A/N: Thank you again for the reviews - I'm glad the Jackson solution worked out. He will hardly be lying when he says he has a crap job, though...

And now, alas, we draw to a close; though there is one little surprise at the end!

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Looking to the Future

Taylor is standing at the balcony again, looking out across the marketplace. While he knows that he's cured, there are also things he can't quite put from his mind - mostly the fact that, as Elisabeth suggested, his mind just doesn't work as quickly as it used to. He's slower on the uptake; decisions come to him more slowly and with more doubts than they once did. While he's still capable of leading the Colony, he's not at his optimum, and that means he needs to start thinking about what comes next.

Malcolm always used to complain at the lack of civilian involvement in the operation of the Colony. It was like a daily dance - Malcolm would gripe, and Taylor would ignore him. The presence of a civilian senior team covered all the bases as far as he was concerned - they advised him, and he made the decisions. Sometimes he would take their advice; sometimes he wouldn't. But now he's finding it harder to decide whether to do so or not - and, to his mind, that's not good enough.

But then, Terra Nova is not going to work if it's run by a committee. Someone needs to be in charge - someone who will respect the Colony's rules and heritage, and who will listen to the voices of those who live in it. He's always done it - well, mostly done it - but that was because it was his dream to create this place, to make it a home for humanity to start again - and, this time, get it right. Everyone who came here did so on that same promise, but his insistence on remaining in charge left him open to discontent - a disaffection that waited for his departure to spring into action, and nearly bring the Colony to its knees.

He's been reading up on various democratic models from around the world - local authorities, governments, town councils - whatever he can find. Less is definitely more - a council with a small number of people on it can get more done - but how does he decide who gets on the council, and who doesn't? How do they represent people? That's the challenge.

It's been three months now since the trial, and he's still no further forward on that. Fortunately, no one's noticed, as there's been so much work to try and make up for the lost crops in the fields. While the locusts didn't devastate their food supply, they made some pretty solid inroads into it, and Chris has been working with his various teams to plant up some other food crops that can either catch up with the existing plantings, or will withstand the poorer weather later in the year. Then, of course, there was the annual Commemoration - and the sad requirement to add two new names to the memorial at the foot of the Command Centre stairs for the dead of the colony who have no known graves.

He can't put it off for much longer, though. While he never promised a revolution, he knows he's going to get one independently sooner or later if he doesn't act, and he sighs to himself. He's been in charge for so long that it's just so damned hard to let go.

A movement at the bottom of the stairs captures his attention, and he can see Malcolm and Yseult looking up. God, she's starting to show again - a small dome now protruding very slightly from her belly as her baby grows. Smiling, he waves them to come up, and invites them in, "Have you got something for me?"

Given his hopelessness at trying to work out how best to arrange some sort of representation for the colony, he's looked to the Doctor and his Metalworking wife to come up with some ideas independently of his own thoughts. Malcolm's overly analytical mind, and Yseult's altogether freer imagination, seem well matched to creating interesting concepts of all kinds - and a democratic structure seems like something that might fit that process.

Malcolm nods as Yseult sits down in a chair opposite the commander, "We sat down with Jim and Elisabeth last night to get their opinions, as well - but we think the best thing to do is go for a local authority sort of thing. We divide the colony into a small number of wards, and each is represented by a nominated council member. The residents make the nominations, and they vote for their councillor. We just need to accept that it's going to come down to a popularity contest from time to time - but all nominees have the right to refuse the nomination if they don't feel they can serve on a council."

"How many wards?" Taylor asks, "Odd or even numbers?"

"Even, I think." Yseult observes, "Then the Leader gets the casting vote to ensure that a decision gets made."

"We were thinking of four wards in the first instance." Malcolm continues, "that's two hundred and fifty people in each ward - or thereabouts. As the population grows, we can expand the number of wards if it gets too unwieldy. The existing senior staff structure remains in place - but the councillors get an equal say."

"And a leader?"

"That's something that the colony decides as a whole." Yseult says, "That held us up for a while last night - we were wondering how we could set up a system that doesn't leave us with another Bob Parker. Jim suggested limited terms and an overall limit on how many terms a leader can serve - like a President; except we don't call them that. Some people might find that goes to their heads a bit."

