the Thunder Arc Shield outside, some desolate wasteland, an accurate representation of their actual environment, or, given her confusion and apparent nomadism, a nebulous plain, but… I've only read books about this place, but I think my imagination is sorely lacking compared even to the memory of the real thing, Jack thought as he fought his way through the green haze of the rage storm of a Seraphim, right to where Ianto stood, at the edge of the woman's consciousness. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I think she's under that white tree with the blue translucent leaves, but I can't go further," the empath answered. He nodded at the path in front of him – high hedges protected it from most of the wind. "There's this path, right for our footsteps, but I think we have to walk it together. What is this place? It's beyond beautiful."
"If anything I've read about the Antarian Capitol World, Antares VII, is even remotely true, then this is the inner Sanctuary Garden of the Imperial Household. The Garden of the Great Seven …" he trailed off, "The supreme sovereign ruling entity-souls of the Antarians. But this is the private garden. Of Kaletiel no less – that tree with the blue leaves is a Thunder Perch."
"Why would she… wait," Ianto stared at the tree in the distance in disbelief. "Don't tell me we're having a genuine Angel princess as our guest."
"Well, it surely looks like it," Jack breathed, taking his hand. "Damn it. A hands down Twilight…" Suddenly, the wind picked up. "Whoa."
Don't you dare calling me Your Highness.
"Well, that answers that. I think someone has got a few issues to deal with," Ianto remarked.
"I'd say. Shall we?"
"I thought you'd never ask." Looking every bit the couple they were, Jack and Ianto weathered the storm of frustration, slowly closing in on the thunder perch tree. "Don't you think it odd there's a straight path through that wind for us?"
"What in the last few days was not strange if it came to her?" Jack muttered. "It's as if we're bonded to her, but that's something done actively."
A gust caused them to stagger; it sounded like a fierce why? Ianto frowned in thought. "Is that always the case?"
"Hmm, no… there's one exception, but – shit, hold on!" Quickly, Jack hugged him, shielding him from another downward gust. "I don't know why, Master!" he yelled into the wind. "We really don't know!"
I'm not a Time Lord! Time is not the boss of me! Bugger off, history!
Jack twisted so he had an arm around Ianto's midriff, a position quickly copied by the Welsh. "What's that about?!" Ianto wondered. They had finally reached the plaza with the white tree. Rakatiel sat under it, the three wings spread wide in a grandiose display of frustration. "Does that have to do with us sensing her without even trying?"
"Probably. Which would make the connection a…"
Resonance of Fates. A fixed point, a knot in the web of realities. I really should just shift the focus of realities for my own person and leave, Rakatiel spoke on the wind in annoyance, her representation not turning around.
"What does that mean?"
My kind is multiplanar, which means I can see reality, every possible reality for everything, the storm scoffed, deflecting their attempt at touching her. In a way, I can choose the reality I truly live in, but, as most of my people, I prefer the primary and leave the rest to pendant avatars. I'm not a drifter or shifter, Ianto Jones.
"Wait, if that's the case, you… you would be running away from yourself," the Welshman gaped.
What self? Ever since I graduated 300 years early, with only 556 years as a World Maker, no-one ever acknowledged me beyond being Kaletiel's granddaughter.
"And yet you hide in your imperial grandma's garden," Jack pointed out. "So why are you so frustrated?"
I… Conceding, the storm subsided, and Rakatiel turned around, vanishing her wings. "Have you ever wanted to elude your own fate, gentlemen?" she asked, the purple eyes closed in a gesture of defeat.
"Every time I wondered about my immortality," Jack admitted. "Calamity of long life and all. And then I had to hear it's permanent."
"Ianto?"
