A/N: Thank you for your review, Leona - I have to say, being compared to a season 2 episode is the highest of accolades, and I'm glad you're enjoying! So far, Parker has proved to be all mouth and no trousers (to throw in a British colloquialism), but things are shortly to take a rather unexpected turn...

Chapter Seventeen

Counter-Revolt

His expression rather embarrassed, Jim eats another of Boylan's missives. Frankly, he'd rather be eating a macaroon sat on top of the rice paper, but at least no one will find anything incriminating if he gets searched. He wouldn't put that past Parker right about now.

Their new so-called leader has yet to emerge to address the people who seemed so willing to hand over the reins, though his closest co-conspirators are in and out of the Command Centre so frequently it's like the hokey-cokey in there. Otherwise, heavy-set workers who really should be out in the fields spend their time standing around the place looking menacing, and everyone goes about their business very, very quietly indeed. It's going to be difficult to foment a resistance this time around - too many of the people they're resisting are a part of the community.

Casey Derwin has been busy with his observations, and it's largely thanks to his sharp ears and eyes that Boylan's been able to report just how tense things really are out there. People have woken up to the reality of their situation remarkably quickly, but those who are too overt about their discontent seem to have suffered from a major outbreak of assaults by persons unknown; and, consequently, protests have largely dried up.

In his assumed role as quisling and collaborator, however, Boylan's own observations are astute and interesting. It seems that it's not just the ordinary folk of the colony who are getting fed up with Parker's lack of interest in following through on his promises: even some of his own cronies are beginning to wonder if he's actually going to share the power that he was so keen to get hold of. For all those accusations of a remote 'elite' and 'martial law', his fellow planners were expecting at least a modicum of responsibility for something - and the fact that there hasn't been any appointment of a senior staff is becoming a real bone of contention. It's as though Parker assumes that the Colony runs itself, and all he has to do is sit at Taylor's desk and play games on his plex all day.

Matters are equally not improving in the infirmary, as one of Elisabeth's colleagues was punched yesterday by one of Parker's security thugs when he refused to use derma-spray on a small graze, and offered a band-aid instead. The fact that the stuff is in increasingly short supply, and only available for very specific uses, doesn't matter. They want privilege and preferential treatment and it's clear they'll use their fists if they don't believe they've got it.

He's been out for his morning run already, but he's promised to monitor the perimeter fence, so he heads out to make the rounds. Given the size of the colony, that's a lot of fence, so he can escape the compound, and it's unwelcome scrutiny, for most of the day. Guzman and his team used to do it - but now they're all in the fields, so monitoring the safety of everyone from large, brutal bitey things is a one-man job these days.

Given that the fields cover the vast majority of the colony, the lack of people out there tending them is very worrying. Worse, even the people there are clearly being watched, so there's no hope of him going over to have a quiet word with one of the security team to see how things are going for them. It's ridiculous - they came here to escape this sort of garbage, didn't they?

His mood grim, Jim continues on his trek, working his way down through the carefully maintained gap between the fence line and the undergrowth that surrounds the fields. Well, the formerly carefully maintained gap: it's looking pretty rough here, and if they don't get a clearing crew in soon, then the undergrowth will butt up against the fence, and patrolling will become utterly impossible.

And does Parker give a damn? Does he even know that it could be a problem? Probably not - but then, all that Jim can do is report it and hope that he can get through that inertia.

At least things are better as he makes his way through the woodland area managed by Pete. Even though there aren't people patrolling the fence line anymore, he and Louis are absolutely fastidious about clearance of undergrowth. Apart from anything else, it's a part of their coppicing regime, and he doesn't want anyone to come a cropper thanks to bad management on his part. Jim picks up his pace a little, as he's almost at Yseult's compound. That means at least he'll get a decent cup of coffee given that Boylan's bar is a four hour walk away.

She's busy at the forge when he arrives, working on a repair by the look of it. Her assistant, Ben, is holding a long piece of iron with a set of tongs as she bashes away at the other end with a hammer, striking sparks and bits of burnt slag away from the glowing point with each blow. The noise is such that she won't hear him if he calls to her, so he waits for her to stop, before offering a greeting.

Yseult looks up and lifts her goggles, then smiles at him cheerfully. It's probably a front, of course, even though they're as disregarded by the new regime here as they were when Weaver showed up with his brigade. No one here's going to be spying on anyone else - but they all know what's really going on, "There's only one reason you'd be here, isn't there?"