"Do we stick with just two nominees?" Taylor asks, intrigued, "It makes things less complicated, but that limits how many people can try for election. Maybe we have a number, and then have knock-out votes."

"That's what we were thinking."

"Whatever we do, it's gonna take a hell of a lot of organising." He sighs, "And we're fresh out of bureaucrats."

"Not necessarily." Yseult is checking her plex, "Diego Romero was studying politics at University - he was only on the boat because Mateo needed him to crew it, and it was summer recess, so he could. He mentioned that he organised a lot of the elections at the University - and it seems that he's a complete whiz at administration, so we've talked to him about a lot of this and, as he hasn't got anything to do, he asked if he could make a project of it. If you're okay with that, then we've got ourselves the first member of our civil service."

Taylor looks impressed, "If the portal delivers people that useful to the Colony every time, then we'll do fine. Get him to work - have some proposals on my desk in the next few weeks. Don't rush it - it needs to be right first time, not after the seventh attempt. Once we've got something to present to the colonists, we'll do it."

The bar is as busy as ever, now that people feel safe to come in, and Boylan is finding himself back in the rather uncomfortable position of having trouble keeping up with demand for Kreidebier. His complaints are only half-hearted, however, as chaos is not good for business, and a return to order is just what he needs now that he is no longer able to engage in the sort of criminal behaviour that kept his coffers in good condition when people used coins more regularly.

Josh is drying glasses, while Skye is up to her elbows in suds. It's been tough, the last few weeks - they're not married, so a few people felt quite happy to treat her as a single woman, to the point that she was even cornered once or twice by people keen on persuading her that there was no harm in a bit of 'fun' with them. Being a survivor of tougher times even than this, of course, those attempts usually resulted in a knee to the groin, but nonetheless, it was something she could've done without.

"How are we doing?" she asks, fumbling in the water for any lurking teaspoons.

"Nearly done. That's all the glasses, at least."

"Thank God for that. This is the downside of being successful in the hospitality business." Skye examines her water-wrinkled hands with feigned dismay, "I wish I had some rubber gloves."

Josh grins at her, "Can I be an unremitting romantic and say that they're still lovely?"

"As long as you've got a return ticket from Cliché city." She smiles back, "Do you think that's it? That we've finally got past all the upheavals? Every time I think that we've found a way past the troubles that keep coming - something else happens."

He hugs her close, "I guess it keeps life interesting, doesn't it? It'd be boring if things went right all the time. Though I'd like it if they didn't go so spectacularly wrong when they do go wrong."

She smiles, looks up and gives him a kiss on the cheek, "I'll settle for this afternoon not going spectacularly wrong. It's been a while since we had an engagement party."

Now that things have settled down again, people have gone back to work, or found new work, and it seems that the romance that began on a converted fishing trawler has prospered in the cretaceous. It's taken the couple time to settle down in their new surroundings, but both Diego and Janet seem to have taken to it, and news of his proposal spread around the colony like wildfire - just as such things always seem to do. People are eager to celebrate something good after the upheavals caused by a few disaffected field workers, so to have another wedding has been seized upon in hopes of letting bygones be bygones.

Consequently, Julia has been setting aside a decent vintage of berry wine in hopes of a wedding breakfast, while Ninette has been busy at the loom just in case a white wedding dress is required. It takes time to produce sufficient cotton to work with, after all. The only thing that matters is that people aren't being too hasty; and that the happy couple aren't aware that they've caused such a stir. No relationship deserves that kind of pressure.

In the interim, however, there are other things to consider. The Commander has issued an open invitation for people to attend a meeting in the marketplace this afternoon, which always means that something big is going to be announced. Given the troubles that occurred just after his departure into the Badlands, it probably relates to that, "Do you think he's going to stand down?"

Josh looks up, surprised, "I don't think so. Not when there's no one to replace him. I can promise you that Dad won't do it. He looks after the place when the Commander's OTG, but that's as far as it goes. Maybe they've come up with something that we have to vote on."

Skye nods, "That wouldn't surprise me - after the way that Bob Parker was able to claim that he'd give people elections and a say in the running of the colony, it's a logical step that the Commander'd do it." She pauses, "He's not getting any younger."

