A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Hossfan - your questions will be answered shortly! Leona, fear not, this is the last chapter of part two, and this is a three part tale, so there's another part to come. And as if I'd dare kill off Commander Taylor - the very idea! ;-)

The fun part here is making up science-y stuff. It's probably complete nonsense; but, frankly, this is fiction, so science can do whatever it wants. So there! :-)

Enjoy!

Chapter Eighteen

Spikes

Taylor sits quietly in the shade from the outcrop that protects their camp from the sun and watches quietly as everyone around him gets on with their work. It's been hard to stop giving orders - even framing those orders as suggestions or ideas - and that very difficulty is giving him cause for concern.

He's always tuned out Malcolm's gripes about democracy and accountability, in much the same way as he used to tune out the man himself when he first arrived. They're two very different people, used to operating in very different ways. Sure, the Doctor has mellowed almost beyond recognition in the years that he's been in the Cretaceous - to his mind, it's not possible to come to Terra Nova and not be changed by the place - both thanks to the nature of his work, and the fact that he took up with Yseult; but that principle remains very strong in the man, and Taylor is beginning to come to the realisation that, to a large degree, he's right.

He sips at his water, rendered unpleasant by another dose of that distillate that's keeping him from losing his marbles again, and sighs to himself. If Doctor Shannon can't cure him when he gets back, or - if the damage is too far gone - he's not fit to continue to lead, then what the hell happens to the Colony? The leadership of Terra Nova has always been based on a military model, largely because the first people to come through were military. Once he became unfit to lead, he'd always assumed that a new commander would be appointed and come through the portal to take over.

And then reality had struck, as the men who had bankrolled the entire enterprise in hopes of profit finally took steps to collect on their investment. With the loss of that conduit for new colonists, and a new leader, Taylor has always put the problem of succession to the back of his mind - even when that problem has been set square in his lap by his own senior team. No one wants to consider their own mortality - even a man who's faced it as often as he has. The outbreak of peace in the Colony drove such morbidity to the back of his mind, and he made the mistake of sitting pretty. That can't continue - but how the hell does he hand over power, and to whom?

He can see Mira busy cleaning her pocket sextant and checking the sight. As she looks up from her work, he catches her eye and beckons her over.

"Commander." Her voice is respectful, and has lost that dreadful stiffness that marked their conversations from the moment she turned her back upon the Colony to fulfil the task for which she had been recruited. In response to his gestured invitation, she sits beside him.

"I don't think I've thanked you sufficiently for keeping this expedition alive, Mira." He says, quietly.

She shrugs, "I had two reasons to be here - to be a guide, and to keep the expedition alive." There's a slight, amused twitch of the lips.

He sits back, "I don't think there's a place for people like us in Terra Nova anymore."

"Us?" she asks.

"Independent minded. Commanders - people who lead without question." His eyes are distant, "We need a militia, sure, but who looks after the Colony after I'm gone?"

"And you've only just thought of this?" Mira looks amused.

He shakes his head, "No - I've only just accepted it. It's always been shoved to the back of my mind. I started this place running - protected it when I found out what was intended for it. Trouble is - I can't keep it shoved to the back of my mind anymore. Not when my mind's falling apart."

"We've stopped that."

"For how long?" he turns and looks at her now, "How much damage has it done already? Yeah, you've stopped it getting any worse, but what if the damage is too deep? I've got blanks in my mind that stretch back for weeks - and there's no guarantee that's gonna improve when we get back and Doctor Shannon gets to work on me. I can't lead if I can't trust myself not to go crazy again - so who leads instead of me?"

Mira doesn't answer at first, clearly thinking the problem over. In spite of their differences with one another, there's that equality - that sense of being 'the one in absolute charge' - that unites them. Each is used to having the entire control over their communities, and being absolutely unquestioned in doing so. That is no longer appropriate for the community that remains - a growing civilian population that doesn't take so kindly to military discipline.

"I think the time's come to hand over control to the civilians." She says, eventually, "It'll be hard - they won't necessarily go the way we expect them to, or want them to - but if this place is going to survive in the face of everything that's ranged against it, the sooner we get people running it who were here from the beginning, the better. If we don't, then there's no leadership legacy to build on - and we end up with people in charge who haven't any idea how the colony works. Everyone reports only to you, don't they?"

