The one thing Pete could always reliably say about Vitex, they knew how to throw a stonking great lunch.
The annual stockholder meeting was, under more normal circumstances, the blight upon Pete's usually crowded calendar. The annual "state of the company" as it were, it usually ended with Pete smiling and nodding to the crowd, pulling out one cheesy, fake joke after the other, unveiling whatever new products were coming out over the next, fiscal year, all culminating in a question and answer session that usually devolved into a corporate version of a stockade, with Pete being verbally pelted with metaphoric rotten tomatoes. Most of the complaints tended to circle around the dislike of a certain flavor, the desire for a certain product they had in America or Asia that is so cool, and why don't we have it yet, and why was it that Pete didn't spend more time doing the job he was being paid ridiculous amounts of money to do.
He'd thought about telling them all that it was because he was busy saving the world from utter destruction at the hands of the dimension-leaping Cybermen, but refrained. Somehow, he didn't think that would play well with the press lining the walls and lurking amid the tables, like a host of vultures, picking at the lobster and salmon and drinking the champagne. Instead, he took his licks with good grace, and now sat at the VIP table, only half listening to the chair of the board discussing his recent golf trip to Pebble Beach in America, and his amazing, but probably highly inflated score. Pete picked at cold, chicken salad listlessly, and ignored the desire to grab at his phone in his pocket, on the off chance Torchwood might have called.
"So the private zeppelin I hired to take me from Pebble Beach to Napa, gets caught in a storm, right? And we are blown inland, hundred miles or so, so we are hanging somewhere over the mountains, and fuel is low. And then my wife's friend, Evelyn, this string of a woman, has had more work down than my house, she starts getting hysterical and wondering what we would do if we crashed. And I jokingly say that we could always turn to cannibalism. So she gets shirty, says I'd do well enough, I'm big enough to feed them all till help comes, and I said, that's good, cause you've been nipped and tucked so much you'd barely be able to pick my teeth."
A round of laughter went about the table, and Pete smiled, half-heartedly, at least to keep up appearances. Andrew Berkley, the chairman of Vitex's board, was an alright fellow, but crass and more than a bit of a bore. But he did his job, did it well, and got on with Pete, which was all he really cared about anyway. Still, Andrew loved to tell his stories of his lavish lifestyle, and he eyed Pete over his wine glass, patting his indeed, impressive belly. "You should have come with us, Pete, done a round or two. Would do you good, getting out, seeing the world. Miss having you around for these trips."
Jackie had always loved going. Pete hadn't been since she died. "Yeah, well, busy with other aspects of my business life."
"So super secretive now at days. Thought you'd locked yourself up with all your money and were hiding from the world. Besides, if you'd been with us, and we'd crashed, you'd have thought of some mad way to get out off the mountain and to safety."
"Maybe," Pete replied, not so sure he'd do that, but humoring the man all the same. "Maybe I'd just find a new way of flying that wouldn't get you blown into the mountains in the first place."
He wasn't particularly sure why he'd said it. He had, of course, been thinking of the strange flying contraptions, "planes" Mickey called them, that flew higher and faster than even zeppelins did. But it caught Andrew's attention, and several other curious eyes went up around the table. Investors all of them, they always were ears for new ideas and inventions.
"What, you working on a new way of flying you haven't told us about yet?" Andrew would believe it. Pete's role in Torchwood was secret, they had no idea what he was up to, and likely they all believed he was creating something big that he planned on unleashing on the world. He only wished that were true.
"Not yet, but I've been playing with it." Sweat broke out, just a little, on his brow as he realized the hole he was stepping in. Maybe, if he had Mickey talk it out a bit with the engineering team at Torchwood, and they crossed it with whatever alien tech they had…
"Well, whatever it is, I hope you let us have a first crack at it," Andrew eyed him knowingly, as did several other board members. "I mean, you haven't led us astray yet, Pete. We trust you, trust what you bring to the table."
Oh...they didn't know the half of it.
"Sir?"
Pete turned to his assistant, who stood nervously at his shoulder. "What's up?"
"There's an important call for you outside that I need you to take."
Torchwood! Cooly as he could manage, he shot everyone one of his winning smiles. "Sorry ladies and gents, got to step out for a bit. If you excuse me."
He rose, trying not to look as if he was rushing somewhere, buttoning his jacket, waving at others at a table not far away, looking nonplussed that the world could be exploding on them right that second. Though, if he were honest about himself, he could kiss Miles in that moment for getting him out of that mess. Honestly, promising them all jet planes when he hadn't even figured out the science of it, just to sound so impressive.
"Amanda, is it Miles," he asked as he jerked open the double doors to the conference room they'd rented for the stockholder event. To his surprise, just outside stood two, tall, brawny men in dark suits, blocking the way. Their solemn faces and the ear pieces, Torchwood design he noted, advertised loud and clear who they were and what they were there for.
"Not exactly, sir," his assistant whispered, looking more than a little awe-struck and perhaps a touch frightened. Poor girl, she'd been first Yvonne's, then became his assistant. He couldn't blame her for being a bit gun shy.