"No, but I've questioned it a few times," the Welsh conceded. "But why are you so sad? Why…"
"More important is the fact that you two are already in my head, don't you think?" She smiled weakly. "All I've ever wanted was to live my life on my own terms. But whenever I have carved out a measure of that, my heritage comes back to haunt me. And now this. I've been drawn in by the rift, to Cardiff. And found you. And all that this fate entails is so very tempting… but…"
And then, both men felt it. The web that was about to form around them, the chains that could bind the two of them to this outstanding woman. As she said it, if she left now, they would be free and be the same, but if she stayed (and both of them suddenly knew quite well she was a natural di-amoric), their lives, their very destinies would be intertwined, long beyond the day all the stars go out. Especially with an elder twin, if the secondary left wing is any indicator. Why though did they disregard the eldest…? "But you don't want to force us, do you. And you're scared," Jack spoke softly. "On top of that, we barely know each other, so it's indeed a matter of being forced." The man pulled a slightly ironic smile. "If it consoles you, the thought terrifies me. Even if telepathy would mean us getting to know you in the blink of an eye."
Ianto shuddered. "What a choice. Never seeing each other again or… holy sheep. Is there something like a three-way-marriage in your culture?"
"Up to five actually, depends on the number of polyamoric in the round. We have laws and procedures for them; even our biology can compensate in a way for it. At least in a three-way." Rakatiel shook her head. "You don't have to decide straight away. Think it over, and give me your decision before I am ready to leave."
Jack's thoughts were racing, weighing the pros and cons, personal and professional alike. She's what, 3564, that means she's going to live another 60k years, give or take a few centuries, not counting the reincarnation privileges. A professional World Maker too, and, if her mindscape is anything to judge from, even for an Antarian she's quite the find. Not too shabby in a fight either, and she knows the universe better than anyone of us. On the other hand, an Antarian with that many issues is a literal natural hazard, more than normally already. Not to mention she'll be reluctant to call in some help from home… what shall I do… "Okay. Have you calmed down yet?"
Rakatiel got to her feet and bowed. "Forgiveness, kind sirs."
"Tell that the blowfish you fried," Ianto joked. "Although, you wanted to take them to the Shadow Proclamation anyway."
"So, are you telling me that I made tempura?" Rakatiel made an embarrassed grimace. "I'm sorry."
"No worries." Jack declined. "As Ianto said, they would have ended in prison anyway, right?"
"Quite." Getting to her feet, she took a look around. "As I said, the choice is yours. For now, shall we go then?"
Suddenly, the outer green hurricane wall of rage died, and the high hedges disappeared, leaving behind a garden of a beauty that was way beyond every world Jack had had ever seen before. Distinct blue-white moonlight flooded the garden as the clouds broke, making it glitter like a rainbow-coloured gem. The men smiled. "Yeah. Let's go," Ianto and Jack answered simultaneously; and, just like that, the landscape/mindscape dissolved, leaving them back in their reality, outside the ship, behind the boxes, in that trashed warehouse.
But, in reflection of the lack of the mental storm from earlier, the physical manifestation of the Rage Flash had disappeared. "You did it!" Gwen exclaimed, relieved.
At that, Ianto blushed, and Jack looked away. You have no idea… The embarrassed line of thought was interrupted by the main hatch opening, a visibly embarrassed Rakatiel shuffling out. "Sorry, everyone…" Bowing to the shocked team, she continued, "I hope I have not overstayed my welcome."
Toshiko shook her head. "Everyone has a shitty day sometimes. The gods know that I've had my fair share of them. If I can watch you repair your ship, it's fine with me."
Jack, who had collected himself by now, turned to Owen. The medic shrugged. "If you can help me with a few species we don't have files on yet, I have nothing against it."
"Gwen?"
"How long do you think you'll need to repair your ship?" the former constable asked the angel.
"A week at most. Including my thanks, a maximum of nine days," Rakatiel answered as she reached them. "All I need is some anthracite coal. Shall I get rid of the bodies?"
Ianto got to his feet and shook his head. "And I thought I had already ordered anything possible needed for Torchwood yet. And please." At that, Rakatiel snapped her fingers, causing the dried, over-cooked husks of the blowfish to evaporate first into golden sparks, and then into nothing. "Now that's what I call efficient."
"Anything else would be a waste of energy, don't you think?"
6th of May
Anthracite coal wasn't that difficult to get, Ianto and Tosh soon found out, and since Rakatiel had only minor (but vital) damages to the ship's structure, it ended up to be only a hundred kilograms. But, what she did with it… escaped any normal description. "I haven't quite understood what Jack meant with energy-matter-conversion abilities until now," the Japanese muttered in awe as she watched the alien transform pieces of hard coal into copies of her ship's crystalline circuit boards, usually in a 2:1 volume ratio, doping it with small amounts from a few chips of tech grade Tritanium she had lying around. "You can literally create things. From nothing."