He nods, "They do - but you need to have someone in charge."

"Yes, that's true - and there's always the danger of that someone being someone who shouldn't be; but that's the risk you take with democracy, isn't it?"

Taylor looks up at the outcrop above their heads, "I guess so. I just see what we've built, and I don't want to leave it to fall into ruin. There are a lot of lives resting on this place succeeding."

"Then the sooner you take steps to lay some foundations to prevent the place collapsing, the better." Mira comments, though her expression suggests she knows full well she's not telling him anything he hasn't figured out for himself already. Perhaps she sees that as her job in all of this. It's not that he doesn't know he should do it: he does. It's just that he doesn't want to face it, "You've got a senior staff who support you all the way - and they're loyal. They know how the Colony works just like you do."

"Yeah, I know." His smile widens, "Let 'em educate another leader while I sit back with a cocktail. Retirement doesn't suit me, Mira."

She laughs, "Not even with a paper umbrella in the cocktail?"

He snorts with equal amusement, "If there's an olive in it, I might think about it."

"And about the Colony?"

"Sure."

Elisabeth's expression is grim as she emerges from the bedroom, "I don't think this was down to natural causes, Jim." She says, quietly, "I can't say for certain at this point what the cause was, but I don't like the bruising around his mouth and nose. It looks almost as though he was smothered - but I need to check for defence injuries. I can't believe he didn't struggle if someone was stopping him from breathing."

While this is much more his territory, Jim remains nervous. If it really is murder, then the last thing he wants in the current, febrile atmosphere is to set off a bout of wild finger-pointing. He's been in situations like this in Chicago, and they never end well. While Parker has spent most of his short time at the helm being invisible and - latterly - drunk, those who helped him to grasp the leadership of the Colony have been entirely more active, and his sudden death could well spark a dangerous amount of infighting that might lead to yet more deaths. He may be no politician, but he's a damned good cop, so at least he's no longer feeling he's completely out of his depth.

Already he is busy thinking of his next move. His suspicions are leaning very much to an act of violence, and assembling a list of potential suspects. Given what he already knows about Parker's activities, that list is not particularly long, but until he has a firm assessment of what really happened, that's as far as he can go. He sighs inwardly, it's at times like this that he could really use a CSI. Elisabeth's autopsy can tell them how he died, but not a great deal more than that.

The sound of footsteps at the door captures his attention, and he turns to see Tom Jackson, with two of those heavy-built men entering the house, "What's going on?" he glares at Reilly, "You should be in the fields. Get out."

She pauses briefly to look at Jim, who nods: best not to provoke the man. Her expression bland, though he knows she's angry at the order, she departs.

"Well?" Jackson glares at Jim, "Why are you in here?"

"I was passing." He says, refusing to sound intimidated, "There were no guards outside, so I knocked and got no answer. When I punched the override, we found him in the bedroom." He nods at the doorway, "He's dead."

His expression still hostile, Jackson makes his way to the door and looks in, "Right." He says, "You've done your duty. Get back to work."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. You found him: he's dead. We'll deal with it."

"We need to do the autopsy - find a cause of death."

"Looks like natural causes to me. He went to bed and carked it."

Jim frowns, worriedly; what the hell is Jackson doing? While it's pretty damned obvious that he's already manoeuvring to take over, if he doesn't want to have people trying to fight him for it, then he's not going about it in the right way. Does he really think people will just accept his word? Particularly given that Elisabeth's already come and seen the body? If nothing else, that'll spark questions - particularly once the other men who might want a piece of the pie find out.

He sags inwardly. Of course that's what he's doing. Parker's dead - and Jackson's the only one who knows. No wonder he wants everything shut down on this - but what really worries him now is who is going to be the scapegoat for this if Jackson wants to push the 'murder' card. As long as he sticks with the 'natural causes' excuse, people will be safe - and that's what counts right now.