"Hello, gentleman," Pete greeted them cheerfully. "I suppose this means I have an unscheduled meeting?"
"Peter Tyler, if you'll come with us, please?"
"You could have just called my assistant, you know," he grumbled, glancing back to her. "Amanda, tell everyone I had to go, make something up."
"Like you are meeting with the President of the Republic of Great Britain?"
"That works," Pete replied, turning back toward the men. "Suppose there's no use in trying to avoid it, is there?"
"Not unless you want to be arrested," said the older, taller one, who had a deep, rumbling voice, dark skin, and the sort of granite jaw that frankly frightened Pete just a little.
"Not exactly, not with all the press about. Come along then," he smiled at the younger, shorter man, who appeared no less threatening with his closely cropped, blonde hair and unsmiling face.
Well...bollocks…
Before the press could get wind of Pete's escort, they had him out of the back kitchen, past plates of some delectable and elegant looking puddings, out into a service area, where a black SUV sat, running. The taller man opened the door, allowing Pete to climb inside, followed by the other two.
"Off to Buckingham, then?"
Neither man seemed inclined to answer. Pete sighed. It was to be that sort of meeting.
The palace, the relic of the old days of Queen Victoria, was not far from where they had been, but long enough for Pete to be heartily glad when they pulled into the black iron and guilt gates, heavily protected and guarded. The large car pulled up to the covered portico, allowing Pete to step out, followed by his escort.
"Right this way," the taller man ordered, gesturing to the opulent palace inside.
Pete had, of course, been to the palace several times over the years, mostly for events that had Jackie crowing that she'd gotten to meet the head of the British Republic. Despite not being the home of a king or queen anymore, it still served as the home of the head of state, the President, who usually came into residence there at the beginning of their term. On the whole, the place hadn't changed that much since its days as a royal residence, much of it having been put into trust to the British people by the queen when she abdicated. Every so often it was restored and repaired, the paintings swapped around for the tourists who flooded in to take a look at Britain's heritage, but it remained, mostly, as a large, elegant monument to their country's ancient past.
Except for the part where the President actually lived.
"If you will wait here," his guard ordered as they ushered him into a parlor that looked as it came straight out of one of those silly romances that were always on the telly. Papered walls gave way to gilded furniture, and a tea set that was made of the most fragile looking china Pete had ever seen. He glanced to his two escorts with a skeptical eye.
"Suppose I can't put off tea, then? I've just eaten."
Neither cracked a smile as he grinned, but turned and left the room instead. Pete sighed. The President's escort never had any sense of humor. Instead, he wandered to the large windows overlooking the extensive lawn of the President's garden. Tourists wandered about in the summer sun, snapping photographs on tablet phones.
Steps behind him caused him to turn as Harriet Jones breezed into the room with all of the quietude of a hurricane. "Pete, you're here! Care for some tea?"
"I just ate," he smiled apologetically. Harriet didn't seem to hear him, or didn't care, as she poured two cups into the fragile china.
"How do you take a cuppa?"
"Sugar, lemon, no milk." He went along with it as the woman in her neat, dark suit quickly prepared each, passing him one of the saucers with a tight smile.
"Perhaps I should warn you that this is Queen Charlotte's personal set, so take care."
The cup shook as he nodded, wondering if he should even dare raise the delicate cup to his lips. Harriet waved him off with a rolling of her eyes, her hand fluttering as she settled herself on one of the edge of one of the delicate divans. "Don't worry, the first time I used the set, I was so nervous I dropped one of the teacups and it shattered across the floor. No one said anything, though. As it is a state treasure you would think they would."
Pete cleared his throat at the quizzical turn of their conversation, sitting carefully on the chair across from her. "I can't imagine, Madame President, you are bringing me here to have tea off of royal china." She had a point, but Harriet was hard pressed at getting to it.
"It's Harriet, Pete. We are friends here," she shrugged, leaning against the silk covered cushions. "Aren't we?"
"Sure," he quickly replied, shooting her the tried and true "trust me" smile. He'd known Harriet Jones for years, since she was a backbencher for Flydell-North. Nice enough, bit pushy when it came to her district and political agenda, had a way with the press which tended to annoy her party, which was why she'd been shunted in as their Vice Presidential candidate. It was a dead end job for her, second in line to the President. No one expected her to actually ever get into the higher office. But she had excelled in it in the years since John Lumic, and proved a capable, decisive leader in the face of a lot of criticism. Britain had lucked out with her. And personally, Pete liked her. A bit flighty, yeah, but she was a good sort.
"I'd like to think we were friends," she murmured, staring into her tea cup. "That's why I supported you for Torchwood, you know. There were many in my cabinet who didn't want you there. Most wanted to draw and quarter you because of your association with Lumic. I stood up for you, said you were the one to stop him, you were the only one with sense to take over the reigns at Torchwood to ensure this didn't happen again."
With a deep sense of foreboding, Pete nodded, trying to look as appreciative as he could manage, all the while knowing she was getting at something. "And I've tried to live up to trust in me. Not easy, running two companies, that's for sure."