Rakatiel smiled as she finished another, replacing the fried one. "Yes, I can; after all, there isn't much difference between energy and matter – the latter is the former in condensed form, at least to my people. Using pre-existing matter is easier as you can see though, all I have to do is rearrange the structure."
"And condense it, it seems. That stuff, it looks like diamond, but I know for a fact it isn't. So this is crystallised carbonite?"
Putting down another fried circuit plate – this time the main connection board – the Antarian handed her one of the smaller plates. "Here, feel this. Carbonite seems to be much denser than diamond, but it is actually lighter and more stable, as it contains twice the binding energy. That's why they are so thin. Still, we usually plate it with metal in ship hulls, since it isn't that great a conductor for our powers."
Toshiko turned said ultra-light circuit around in her hands, noting the unusual shape of the circuits. None of the bends is straight. It's holographic… gods, it looks like vines. Then again, she mentioned this is 'living' technology. "This is amazing. Can I keep this?"
"I see no reason why not. Are you interested in holographic computing?"
"There are experiments with it, but the technology is still in its infancy here. To see a more or less working circuit…" she trailed off.
"I know, it's quite something."
"Why did you say it's 'living' technology?"
Nodding at the circuit, Rakatiel explained, "The ship is animated, and its computer core is actually a lab-grown Antarian brain in an enhancer tank, programmed with an AI. If the power wouldn't be that low, I wouldn't have to repair it at all, it would repair itself, or all I would need to do is 'heal' it." She shrugged. "My people consider nature the greatest of all inventors. Our own primary nervous system is photochemical, so the computer expands the concept. Biotech is the basis of pretty much everything we do."
"Kami-sama," Tosh breathed, the head spinning with the idea, even if using a brain that way was disturbing on some level.
"Quite. Now, quiet please, I need to focus."
"Sure."
An hour later, the last circuit board was replaced, the ship was humming as if awakening from slumber, and its owner set it to absorb power from the rift. "That should do it. Give her another hour, and she'll be all powered up."
"Nice. Can you now explain what you meant with 'your thanks' a few days ago?" Jack interrupted them, having come in with a pizza.
"Heal the world, what else? Thank you." Rakatiel smirked, taking a slice. "I'm a Space Weaver, this is what I do. Besides, it's an ancestral duty."
"Wait, wait, wait. Are you saying that the Earth we know is in fact fabricated?" He gaped. "By an ancestor of yours?"
"Nope. Just shaped. Accelerated formation. Created a million years early out of curiosity and a vision. And yes, he was. Boy, the whole Racnoss debacle hung on my father's family for ages." She shook her head. "The Racnoss web at the centre of the Earth, it stole the gravimetric seed crystal he had wanted to plant. Ask your friend, the Doctor; apparently, he witnessed it. Including his Rage Flash."
Jack winced. "I can imagine. So, what are you going to do then?"
"What's the most prominent environmental problem of 21st century Assiah?" Rakatiel countered.
"That's easy," Tosh spoke up, "it's global over-warming and desertification."
"True, and they're both pretty viciously locked in a cycle of doom," the World Maker approved. "Joke is, the entire world is going on and on about carbon dioxide when the greater problem is farting cattle – Methane. And the excess water produced by warming." She shrugged. "Then again, you lot haven't learnt atmospheric control yet, so… well, I'll see what I can do."
"Are there any laws against that, Jack?" Toshiko was a little worried. "I mean, people will notice – it will cause an uproar at the next World Climate Conference."
"Not really." Jack sat down on a crate of tools. "Any other spacefaring race but the Time Lords and the Eternals is not allowed to, but we're talking about a member of another one of the higher species, specifically the one which actually founded the Shadow Proclamation no less. The oldest species in the multiverse, Tosh. The oldest surviving word for 'universe' or 'multiverse' in their language is probably the best hint at the position… the translation is 'playground of the Angels' if I remember correctly."