"Hell yeah - coffee. ASAP." He grins back.

It doesn't take long to get the coffee pot going in the 'office' shed, and he sits back in Pete's office chair as Yseult perches on her desk, "It's getting bad out there. The fence line's going to have encroachment before long." He sighs, "I can run it past Parker, but I don't know if he's got the balls to do anything."

She looks concerned, "How close is it to being overrun? I can get some of my lot working on it if it's dangerous."

"I wouldn't." He warns, "If you take action without orders, you could find yourself in real trouble. Parker might not be doing anything, but he's taking issue with anyone who does. If you do something on your own initiative, he's going to see its as a challenge to his authority."

"That's insane."

"Yep. True, though." Jim pauses, "Things are getting worse in the Compound, Max - Parker's just sitting pretty and thinking that everything's gonna land in his lap. Even his pals are starting to get antsy - they want to be the new senior staff, and he's just keeping it all to himself. Last time I was in there, he was just giving orders and expecting people do to it. No thanks for anything, no asking nicely. If you want a poster-boy for power going to someone's head, you've got one right there."

"But what can we do?" Yseult asks, worriedly, "I know I'm down here all day every day - but even when I'm in the marketplace I can feel the tension. Everyone's scared - but no one knows who to trust. If people want to try and ingratiate themselves with Parker, then they can do it by informing on neighbours. I'm amazed no one's done it yet - it's the fastest known way to evade suspicion for something, redirect your accusers to someone else. It'll happen sooner or later."

Jim looks equally worried. That hasn't escaped his attention, either. He's seen it too many times out on the streets of Chicago, and it's not as though he's never read a history book, "We just have to sit tight, I guess, and look for a crack in the armour. I've got a couple of experts watching them - and as soon as they see something we can use, they'll let me know."

Even now, he doesn't dare to risk naming them. Just because there aren't any of Parker's thugs in the vicinity, doesn't mean no one's listening. Jesus - he's getting paranoid now.

"In some ways, I'm even more glad Malcolm's not here." Yseult admits again, "I dread to imagine what they might've done to him by now - he's not one for subtlety, and after what happened to his father, he gets very het up about political injustice."

"But you still wish he was, right?" Jim finishes, seeing her rather blurry eyes. He's not surprised when her answer is a nod; she's too close to tears to speak. He gets it - Maddy's just the same over Mark.

Rather than point it out, instead he hugs her close, "It sounds crazy - but he's in the safest place he can be right now. He's got a security team protecting him, Mira keeping 'em all alive and he's not exactly Mr Incompetent himself. We just keep it together until we find an opening, and then take the colony back. We've done it before, and we'll do it again."

"This time, with me helping." She adds with a watery smile.

Taylor stands beside Dunham and nods, "That looks pretty good. Stretch an awning over it to limit evaporation, and check over the water purifiers. I hate the taste of iodine." He is careful to frame it as a suggestion rather than an order.

As Mira had hoped, the rocks have come to their rescue again, a large gouge caused by a long-gone stream and a number of rock-falls has created a natural cistern, that is optimistically full of water. Unfortunately, it's mostly stagnant water - but they have the means to make it drinkable, so they can rely on that, and use the water condensers as an ongoing backup. They have enough to drink, enough to keep the waste compactors from getting too nasty, and even perhaps sufficient to allow the occasional wash to supplement the dry foam.

Now that he's taking the distillate regularly, Taylor is largely back to his old self - albeit with occasional memory lapses. The journey out to the camp is a shocking mess of blanks, as there are times when he can vividly recall incidents taking place - but others where he really can't remember a thing. Most of these absences appear to suggest that he was talking to Wash, and it's rather disturbing to realise just how many there seem to be. God above - he could've killed them all: thank heavens Mira came along; between the three of them, Mira, Malcolm and Dunham have kept the party largely alive.

There's no point regretting Wicks's death - it was an appalling accident caused by his illness; and he would never have allowed it to happen had he been fully compos mentis. As for that poor girl who was washed away - he is dismayed to realise that he's forgotten her name, so unaware was he of the party he was leading. Jesus, he should never have come - he's positively dangerous.