Rather than precipitate an accusation, Jim opts to retreat, beckoning Elisabeth to join him. She doesn't object - she senses the risk just as he does. Chances are that there'll be a funeral before the day's out, and any chance of knowing what really happened will be buried with the body. They're being watched as they go, but he doesn't need to ask his wife to act as though they're doing as they're told, and not discussing the matter. She's no fool: they can fret about their discovery when they get home.

Needless to say, as soon as the door is shut, Elisabeth turns to him, "Believe me, that wasn't natural causes, Jim. Even my preliminary examination suggests it wasn't. I'm still considering the smothering theory - primarily because I managed to get a glimpse inside his mouth: his upper labial frenulum was torn."

"Which means…what, exactly?" Jim asks, a little nonplussed.

"A frenulum is a flap of skin which holds organs together." Elisabeth explains, "The one I mean is the one that holds your upper lip to your gums."

Immediately, he pushes at the one in his mouth with his tongue, and shudders at the thought of it being torn.

"It's not that difficult to damage - it's just a flap of skin - but couple that with the bruising around the mouth and nose, and I'd say that someone stood over him and pinched his nose while blocking his mouth. The tear occurred while he struggled to free himself. It's not conclusive, I know - but as far as I'm concerned, Bob Parker was murdered. Without the means to check for DNA samples under his fingernails, though, I can't give you any suggestions as to who was responsible."

"I've got about six firm suspects." Jim admits, "Parker pissed off the guys who pushed for him - and there are too many people who were trying to get in with him by being bodyguards and all of that crap who might've done the dirty work for someone else. I'm willing to put every salary credit I've got - and all my remaining terras - on it being one of them. The only things is - there's no way to know which one it was."

"Tom Jackson?" Elisabeth asks, "He was the first on the scene, after all."

He shakes his head, "I don't want to go down that route - it could've been dumb luck that he was passing. Chances are the killer wanted the word to get out before supposedly stepping up and taking charge. It could be that Jackson got there first - but if that's the case, I wouldn't rule out more violence until they sort it out between themselves. I can't protect the colonists from that if I don't have a security team."

"I doubt people are going to be outside while that's going on." Elisabeth sits down on the couch, "It leaves us blind again, though, doesn't it?"

Jim sighs, and sits alongside her, "Boylan's gonna have to start all over again with whoever takes charge next. God, this is crazy - I thought this sort of nonsense happened more slowly."

"There's barely twelve hundred of us, Jim." She reminds him, "Fewer people to subdue, I suppose. Once people found out that they were going to get beaten up if they protested, they shut their mouths pretty quickly - and there are always people who want to protect themselves by redirecting hostility towards others. It just happens more quickly in a community of this size. No matter how much we want to believe that we're better than we were in the Holocene, events have proved that we just carried the problems here with us. It's up to us to recognise that and rethink how we live - but not everyone's done that."

He slips his arm across her shoulders, "I suppose we assumed everyone in agriculture was living in FarmVille, right?"

She nods, "We're happy - so it's easy to assume that everyone else is, too. The men who were looking to step into the place of Commander Taylor were doing basic things like tree lopping and fruit picking. People like us must've looked like we were living in another world. It looks idyllic - but it's hardly challenging to the intellect, is it? Here are you and I, reporting to the Commander, making decisions that affect the lives of colonists, while the most difficult choice they're allowed to make is whether a pear's ripe enough to pick."

"Maybe they should be recognised for that." Jim muses, "I know I can't tell when something's ripe - and God help any plant I try to prune."

"Perhaps." She smiles back at him, fondly, "But first we have to get through to them that they need to go back to doing it."

Jim looks nervous. She's right - but then it's pretty obvious. The problem is that nothing short of a major disaster's going to do that - and that's he last thing that he wants.

Malcolm reviews Dunham's inventory with care, partly because he wants to be sure that they can survive here for as long as possible, and partly because he doesn't have much else to do. The probes he left behind are still signalling, and showing intense levels of radiation that should - all things being equal - be triggering a portal. He's read all of the papers that were written at the time that the artificial portal was opened, and certainly the radiation in the hollow is more than enough to spark one off. The only problem is, he has no idea if there's something specific that triggers a wormhole, or whether it just gets to the point that it can't take any more and just spontaneously sparks into life, in the same way that a buildup of charge in a thundercloud has to drain somewhere, and so emits a lightning strike.