"Indeed," the angel in question confirmed. "Also, Assiah is deep within our territory, and thus falls under protection by proxy. If necessary, even from its inhabitant species. It's also one of the planets which has received a Tas'que ira kales more than once, if you want an indicator how much we like you and this place."
"Task-what?" the Japanese asked, confused.
"Tas'que ira kales, Day of Thundering Wonders," Jack translated. "It's a day once in ten years, when Her Imperial Incorrigibility Lady Kaletiel, the High Sovereign and Immortal of Thunder, comes to one more or less random world within the realm, flies around it with the setting of the sun or suns and spreads her feathers to grant wishes to the worthy and bless the world with her power. Wow. Why us?"
"Humans are a lot like we used to be in the beginning. We never quite forgot it." She smiled and got to her feet. "Well, maybe it's not the Tas'que ira, but this stunt would surely qualify as a Tas'que oru, Day of Miracles. I got some composing to do."
"How long will that take?" Jack asked. "I've never actually seen a world maker at work, not beyond handing out and controlling terraforming spheres."
"A few days, not more than five. The slight overpopulation of Earth makes it difficult to perceive the best approach," she answered, already on her way out.
"Anything we could do to help?" Tosh asked tentatively, finishing her last piece of pizza.
Snapping her fingers, a slab of carbonite crystal appeared in Rakatiel's right hand, together with a stylus. "No, I'm good. Maintenance is easy, just the data gathering is time consuming, but thank you."
Jack nodded, folding the now empty pizza box. "Let's get back to the Hub, then."
A weevil and a few times goodnight later, and both Jack and Ianto stood on top of the Millennium Centre, both in a similarly pensive mood. Around them, the city lights greeted them and told of the coming of the night. Finally, Jack sighed and wrapped an arm around his lover. "Something on your mind?"
The Welsh snorted. "Guess."
"Well, I suppose I could read your thoughts, but, as I rather don't, the thing which comes to mind has three gorgeous wings, purple eyes and a bad relation to general society." The immortal smiled sadly. "Can't get her out of your head either, can you."
Ianto shook his head. "How? I mean, we've seen already enough of her to know that passing her by is a bad idea in every relation. But that it has to be that personal is a bit much."
"You tell me." Jack sat down, his feet dangling over the edge, a move copied by his companion. He looked away. "She left the choice to us. If it was just me, I'd say yes, but… Ianto. I can't and I won't ask you to do this for just her or my sake, because if you do that, you will change."
"How?"
"Remember what I said how long her people live, especially the choir she's from?"
"63.000 years maximum on the average, give or take a few centuries… oh." It dawned on him. "I'll stop aging too, won't I. And I'll live as long as she will, right?"
"More than just that," Jack answered seriously, and a little darkly. "She's a senior member of the Imperial Household, being 3564, and, as a successful World Maker, has several imperial privileges. Most importantly of all of them, perfect automatic reincarnation as long as she doesn't screw up. If you do this… you'll be bound to me for the rest of eternity. You'll always return to my life. Both of you." He slightly shook his head. "I can't ask that of you. And she won't either."
Ianto nodded slowly, smiled, and finally shook his head, chuckling. "What if I want to, Jack? You said it yourself, her people spend millennia, even lives finding that perfect partner. And whenever they're reincarnated and remember, they look forward to finding each other again. Even considering Rakatiel's so burdened with her issues she's never really thought about it in this reincarnation." He shot his lover a look. "You always seemed so alone before, more than I was. I think sixty thousand years with you is a fair deal for putting up with a force of nature with issues."
Jack chuckled as well. "True enough. And it's not like we won't have the time to get to know her really well before anything is decided."
"How so?"
"Apart from the fact that her level of telepathy would allow us to get to know each other, three ways, in the blink of an eye…" The immortal threw back his head and laughed shortly but heartily. "She's a member of the Imperial Household. Every member but the sovereigns themselves needs a two-third vote permission in their favour from both halves of the Antarian Senetas, the High Council."
"So?" That didn't seem that tough, more like a formality.
Jack lifted an eyebrow. "Ianto. Do you have any idea how long it takes Antarians to agree on anything that doesn't have to do with war?"