As he retreats back to the camp, he returns to his shelter and broods. He's always been pretty solidly against rule by committee - a military man through and through, he's seen the damage that he's been obliged to inflict thanks to committees; and he was perfectly content to lead from the front with the advice of his senior team. But now he's compromised - and that approach just isn't safe anymore. It looks like he's going to have to face the inevitable, and start laying the foundations for the future of the colony in a Post-Taylor Era. The last thing he wants when he meets his demise is to know that he's taking the colony with him.

Malcolm, of course, has been badgering him about it for years - he's never liked the whole 'military in charge' thing, and has never been backward about coming forward when it comes to offering his opinion on the matter. But, in the long run, he's right. While he's never seen himself as a King, Taylor is well aware that he is the leader, and his operation of Terra Nova along military lines is so utterly ingrained that the concept of doing it any other way seems quite impossible. The trouble is, the number of civilians now outnumbers the soldiers by a considerable margin, so the continuation of having a soldier in charge is becoming ever more untenable. He's going to have to start thinking about establishing a community council of some kind, and try and lay down some sort of constitutional document to protect the colony from anyone in future who might fancy their chances as a despot.

The sound of a vehicle entering the narrow gully rouses him from his contemplations and he emerges to see Reynolds and Travers lowering the ladders. Joining them, he waits for Malcolm and Mira to park up, retrieve their equipment and clamber back up onto their safe platform.

"Anything?" he asks, as soon as the pair have set down their bags.

"It looks like we've found the spot." Malcolm advises, leaning against a rock and stretching out his cramped legs, "There's a range of hills about three or four hours from here where an impact blew out a massive crater. It's mostly filled in now, but there look to be significant baldanite deposits - but there are mineral deposits in the hills which are preventing the radiation it's giving off from dissipating outwards. I've got some samples to see if I'm right, but it's almost certainly going to be a lead ore."

"And?" Taylor prompts.

"What that means is that there's a massive buildup of theta radiation in the depression - and that on its own would suggest that it's our ground zero. But we found a hell of a lot of additional evidence to back it up."

"Such as?"

Rather than answer, Mira fetches out her plex, checks that the images have saved, and then hands it over.

Slowly, Taylor works his way through the pictures: wreckage of wooden ships, bleached metal hulls, and then that aircraft… "Christ, that's a lot of wrecks."

"The aircraft has a number, Commander." Mira advises, "If you give me a few minutes, I can track down the aircraft history."

"Get yourselves some chow and water first." Taylor orders, "We can sit down with the research later."

He snorts with mild amusement at their looks of relief.

Night falls with that inevitable suddenness of deserts, and everyone is now sitting around one of the larger heaters, as the temperature has fallen equally quickly. While Malcolm has work to do to identify the mineral he's mentioned - though it's more an academic exercise than essential for knowledge - Mira has already found the information they wanted about the plane.

"I knew it was a DC3," she begins, "so what I've done is run it through some databases. I downloaded them into our data banks in case we found anything like this."

Taylor looks surprised, but approving.

"It was a passenger plane," she continues, "but it was on a positioning flight, so it only had the crew on board at the time. It took off from Fort Lauderdale, en route to Havana, but it was lost from radar screens somewhere over the Caribbean sea. The wreckage was never found, and there was no indication of problems other than communication problems owing to static. That resolved after about ten minutes - but then, eight minutes later, it was lost."

"Sounds like it was caught in a portal, doesn't it?" Taylor agrees, "When did it happen?"

"September 1978." She pauses, and frowns, "That kind of blows the thirty years thing out of the water, doesn't it?"

"Not really." Malcolm says, "The thirty years thing is a generalisation - it won't be like clockwork. Sometimes something'll happen that might temporarily speed up the rate of buildup - perhaps a landslide uncovering more baldanite - and it happens sooner than usual, or maybe covers some up, so it's late. In this case, it was five years late: nature never does things to a fixed calendar the way that we do. In some ways, this is our chance to work out how much radiation's needed to fire a portal, so that we have a good indicator of when it's going to open. It's the same now - it could happen today, tomorrow - or next week. There's no way to know; but once I have measurements, I'll have the means to make better forecasts so a team can be ready to help if someone is pulled through and survives."

Taylor nods. He's always thought of Malcolm as a 'science it to oblivion' kind of man - but in this case, it couldn't be clearer that there's a completely altruistic reason for his study. It might've been a research expedition when they set out, but not now. Now that he knows for sure that people can survive the trip though, what matters to him above all is that no one has to endure what the crew of the Polly Constance endured - a fate that came horribly close to befalling him, too.