"Have you?" Harriet's eyes flickered back up to him, lips pursed as she set down her tea on an ornate end table.
"Have I given you reason to think I am not?"
Harriet's sharp gazed fixed on him for long moments. "When were you going to tell me about the Cybermen disappearing?"
Was that what this was all about? "Harriet, the situation is under control."
"The very creatures that turned our world upside down, and you want to tell me that the situation is under control?" Her voice snapped hard, as Pete quickly busied himself with pointlessly stirring his tea. "We are just now putting ourselves together after that horrible night. Thousands dead, most unidentified, the panic and fear? And not to mention everything we had to remake once Lumic was gone. The entire network failed, the economy hit a recession the likes of which we hadn't seen in two decades, we've spent the better part of three years rebuilding, and we aren't even done yet. Do you know what would happen if word got out those...monsters are gone?"
"Better than you realize, Madam President," Pete intoned softly, looking over the rim of his ancient tea cup at her. He sipped the liquid as he watched her glare at him across the elegant space.
"How long have you known?"
"A year," he replied, setting down the fragile cup and saucer, crossing his arms protectively. "We've been working on it a year already."
"And you had no intention on telling us anything?"
"What was there to tell? What in the hell could your government do about it?" Pete arched an eyebrow at her startled reaction. "Debate and resolute yourself to death on the point? Go to the UN and demand that they unilaterally come together on an issue they've not been able to agree on once in three years?"
"We at least had the right to know!"
"What? That the Cybermen are disappearing into another dimension? And yeah, that would solve our problems, but that dimension hopping is creating a gravitational pull that could destroy the planet? Should I explain to you the fact that they originally came from a different universe, and that they are trying to get back there, with the aid of Torchwood on that side?"
He shouldn't be telling Harriet Jones any of this, but he spilled out, pent up too long with just himself and Torchwood knowing. For her part, the other woman looked stunned as she stared at him, eyes wide, as if Pete were spouting fantasy Frankly, it probably sounded just like that to her.
"You're serious," she murmured when he was done."
"Yeah," he rumbled, learning back into the silk cushions. "We haven't told anyone 'cause the truth will cause everyone to panic. And there's nothing they or you can do to make it better."
"We can't negotiate with them? Offer them something?"
The first go to of the seasoned politician. Pete only just did refrain from rolling his eyes. "What do you have that they want? A brain? You aren't willing to give it them? Okay, then they will leave. They are going. Like as not, Lumic had programmed them to do this very thing, if it isn't just part of whatever technology he used to copy them."
Harriet's mouth crimped unhappily as she toyed with a biscuit between her fingers. It crumbled into dust on the antique saucer and she quietly set it aside. "What are you doing to fix this?"
"Harriet, there's nothing you can do on your side for this."
"I know. But at least reassure me that you are doing something, in case someone else finds out about it and I have to answer for it."
"How did you find out?" Pete was curious to know. Usually, Torchwood activities were so secret, that even the government didn't know about it except in rumors.
"Luck, mostly. Someone in America noticed that the Cybermen were disappearing."
"Bloody Americans, always sticking their nose where it doesn't belong."
"Torchwood is doing something, right?"
"We've been monitoring the situation on both sides, and have a contingency plan in place in case the worst case scenario happens, yes." He tried to shoot her his most reassuring smile, even if he didn't feel that way. It was best not to tell the President that you were really just flying by the seat of your pants.
"Monitoring on both sides?" Harriet pulled a frown, trying to wrap her head around what he had just said. "You mean...you are sending people into another dimension?"
"Yes," Pete replied simply, as if this was a normal conversation to have.
"You mean...like science fiction. You are sending people into a different dimension?"
"Yes, and we even get them back."
"You can do that?" She half sounded as if she wanted to try it herself.
"We can, but I wouldn't recommend telling the general public that we can."
"Well, of course not, but still...different dimensions. I bet that would make several scientists heads explode." She laughed at the idea, picking up her tea to sip at it. "Can you stop this, Pete?"
If he were honest, he'd say he didn't know. Instead, he nodded with a wide smile. "You can trust me, Harriet, we have the situation under control."
Even as the last syllable left his lips, his tablet phone vibrated in his breast pocket, thrumming against his chest. He didn't need to look at the screen to see that it was Torchwood.
"I'm sorry, Harriet, if you would just let me take this." He pulled the device from his jacket, glancing at the message. He swallowed hard, burying the worry that rose to the fore as he glanced back up at the President.
"As luck would have it, they have good news for me back at HQ regarding the situation. I'll need to get to Canary Wharf to see to things, if one of your drivers could get me over there?"
"The world isn't about to explode, is it Pete Tyler" Harriet glanced at his phone with wary eyes, and Pete felt a little bad that he was lying so obviously to her.
"Not today."
It wasn't completely reassuring, but it at least allowed her to relent. "Fine. I'll have you escorted to Torchwood Tower. But if it hits the fan, Pete, I better be the first to know, not the last."
He smiled, slipping the phone into his breast pocket. "Believe me, Madam President, if it hits the fan, there's no way I could even hide it from you."
Harriet gulped down her remaining tea and glared at him.