"No?" Now the Welshman seemed to be a teeny weenie bit confused.
"Ten years on the average. Two if they're in a good mood or pressured by the Council of the High Lords – the Great Seven," Jack explained. "Best we can do right now is get engaged and form a probationary bond."
"Years?!" Ianto shook his head. "Long-lived species. Not exactly the same temporal concepts, right?"
"Nope. I mean, to get the right to vote, you have to reach 180 years of age…" The Group Captain shrugged. "I know where I stand with this, as she's just too good to pass up. What about you?"
"I think you two will need me to stay grounded," Ianto answered. "So, it's up to her actually."
"Let's see what she thinks. After she healed the world."
May 15, 2009
Another two days, Day 19 since the whole crash, and the Torchwood crew were gathering on the Arika Yetzirah to see just what exactly a World Maker did for a living. "You know, that's the first time I actually see what a World Maker does," Jack remarked, sounding as giddy as the Doctor on seeing something new, a grin threatening to split his face.
"Really. Never before? With the time you're from?" Rakatiel asked absentmindedly, going through pre-takeoff protocol.
"It's rare for you to not have seen something yet, Jack," Gwen remarked, earning agreement from the rest of the team.
"Closest thing to that I've seen is the Order's shop for Terraforming Spheres on Alpha Centauri V," the Time Agent admitted. "And the on-the-spot creation of such a sphere. Which was already quite awe-inspiring."
"Hmm." The playful look vanishing from her face, Rakatiel made a gesture at the seats. She was clearly in work mode now. "Sit down please, we're ready for takeoff. Luckily, the perception blocking system wasn't damaged, which means we can take off in daylight…"
"Wait, wait. Is this like the invisible lift?"
"Somewhat. The lift is weaker, that's just a perception filter, which can be seen through with enough purpose and knowledge. The blocker makes it impossible to perceive and/or remember the ship." Touching the panels, the ship took off smoothly, and, quickly going supersonic, started its journey towards… "When most people say desertification or atmospheric pollution, they automatically think of Africa in the first instance and Europe and North America in the second, but: The real killer right now is, drum roll please, Central and East Asia. The Gobi Desert and the People's Republic of China. Not that I won't heal the other parts too, but I'll start here." She scrunched her face up in a scowl, muttering multilingual obscenities under her breath before switching from sublight to antigrav to maintain position. "And here we are."
"What are you going to do now?"
"The first step, like in everything, is resources. Collect the excess methane, carbon dioxide and water steam from the atmosphere and store it. Strip atmosphere and oceans of excess heat energy," Rakatiel explained, entering an instruction. "Sending out collector drones 1-15."
"How do you store all that stuff?" Tosh asked.
Making an inviting gesture at her co-pilot seats, the World Maker smiled over her shoulder. "Have a seat and I'll show you."
Both Toshiko and Jack eagerly followed the invitation, and were much surprised to see the screens to be mostly in English, even if most of the 'equations' were still Antarian sheet music mixed with formulae. "Why English?" the Torchwood director wondered. "Not that I don't appreciate it."
"I thought that Tosh would prefer actually understanding what I'm doing. Except for some technical terms where it would take a few pages to even explain them," Rakatiel answered, handling the controls like a piano keyboard. "Anyway, the gathering drones are equipped with site-to-site transducts, sending them to the various resource storage flatspace in the cargo hold. Which is also a flatspace."
"You have multiple pocket dimension containers stored into another pocket dimension on your ship? Do you even have a concept of 'enough space'?" the Japanese asked numbly, the eyes following the figures on the projections.
Rakatiel shot her a look, thought briefly about it and answered, "nope." Shrugging, she went back to work, typing in the final sequences. "Good thing I have the newest version of the database, otherwise the ecosystem I'd create might be slightly out of date. Hmm… this is more industrial waste than I expected."
"We're just barely out of the age of industry," Jack reminded her. "And relatively speaking, we spent more time than Antares in it."
"True enough. It wasn't even a lifetime for us… anyway, everything's ready." Getting to her feet, Rakatiel left the bridge. "Coming?"