"I've set up sensors in the crater, and at the edge, with relays to get the signal back to us." He continues, briskly, "As soon as anything starts to happen, we'll know. We just have to sit tight, and wait."

"For how long?" Mira asks, keenly, "Our supplies aren't going to last forever."

"I've checked the inventory, Ma'am." Dunham interjects, "I've set aside stocks of rations for the journey back based on what we used coming in. What's left'll last us a week and a half - make it two if we don't go crazy."

"And how are we doing for stocks of my garbage-tasting meds?" Taylor turns to Paula.

She smiles at his not entirely inaccurate joke, "We've got a good stock from Bram's extractions, Commander. There should be just about enough to last as long as the rations do, as long as we're careful."

Malcolm, on the other hand, looks worried, "I don't know how long this is going to last for, Commander - but I can't leave here until the portal's fired up. If it does bring something through, and there are survivors, then we have to be here. I couldn't live with myself if we left someone to die in that crater. I really couldn't."

"If it's a choice between possible deaths and certain deaths, then I'm going to have to prevent the certain deaths every time, Malcolm." Taylor reminds him, "We're not going to be much use to survivors if we're on the edge of dying ourselves."

"I know - but…"

"Believe me." Taylor looks at his worried colleague, "I don't want to abandon people here either - but if we run out of rations, we leave. I know we can last longer without food than water - but lack of nutrition leads to tiredness, which leads to bad decision making. If those sensors haven't spiked by the time we need to leave, then we leave."

He is not surprised when Malcolm gets up and walks away. Irksome though it is, he gets why; but it's a stark reality. He's got to balance the needs of the expedition against the needs of people who may, or may not, come through a wormhole that may, or may not, open in the next few days. Of course, he hasn't read that logbook, and he hasn't faced near death from thirst - but nonetheless, he has to make that call - and should the need arise, he'll damn well make it.

It's strange how quickly that short cycle ride back from her compound to her home has changed from a pleasant interlude to an unnerving journey into uncertainty. Even though it's only happened the once, that unpleasant encounter with one of Parker's associates has singularly rattled her, and Yseult feels very uncomfortable as she pedals her bike along the track.

She's not the only one - several other women in the community have found themselves facing unwanted attention from men who were, until recently, far more gentlemanly than they seem to be now. They've been held in check by the conventions of the colony - but those conventions have been upended, and those who have friends in the right places no longer feel that necessary restraint, or fear consequences if they ignore it.

At least she has the pleasure of being reunited with Erin, who has spent a happy day engaged in constructive play with the other toddlers in the nursery. Everyone's doing their best to conceal the tension from the youngest colonists, and certainly the majority of the children seem unaffected, though Elisabeth is worried that the children of the new ruling faction have begun throwing their weight around, too.

Her daughter's speech is improving all the time, and she is now capable of simple sentences that can convey basic concepts such as having had a nice day, been require to eat buttered squash at lunchtime, which she loathes, and discussing the activities she has engaged in. Yseult reciprocates by telling Erin what she's done, and speculating over what her daddy's done while he's away. It could be anything - but even pretending that he's engaged in heroic combat with polka-dotted yellow dragons is better than silence over his whereabouts. God, she misses him.

It's even worse once Erin is in bed, and she's got no one to snuggle with on the sofa. She is used to a very tactile relationship with her husband, and to not have him nearby is an aching void that she longs to fill. That they are in the midst of a great upheaval in the colony that he knows nothing about just makes it worse.

Pete has taken to dropping in occasionally to keep her company, which she appreciates, and the sound of a knock on the door is welcome. What is not welcome, however, is that same bulky brute who made suggestive comments to her, standing on the other side.

"What do you want?" her voice is half hostile, half nervous. She stands behind the door, looking out so that he can't stare at her body. It's not that she's inappropriately dressed - just that even a suit of armour isn't going to stop him from doing that whole visual undressing thing.

"Security search." He says, though his expression suggests otherwise, "Stand aside."

He's got to be joking - there's no one else present. So there's no way in hell that she's going to comply, "On what grounds?"

"For security." He says, as though she is toweringly moronic and lacks the intelligence to understand him.