Between them, Dunham, Mira and Paula have worked out a careful regime of rations that will keep them at their peak, while not creating any wastage. Even so, the most that he can do is remain there for another week and a half, before they must leave if they're going to get back to the colony before the rations run out. God, it's frustrating.

Closing down the inventory file, he summons up some images of his wife and daughter, and looks through them for a while. No matter how interesting the investigation, no matter how determined he is to prove a decent leader - the one thing that cuts through it all is just how deeply he misses them both. There was a time when he had no one, and thus this would've proved to be nothing more than a major outbreak of science - but that was then, and he was the poorer for it. That said, he really has left most of his heart at home.

He looks across to where Bram is working on another batch of distillate, aiming to improve the purity so that the extracts they have will last as long as possible. There's no guarantee that the stocks will be sufficient to get them back to the Colony, and none of them want to have to try and contain Taylor again if they don't have to. It's not good to keep someone sedated long-term. Besides, no one knows how close they are to the point of no return with the damage to the Commander's brain, and the worst thing would be for them to reach home, only to find that Elisabeth can't do anything at all.

Regardless of his complaints about the lack of representation for ordinary colonists, Malcolm is well aware that there really isn't anyone who could replace Taylor. Not yet, at least. The entire setup of the place revolves around his leadership, so what the hell do they do once that leadership is lost? Most people would probably look to Jim - himself included - but would the Shannon Patriarch want to shoulder that responsibility? Probably not - though he would be more than capable of doing so if the need arose. He's quick thinking, able to make difficult decisions, and has that remarkable affability that has won him friends, and respect, across the Colony. He just wouldn't want to do it. Malcolm is not blind to the phenomenon of the least capable leaders being the most desperate to try.

Almost instinctively, he reaches out and touches his fingertips to the close up of Yseult's face. He has become so used to her presence, and that sense of endless tactile contact between them that its absence fills him with a deep, lonely aching that no amount of pictures and daydreaming can assuage.

Again, as it does every ninety seconds, the main probe that he left behind in the crater clicks to remind him that it's still working properly. Idly, he sets the plex aside and looks at the readings: still stable - though the particle count has gone up slightly. He needs instability - that's what'll almost certainly trigger the wormhole into life - but that's the one thing he's not getting. And thus he is obliged to sit around and wait for something that might happen in the next minute, or the next hour. Or not until next year - he just doesn't know. How much more things can continue before something tips the balance and sends things wobbling, is anyone's guess. Perhaps he should take bets, or something.

He is distracted by the tinkling of glass as test-tubes are gathered together, "That's the last of the roots, Malcolm." Bram advises, sounding tired, "I've got this as pure as it's going to go, so hopefully we can use smaller doses. I'll transfer these samples into a bottle for Paula."

"That's great. Thanks Bram." While he is grateful, inwardly he curses a little. Having that work to do kept his assistant focused on something other than his grief. Without that, there are no other projects that he can hand over to keep that going. Bram's not a physicist - he's a bio-chemist - so measuring particle emission will only go so far as he can see what's being emitted, but he lacks the direct expertise to interpret what those emissions might mean. Trying not to sigh too loudly, he looks at the readings again, "Woah."

"What?" Bram looks up, pausing from his pouring so as not to spill anything.

"The particle count's gone up again. I think we're getting close - it's almost like a domino effect. It reaches a certain point of saturation, and then things start to go out of control, as though the existing accumulation is fuelling decay at a faster rate. God, is that even possible?" Intrigued, he starts tapping at his plex, making calculations. No - that's not possible, but it may be that something within whatever isotope the baldanite is becoming does throw out particles more quickly. The trouble is, not being present to examine the site, he can't say for sure if it's true. What he can be sure of, however, is that something's going on - and it's likely that he's witnessing the first stirrings of the trigger.

"I think it's starting, Bram." Reaching for his comm unit, he flicks it on, "Commander Taylor, I think you might want to see this."