9
She led them to a darkened control room that was spherical in nature, on a floating platform she steered to the exact centre of the room. Once they reached it, the walls lit up, showing images from all over the world. "Welcome to the Sky Observatory. This is where the actual work is done." Rakatiel smiled at the awed expressions and pulled up the holoprojection screens. "Well, let's see. I've lowered overall temperature by two Skasis – that would be Kelvin to you – and got enough material to grow quite a few trees." Now she scowled. "Dang, I need more magnesium…" A gesture ploughing through the screens caused the contraption to beep several times. "Better, stripped the oceans. Questions?"
"What are you going to do now?" Owen asked, still a bit sceptical.
"Essentially? Plant a few trees. Okay, a few million trees. And a few million bamboo shoots. And algae forests. Oh, and create fertile soil. I am currently maintaining climate, otherwise we would have quite a few uncontrolled natural disasters coming up soon." Focussing, she moved around the team standing in the middle, handling the console like a combination of a Theremin and a bizarre organ.
Jack winced as he heard a few of the complaints and insults she made at some nations, and humanity's short-sighted greed in general while she made sure the program would go off without a hitch. And the worst is, we never quite learn it completely. Still trying our own inventions over nature, still not truly respecting it, still exploiting it. Not even able to plant a damn tree for every tree we cut down.
It's not all bad, Jack, Rakatiel reminded him. It's just a bit sad.
I know, Rakatiel. I do remember the good things about Assiah, sure, but, I wonder sometimes what your people and the Doctor see in us, he sent back.
Ourselves, in the Time Before. "Which song of the Earth do you consider a good choice for this? I take votes," Rakatiel said out loud.
"Wait. So all the composing slash calculating you've been doing the last few days is not what you're going to sing?" Gwen was stunned, as were the others.
"That?" Rakatiel laughed quietly. "I can hardly sing eighteen voices at the same time, Gwen." She continued to chuckle. "The yansirrah-arika-musaicartu is for my ship's AI. She'll sing with me, but I need a song to supersede it, preferably one with the right meaning, and from the world to be maintained."
"Oh."
"There is one thing that puzzles me ever since you've said you're going to 'fix' our planet. How are people not going to notice this?" Owen was back in sceptic mode.
"Same way you can use a lift in the middle of the Roald Dahl Plass. Do you think I can use my voice only to talk and sound pretty?" Rakatiel dropped the playfulness once again and frowned. "There's a reason Seraphim are called 'sirens', and why we are so high above sea level we can dive into a jet stream. That song will cast a perception blocker on anyone who has a brain, as it is psychically charged. They'll notice them in time, gradually, as if they had grown back naturally. And make people replant them too." She shook her head. "I'm not that clumsy, you know. It will still be thought a miracle, but a gradual one, not so much Assiah will freak. Now. Songs."
"That sounds a little like the way 'Saxon' abused the Archangel network to make everyone vote for him," Jack considered. "Just way more powerful. And way less harmful."
"I wouldn't call memory alteration not harmful, Jack," the doctor protested, stopping himself the next moment. "I'm doing it again, ain't I."
"That was about the most idiotic thing you've said since coming to Torchwood, Owen," his boss reprimanded. "Since we're usually the memory erasers."
The others snickered as Owen groaned. "Okay, I deserved that."
"People, please. Songs. Modern is fine."
"Water Song by Amata," Toshiko supplied quickly.
"Too specific, but great idea. Gwen?"
"Big Yellow Taxi." Seeing everyone lifting an eyebrow, she asked, "What?"
"I think they're surprised you know that one." Checking the lyrics on her screens, she shook her head. "Alas, too negative, my dear. Owen."
Taking his time, the MD finally answered, "What I've Done by Linkin Park."
Promptly, the lyrics appeared, evoking the same reaction. "Same problem, doctor, but it's still a great choice. Jack?"
"Regen by Die Toten Hosen," he gave back after a while, causing the audio-sensitive system to pull up the suggested song. Predictably, it was in German. "Because that's what you're about to do – wash away the sins of humanity."
Checking the lyrics, she nodded in agreement. "True enough, but I still would like to hear Ianto's choice to see if he can top you."
Jack grinned. "I think he will."