"Not unless you have a security team with you." She answers, trying to speak firmly, "If you haven't got a warrant, then you can't come in."

He has no warrant, of course, but he weighs more than she does, and the force of his shove makes it clear that legalities are irrelevant.

Stumbling back, Yseult stares at him, "Who the hell do you think you are? Get out of my house!" It's not going to happen again. She's not going to let it happen again…

The man - God, what's his name? Jackson isn't it? She can't remember - stands in the open doorway, and again looks at her with that unpleasant expression that scared her the last time. Rather than cower, however, she reaches for the sword she forged after Niall died, which is mounted on a stand atop a nearby sideboard. Whatever it takes, she'll protect herself and her daughter. Even if she has to kill the man who has taken it upon himself to enter her home.

"I said," she advances, the sharp blade held firmly before her, "Get. Out. Of. My. House."

He smirks, convinced she won't use it, "You don't mean that." And his arm is stretching out, hand extended…

Panic takes over, and she lashes with the blade, "Get out of my house! Get out! Get out!"

Volume alone is enough to catch attention, but the angry roar he lets out as her blade slices into his forearm is a powerful ground under the higher pitch of her scream, and doors are opening all along the gravelled street. It's enough to deter him, and, clasping his arm to his chest, he bolts, leaving her slumped against the doorframe, trembling from head to foot. Why her? Why is he doing this to her? Is it something about her that makes men want to exert power over her in some way? Or is it just them? Or what?

She can't begin to figure it out, but her legs buckle, and she sinks to the floor in tears as her neighbours emerge and come to her aid.

Jim is furious. Fuming. Enraged. Whatever one wishes to call it. While he's aware that a number of single women, be they unmarried, separated from loved ones or - even worse - widowed, have reported low level harassment, Yseult having her house forcibly entered is the most serious attempt yet. His primary concern is that, had she not had that sword handy, she might not have been able to prevent him from harming her. What the hell's going on - is there something in the water? Admittedly, living in such a small community is going to lead to people finding out if someone tried it while Taylor was in charge and there was a clear system of rules in place, but why do people feel it's okay to do it now?

Based on the descriptions, it's only a very small number - three at the most - who are engaged in such ghastly behaviour. The others are throwing their weight around, too - but at least they're not leaving the female colonists afraid to open their doors at night. The worst of it is that there's absolutely nothing he can do about it. Given the authority - which he once had - he would've slung the three of 'em into the brig and threatened them all with spending rest of their lives on cesspit duties. Now, however, all he is allowed to do is report it to Parker, and sit helplessly while nothing is done.

The latest missive from Boylan isn't helping much - he's in, yes, but they're not trusting him to the extent that he needs in order to be absolutely certain that he can operate with something akin to impunity. All he can do is report that the garden is becoming progressively less rosy with each passing day, as the band of seven men who plotted to run the colony now consists of one man and six griping hangers-on who haven't had their promised piece of the pie.

Certainly Yseult has been so shaken by the invasion of her home - and he knows it's Tom Jackson who did it - that she has retreated to stay with Maddy, and they now house-share, giving one another reassurance, and secure in the knowledge that they are only a few doors away from the Shannons if they need assistance. That none of the perpetrators are facing even the smallest degree of censure does nothing to assure them that they are safe - and she now travels to her compound on foot, escorted by Pete, or Ben, or Louis, rather than rides there on her bike.

He's been around the colony again in the last couple of days, and things are getting worse around the fence line. While it's not going to enable a carno to get in - or even a slasher, come to that - smaller creatures could well be able to sneak in undetected, and that could cause all sorts of havoc. He's seen the sort of gaps ovosaurs can get through, particularly youngsters. He needs a team of experienced loppers to cut back the vegetation to a safe distance without damaging the plants themselves - hell, even a team of security guards with sickles will do at this point - but Parker just seems to expect him to organise it, and no one who isn't already working in the fields will listen to him. As far as they're concerned, it's a great opportunity to get paid for doing jack - standing around, going to Boylan's to get coffee and insult Josh, and believe themselves to be far more important than they really are. Yeah - once Taylor's back, he's looking forward to watching them cleaning out the sewage treatment plants.