There's been nothing all day. No news, no rumours. No people, really. As soon as word got round that Parker was dead, everyone retreated to their homes, battening down the hatches against any unpleasantness that might arise. So far, no one's come to see him - in spite of his expectations, as he is the only one who can get into the weapons store - and he has spent the entire time wondering nervously whether there are likely to be more deaths before someone does.

Elisabeth is doing her best to distract Zoe, working with her on her latest homework project, as the school certainly isn't open. He isn't surprised that it's not working. None of his kids are dumb, and Zoe is by far the most alert to the moods and concerns of others. Consequently, she speaks quietly, and only in response to Elisabeth's questions.

The chances are that no one's in the fields, either, which will really worry Chris: who, after all, is monitoring the pest control stations, or the irrigation systems? In the light of his discussions with Elisabeth, Jim can see now why the staff who look after those functions weren't amongst the rebellious mob; their work has that scientific cachet that links them to Parker's ephemeral 'elite'. He wasn't interested in their support - not when he had a large number of people who spend their days looking after trees and crops to turn to.

He's helping Elisabeth set out some dinner when there's finally a knock on the door, and he opens it to find one of the fruit pickers outside - what was his name again? Peck, or something.

"The Boss wants to see you."

Jim fights with him self not to roll his eyes. Another 'boss', then. He wonders how many bruises and cuts that cost. He is tempted to ask this new 'boss' to wait while he has his dinner; but he doesn't want Zoe to be obliged to watch him being punched. Elisabeth wouldn't appreciate it either, "Fair enough." He indicates that the man should go, and he follows.

He is not surprised to find that the occupant of Taylor's desk is now Tom Jackson. What does surprise him, however, is that the rest of the previous 'inner circle' of discontents that used to meet in Boylan's are also present. It looks as though, this time, the man at the top means to keep hold of the power he's got - and that makes him a far more dangerous prospect than Parker. God alone knows what'll happen now when Taylor gets back.

"I don't have the combination to the weapons store, Mr Shannon." He says, coldly, "Give it to me."

"Is the colony under threat?" Jim retorts. The last thing he wants to do is hand it over. This man seems far less likely to miss it if he changes it after he's done so.

"The colony's always under threat."

As Jackson sits back, Jim begins to feel a nasty suspicion rising at the back of his mind. Parker was utterly disinterested in handing over power to his colleagues - and spent his time loafing around while others did the business of keeping the populace quiet. Perhaps they let him rouse the Colony - and then shoved him aside once they felt secure to do it. Hell - he's got no choice; there's no argument he can make against a paranoid assertion of danger everywhere.

Forcing himself not to look discontented, he nods, "674493841"

"Good. Now, get out. You'll report to the fields from tomorrow."

Jim stares at Jackson, startled, "The fields?"

"Those things with crops in. You know what those are, surely? You're not required for security duties: I have a security team. All non-essential personnel will be ordered to report to the fields from tomorrow."

He knows it won't help to ask who the 'security' men are. Annoyed, but knowing better than to show it, he departs.

Elisabeth's expression is not happy as she sets out the breakfast things, "I've had a message through on my plex - everyone who isn't essential to the running of the infirmary has to go out to the fields. It's like they're replacing their friends with other people so that they can have an easy life while everyone else does the work."

"So did Parker." Jim sighs, "He just wasn't organised."

She catches his frown, "What is it?"

"I'm beginning to wonder if Parker was a patsy."

"In what way?" she leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I get the feeling that Parker could talk the talk, but not walk the walk - so they let him get on with it and then got him out of the way once he'd done the dirty work for them."

"What - Tom Jackson planned this all along?"

"Perhaps. He's a hell of a lot sharper than Parker was - I'm never going to get away with changing the combination on the weapons store with him. Worse, he's got the rest of that crew with him already - so he's not going to turn them off by shutting them out like Parker did. I think we're really in trouble this time."

Elisabeth is now even more worried, "What about the children? Does he expect them to go into the fields as well?"

"I haven't heard anything about that. If the school's open, then I guess not. He's keeping Max's team where they are, and the construction crews - but if what you do doesn't have an immediate practical use, then they want you in the fields."

As he escorts Zoe to school, he notices that very few stalls are open in the marketplace, and the only reason that Josh is still trading is because the men who are now controlling the colony want somewhere to go for a drink during the day. At least that means it might be possible to re-establish Boylan as a sneak - though there's no guarantee that his double agent-ing will go unnoticed this time round.