"Ianto?" Owen was halfway into a frown when he remembered the Welshman's deadpan humour. Which was more often than not dead on.
Ianto opened his eyes and looked up. "Earth Song, by Michael Jackson. I'm surprised not one of you has considered it yet. Although, I think Jack has wanted to be original."
Jack grinned. "Pretty much. But I think this is the best so far. It suits her voice and the purpose the best."
As the others voiced their agreement, Rakatiel nodded sharply and disconnected the circular console from the platform, leaving her audience back at the entrance. Soon, they could see why: As soon as the woman's feet touched the secondary floor swivelling out of the console, she spread her wings. All three of them. Given that each one of them was about one-and-half-times as long as her considerable height (1.92m, making them nearly 3m each), it was not really a surprise she needed the space. "What's going to happen now, Jack?" Gwen whispered as the first notes of Earth Song filled the air, the World Maker touching the controls of the console in tune.
"As a lightning element, she's partial to summoning storms to spread her influence, just like in the video for Earth Song. The drones she sent out earlier don't just allow her to collect resources but they also work as a giant meteosat-based projection network if I understood her musicarta right. The wind, thunder, rain, and lightning will carry millions of seeds and healing particles around the world… and make them grow through the song," Jack surmised just as quietly. "And that after reconstructing the soil itself. Now, I think we should just watch a master at work."
What followed was definitely a way to question one's own sanity, faith and beliefs, for every line of the song pulled another part of Earth into focus, targeting it, all while Rakatiel sang and danced about the console, and, like in the original video by the King of Pop, a storm began to spread over the world, with the Arika Yetzirah as the Eye, proving that the lengthy part of the exercise was actually the preparations for the storm. By now, Rakatiel was glowing, proving her own investment in the process. What about the bleeding Earth, what about us, can't we feel its wounds, what about us, what about nature's worth? What about us?
"This is scary," Owen finally admitted. "I mean, until now, I hadn't quite bought your stories that peoples based the Angel myths on her people. But now…"
"Seeing is believing," Gwen agreed.
"Yeah. This is… I mean, MJ is already great in this one, but this?"
"Totally different level," Toshiko summarised, watching in awe as the 'seeds' – glowing chaos-and-law particles – touched the land, growing into adult trees practically in an instant.
"And we'll be the only ones to ever know," Ianto added. "I think this is about the greatest mercy anyone ever had with us, humanity at large that is."
Watching in silence as the storm subsided slowly after the song had passed, Torchwood Three was awed with literally blooming, re-greened landscapes where once deserts and naked eroding rock had been creeping forward. It ranged from where they were, western PR China, where the Gobi had been eating away at once fertile land, now overgrown with the beginnings of bamboo groves and green plains, over the once eroded, deforested rockscapes of the Mediterranean sprouting young trees and bushes and the dwindling rainforests of the world sporting new giant trees to the green savannah of Africa, having pushed back the creeping Sahara and the other great deserts. Just as the platforms recombined, Rakatiel landed gracefully, vanishing her wings in a shower of feathers, which, much to everyone's astonishment, suddenly danced about the screens – they were being scattered around the world to carry her blessings. Mark of an Angel, on wings of a song, Jack thought, smiling.
After she bowed to her audience however, she stumbled, leaving Jack and Ianto to reach for her before she could fall. "Are you okay?" Ianto asked, worried.
"I have a headache. Inhabited planet, takes too much concentration," she complained.
"I take it the enforced delayed recognition also took its toll," the immortal thought out loud.
"Quite. Ow." Shaking her head, she sent a command at the platform, landing it back at the entrance. "Give me a moment, then I'll get you back to Cardiff."
"Okay."
Returning to the badly mangled warehouse and then their very Victorian Underground hub in Cardiff, the slightly elated Torchwood Three amused themselves with watching the puzzled reaction of the world on the news. "It's just like you promised. Everyone noticed, everyone is in awe, but no-one really cares," Owen summarised.
"Well. Not yet." Rakatiel shrugged. "By the time people care, it's pretty much irreversible. I've saturated the atmosphere, the soil and the sea with enough regenerative energy to last another fifty years or so, and prevent disaster fallout." Stretching, she grinned. "Not bad for a day's work, don't you think?"