Still, Parker expects him to report, even if he doesn't do anything in response to them, so he trudges up the steps towards the Command Centre, ignoring the scowls from the heavies that guard the way. As he climbs, he can hear raised voices - though what's being said is largely masked by the sheer degree of colourful language that is liberally seasoning the argument. All he can fathom with any certainty is that someone is most definitely not happy with someone else. Rather than risk being caught eavesdropping, however, he hangs back until the joint tirades of expletives draw to a halt. Chances are that he'll end up in the brig if they think he's been listening.

Eventually, matters draw to a close with neither side apparently victorious, or defeated. Instead, the doors slam open, and Tom Jackson emerges in a clear state of high dudgeon, elbowing his way past everyone as he descends, his face the very picture of 'being like thunder'. While Jim has no idea what they were arguing about, he can guess; and leaves it a bit longer before resuming his ascent to find out if there's any damage up there.

Parker looks flustered, and a little tipsy. There is a tang of cider in the air, which suggests that he's been rather busy sampling some of Boylan's finest, and it's clear that there was some sort of tropical idyll going on before Jackson barged in and wrecked it, "What do you want?"

"Er, just reporting in. The fence line…"

"Screw the fence line. If you haven't got anything else to tell me, you can get the hell out." Ah - perhaps the alcohol is to cushion the effects of heavy responsibility. Things aren't the easy ride he was expecting, and now he's resorted to booze to hide from it. It wouldn't be the first time Jim's seen someone crumble under the weight of authority. Even if he did expect everyone to carry him, finding out that they won't is one hell of a rude awakening, it seems.

With nothing else to report, however, Jim retreats. It's astonishing - he's seeing the entire life cycle of a failed revolution at high speed. Most forcibly installed regimes take a bit longer than this to fall apart. But then, Terra Nova is something of a world community in microcosm, so it looks as though the rise and fall of a dictator happens at the speed of a fruit fly's life cycle as well. The one good thing about that is that it means they might have nipped the whole damn thing in the bud by the time Taylor gets back - assuming, of course, that he's not gone completely off into fairyland by the time he does.

Boylan is delivering another one of his smaller aluminum kegs by the time he's at the bottom of the stairs, and he watches as one of the stronger guards hefts it upstairs to deliver it to the already drunk man within. While he knows that those who most crave power are usually the ones least fitted to wield it, to describe Parker as the poster-child for the concept - on top of the other concepts that they've made him the poster-child for - seems appropriate.

He watches as Boylan gives him the required scowl and superior look, before returning to his small brewery, and makes his way back through the market place. Casey's stall isn't as well stocked as usual, and he has fewer customers as a result - but then they just distract him from his spying, so perhaps it's not all bad. He doesn't catch Jim's eye as he sits quietly in his power-chair, but nonetheless they acknowledge one another and their shared purpose. All Jim can do is keep his head down, and await another edible missive from his spies.

The atmosphere at the dinner table is subdued to say the least. While Elisabeth has cooked an excellent dinner, and the diners have certainly demolished it, conversation is sparse and dies out as quickly as it begins. Even the little ones are picking up on it, as both Elisabeth Rose and Erin have been very quiet, too. Ironically, it's supposed to be a reassuring family gathering for Maddy, Zoe and Yseult to escape the unnerving sense of oppression at home.

Parker emerged from his eyrie briefly during the afternoon to shout furiously at the people down in the market below - some incoherent rant about how they were all ungrateful for his leadership, how they all deserved to be in the brig - no, expelled entirely for such ingratitude - and that if things didn't improve, he'd be expecting confessions from the conspirators that were doubtless lurking amongst the gathered people. It would've been comical had it not been a reasonable assumption that he might well follow through on the threat if so minded.

Consequently, everywhere's absolutely dead tonight. Josh has closed the bar early and gone over to Skye's Mother's place for the evening, as she is as worried as every other single woman in the colony. In the space of a week, they've transformed from a vibrant community into a captive population afraid of every shadow - for fear of punishments that haven't even been carried out yet. It seems that Parker is too indolent even to bother sending people to the brig. As he's not delegated that responsibility, no one knows for sure if they have the authority to do it either, so threats are delivered, but not carried out. Well, not yet, anyway. In some ways it's something of a minor miracle that no one's been locked up.

Both Maddy and Yseult are clearly nervous of going back to the Reynolds house alone - which annoys Jim all the more. This is supposed to be a safe place, but people are now feeling so threatened that they don't want to be outside at night - it's crazy. Even more crazy - he's not comfortable being outside on his own in front of the scrutiny of hostile eyes. How the hell did that happen so quickly?