To his relief, there are a couple of teachers at the school - but it's clear that only the teachers for the under twelves are present. It seems that any education beyond the basics is no longer required. Not for people who are apparently going to subsist through agriculture alone.

Chris is looking furious when he arrives at the barn complexes, "I can't believe this - half my experts are pruning, the other half are mending polytunnels. What the hell are they playing at, giving me people who've never farmed in their lives? It's not something that happens by magic, for God's sake. The whole reason I recruited them all was because they were skilled at what they did - even if it was strawberry picking."

Jim sighs, "Parker was an amateur compared to Jackson, Chris. He's set for the duration - and he's got access to the weapons store, so God alone knows what'll happen once Taylor gets back."

"When is he getting back?"

"No idea - it could be tomorrow, it could be next week. Until that portal fires up, they're out for the duration." He sighs, "What d'you want me to do?"

"I imagine they're expecting me to give you something crappy - but I need someone monitoring the pest control systems. It's the worst time of the year for locusts, and they make Holocene locusts look abstemious. If there's a swarm in the area, then I need to set up the countermeasures before they get here, not as they arrive. It's pretty straightforward: the system alarms, and you give me a call."

"Sounds good to me." Jim grins, relieved to be out of the sun, "Sorry I can't be much help - this is getting beyond crazy; but there's not much I can do on my own. I've got one set of eyes in the Command centre, but until they've got themselves settled back in, I'm pretty much blind."

"Whatever you decide to do," Chris advises, "Let me know - I'm in."

"I'll bear that in mind. The entire security team's out here as well, so if we have to fight, we've got the experts to hand. I just hope it doesn't come to that."

Taylor looks at the readings, "Okay - you want me to see it; but I don't know what I'm looking at. I take it that the increase in the size of the numbers is the significant thing?"

Malcolm nods, "They've been rising steadily for the last hour or so, with occasional sudden spikes. The only reason I can offer is that part of the source of the radiation has decayed into something with a shorter half-life, and it's throwing out particles at an increased rate."

"Still not getting it." Taylor admits.

"I think we're looking at the trigger mechanism." Malcolm explains, "some of the baldanite's decayed into something that emits particles more quickly, and that's pushing up the level of radiation much more quickly in some parts but not in others. It's introducing instability into the system, and that's likely to cause the breakdown that will fire up a portal. I don't know what the new substance is - I don't know enough about the baldanite to be able to identify its isotopes - but it's definitely having a major influence."

"How long before we know if it's going to fire?"

"It's impossible to say; but the levels aren't so high that it's going to have that destabilising effect. Not yet, anyway. There are occasional spikes in the rate of increase, but not as many as I'd expect to see if that destabilisation was starting. With levels as high as they are, though, I don't recommend that we go and look at this stage - I want to keep people away from that radiation as much as I can for as long as I can. Inoculations against radiation only exist in science fiction films - and there's only so much we can do to counter the long-term effects if people are contaminated."

"If that's the case, then we'll have a whole pile of contaminated survivors, if any come through."

Malcolm shakes his head, "I don't think so. The log from the Polly Constance didn't mention anyone with symptoms of radiation poisoning - they tend to stand out, so I can't believe no one would've mentioned it. I suspect that it's all absorbed into the portal as the fuel - and, once it runs out, it falls back to natural background levels. People coming through aren't affected. Once the portal's open, it's safe to approach without hazmat suits."

"What do you suggest?"

"Mira, Bram and I go back to witness the portal opening - and if anyone comes through, we can greet them and alert Dunham to send through a collection team. They bring survivors - if any - back here, while I take final readings for the record. Then we head back to the colony and start work on helping our new arrivals to assimilate."

"That'll be hard." Taylor sighs, "Getting used to this place is enough of a stretch when you know you're coming - but to be dumped here would be my personal idea of hell."

Malcolm looks equally uncomfortable, "And for me - even if it'd happened back when I didn't have anyone at home. You can only stretch scientific fascination so far."

"So we wait?"

"For now. Yes: we wait."