"I'd say," Toshiko agreed, smiling. "Heck, even around here things recovered."
Jack watched with amusement and the indulgence of a father as the team swarmed in excitement around their guest, the mind already planning ahead. Would you believe it, Jack-stay-out-of-my-head-Harkness is contemplating his future with a telepath. And gladly so. And I think this would do her some good – staying around people appreciating her. "Alright kids. I think this calls for some celebration, don't you think?" he called, picking up the phone.
9
Later, when most of the team was already out like lights in the hub, Rakatiel sat down in the pilot's seat of the Arika Yetzirah, her mind half on the farewell letter she'd left in Jack's office, half on the takeoff procedures. This is me, getting out. Again. Argh. Why, oh why does this have to be my Seventh Life? One for yourself, one for your dreams, and now, the damn seventh with the "great" designator, and damn it, my fate always tries to get me there, and that while no-one is appreciating it. Shaking her head, she continued the programming that would take her out of the solar system and then out of the galaxy.
"You know, you shouldn't have tried to sneak out of a building in which the only rooms without cameras are the loo and Jack's cot," a voice interrupted her, causing her to whirl around. Ianto stood in the door of the bridge/cockpit, Jack right behind him.
The immortal entered the space and shook his head. "For someone so desperate to make own her place in the multiverse, you spend too much time running away. Even when it's offered to you on a silver platter, you run." He snorted. "Reminds me of a good friend who spent a lot of time running lately."
Flipping the chair around, the woman sighed, powering down the ship. "Call it a bad habit, immature and childish and you would not be wrong. I am a burnt child." Now it was her turn to shake her head. "But, I will not, not just roll over and bow to my fate, especially since you two hadn't been asked if you wanted any part in my version of eternity. So–" She was cut off as the two men hugged her out of the blue. "But…" Why?
When I came to Cardiff, I met a girl who was as unable to die as I was, albeit for different reasons, and she was psychic too. She told me that I would be stuck on the slow path until I would see the Doctor again. And that I would see two centuries ending until I would see him, Jack thought, figuring that now they were in contact, words would only obstruct intent. And a while ago, I saw her again. This time, her cards said I would meet a heavenly messenger falling from the sky, and I would do well to… save her, from herself.
"And you know… we both don't want it to end," Ianto added, clumsily lacing his presence with his hopes.
It seemed to convey the message, for Rakatiel finally relaxed into their embrace, smiling tiredly. "You two are more stubborn than Lady Jibril. Fine. You want this, I won't deny you." In a sudden move, she had teleported them out of the ship, leaving them to stand on top of Millennium Centre. Unusual for the UK, especially near the sea, it was a clear night, leaving the brightest of stars to compete with the glittering city. To the utter bewilderment of the men, they had not just dematerialised and reappeared in the same position as before, but were actually facing each other three-way, the forearms crossed and the hands interlocked to form something akin to a Penrose triangle. Are you sure? Only higher echelons can break this agreement – 'betrothal'.
Ianto?
"Get on with it," the Welsh summarised their resolve and feelings.
Here goes nothing. They call me Rakya Rakata Rakatiel, child of the Solaris Household, Twilight Imperial Princess and Envoy of the Dawn… For those who walked on the Plass tonight, they would swear a bright light on top of the Centre flaring for just a moment; for those involved, a world had passed.
Predictably, when it was over, Ianto collapsed, or, more accurately, would have collapsed if he'd been alone. "Wow."
Jack, who was holding the other man up, shook his head and regretted it immediately. "My head's ringing. Too much life, Rakata."
"Why the alliteration?" Ianto croaked, recovering.
Rakata let go and laughed. "It's thought to be lucky, and it's good if the names are similar in meaning; it reinforces it. Where are you thinking I should stay now?"
"Well, I think you should first build a hangar to put the Arika away, Raka-janara," Jack answered, using the form of address that was the equivalent of calling her dearest.
"Yeah. Everything else will find itself."
Snorting, she extended her hands to them. "Care to fly a bit, gentlemen?" In answer, they didn't hesitate to take them, never letting go as they took off.