And he has no answer.

The sun is bright and already quite high as Jim emerges for his morning run. Usually, the early shift is busy, but that weird self-imposed curfew has truly bedded in, and even the most dedicated stallholders are nervous to be out and about. His own sense of discomfort is remarkably strong, as he feels as though he's not meant to be outside - but no one has demanded people stay indoors, so he is at least attempting to create an example. Not that it's a particularly good one.

By the time he returns, he's seen not a single soul - not even the hangers on - and his home is very uncharacteristically quiet. Zoe is usually far more cheerful than she is today, and that cuts deep. She hasn't been like this since they were in Chicago - and he finds it hard to see her so subdued.

Instead she looks over her homework silently, checking what she's written for both content and spelling; as though that is a helpful solace in an unfriendly world. He catches Elisabeth's eye, and she looks equally worried; Zoe has always been highly sensitive to the moods of those around her, and even though she has largely lost that credulity she had as a child, that's been replaced with a great deal of perceptiveness that he's convinced she's mostly inherited from her mother. There's no way she'd miss the changes that have swept her home, as it's even being played out to some extent at school.

For the first time in nearly a year, she doesn't demur when he offers to walk her to class, and they dawdle together in worrying silence. As they make their way to the school, however, Jim can sense it - something's wrong. Something's changed overnight - but he can't figure out what it is.

Seeing her into the school, Jim makes his way back to the marketplace - and his foreboding becomes worse. There's no sign of life up at the Command Centre, and even the usual heavies don't seem to be around. After a week of lording it in his privileged hidey-hole, Parker seems to be nowhere in sight. Jim's been a cop for long enough to know that this isn't a good thing - and his worry jacks up another notch or six.

In spite of himself, he wants to know for sure what's going on; but that pervasive sense of discomfort at how things are makes him highly nervous of doing so on his own - if something has gone south, the last thing he wants is to be blamed for it. If he's going disturb Parker, then he wants an audience to vouch for his motives.

Yes - he's definitely getting paranoid. But nonetheless, better safe than sorry. Fortunately - as though on cue - Reilly hoves into view, crossing the marketplace on her way out to the fields to take up whatever crappy job she's been given to replace her usual work in security.

"Hey, Mr Shannon."

"Hey, Reilly - can I ask a favour?"

She looks intrigued, "Sure - what do you need?"

"A reliable witness."

The pair walk together though to the residential area where Parker lives. No one has better accommodation here than anyone else, so he's not moved out of the house he had before he declared himself the effective King of Terra Nova. It's likely that he would've wanted to - but where would he go?

The one thing that has marked him out, however, has been the presence of a couple of his personal thugs outside the door - presumably in return for some sort of privilege or other - high wages, perhaps, or the promise of more of a say in the running of the colony. God knows. What is more important is the fact that neither of them are there - normally they're there all the time, as though they were guarding Buckingham Palace. Frowning, Jim turns to Reilly, who shrugs in equal confusion. Nervously, he knocks - and gets no response.

Their presence is catching interest, and people are gathering, wondering what's going on, unsure of what to do. Hoping to avoid the risk of being creatively 'blamed' for some calamity or other, Jim turns to the arrivals, "Anyone seen Mr Parker today?"

He can see people exchanging glances, looking at one another in as much ignorance as his own - though whether it's genuine or not is another matter. At least he's got a crowd now.

Another knock. More silence. This is getting scary: he's kicked down doors with angry dealers on the other side, armed to the teeth and keen to kill the first person through, but he doesn't want to do it with someone who can't do anything at all without someone standing behind him and looking tough? Enough, already. Cross now, Jim squares his shoulders, and punches the override.

The house is dark, and still. It's like there's no one in - but if Parker's not in, and he isn't in the Command Centre, then where the hell is he?

Slowly, carefully, the two explore room by room, until Reilly looks into the bedroom, "Mr Shannon. He's in here."

Her expression says it all.

Neither of them go in - it's all too obvious that the occupant is deceased, and they neither of them want to risk being accused of being the cause. Instead, Jim reaches for his comm unit, "Elisabeth - we need you at Parker's house."

"I'll be there as quick as I can. What's wrong with him?"

"He's dead."