There are a lot of people in the marketplace as the Commander takes his place on the balcony, "Thank you for coming. After the last few weeks, I think it's pretty clear that we need to look to the future in a way that we haven't before. The way that we lived before the occupation worked well - but we're a small, independent community now, and it's time for me to do more than stand up here and address people. With that in mind, we're going to establish a small community council, with representatives to join the senior staff and communicate how things really are in the colony. The details will be given to everyone, and you'll have two weeks to consider the proposals and make your views known. And I really do want you do tell me if you have other ideas, or think this is a crock. This is our community - not just mine, so your opinions count. Once we've gone through everyone's input, we'll present a final proposal to be voted on. Diego will be overseeing the process, so please send your comments to him."

The news - while expected to some degree - still comes as something of a surprise. The Commander is such a father figure, that the idea of his establishing a civilian structure within his command seems quite alien. Josh is not surprised to see Jim approaching, "We'll be talking this over tonight - with dinner. Are you in?"

Josh nods, "I think so." He turns to Skye, who also nods.

"Great. Be at ours for eighteen hundred. The details should've been sent to everyone's homes by then."

It's a little sooner than that, and Josh is already perusing them as the afternoon draws to its close. There was a time, of course, when he would've ignored such information; but he's not that naïve youth any longer: far from it. Instead, he and Skye are sitting close together as he describes the plans.

"They're going to divide the residential areas into four - and everyone in that area has to nominate a representative. People can nominate themselves if they want - but if there's more than one nominee, then the people in that area vote for one of them. It's a secret ballot - no one's allowed to ask anyone else who they're voting for, and the decision's final. The councillor stays in post for a year, and can serve up to three terms before they're not allowed to stand again."

Skye nods, "That's sensible - the last thing we want is another dictator. What about leadership?"

Josh continues to read, "That's a four-year thing. The whole colony gets a vote in that: minimum age is going to be eighteen. It's the same thing - people can nominate themselves if they want, or they can be nominated. They get to stay in post for four years, but this time they can serve up to four terms - I guess it's going to be harder to get someone to lead the entire colony. It's not an easy job."

"And what if they try to become a dictator?" Skye is nervous of that - and with good reason. The last thing they want is another Tom Jackson or Bob Parker.

"If anyone tries to stay longer, or abuses power, then the Council has the right to impeach them - but they have to do it within very strict boundaries by the look of it. It's not something someone can do on a whim." He smiles at her, "Diego really knows what he's about. I wouldn't have thought of half of this."

Skye leans in close to him and smiles, "That means that you're not a politician. I like that. Half my family were politicians, and they were all slimeballs. We were either nice people who had jobs, or slimeballs who spent their entire lives kissing asses to stay in office. There's no way you'd catch me doing that. I prefer honest work."

"Like being married to me."

"Pardon?" Skye turns, startled.

Setting the plex aside, Josh turns to face her, "I've been leaving it, and leaving it - but it's time to stop doing that. I suppose it started out being not wanting to betray Kara - and then it turned into just putting it off until tomorrow. But I'm not a kid anymore, so I need to stop acting like one. I want to be your husband, Skye. Will you marry me?"

It's probably one of the less conventional proposals of recent times - but it's so…so Josh, that she knows he means it. He is looking into her eyes, his hands holding one of hers. The sincerity is so clear that she doesn't need to think about it.

"Yes." She says, very softly, "I'll marry you."

Jim is still slightly shell-shocked by the announcement of his son's impending nuptials. What was supposed to be a discussion about the proposed arrangements for a new council in Terra Nova turned immediately into a celebratory party, and they didn't touch upon matters of democracy at all.

That said, no one seems to have had any objections of any substance to the proposals - though there are a few suggestions that are sensible, and which have been added to the plans. Consequently, a new constitution has been written - but it won't be ratified until there's a council to do that.

The division of the residential areas into 'wards' was achieved pretty easily given the layout, and everyone was very keen to get to work on suggesting names for their representatives. Indeed, such is the enthusiasm that each ward has at least three candidates to choose from, and campaigning is beginning in earnest, though only limited activity is allowed. The lack of population would make things very difficult if feuds develop.

At least one person nominated him - in spite of his reminding folk that he was a member of the Senior staff and, consequently, ineligible for nomination. He is, however, popular, so perhaps it's not too surprising. What is remarkable is the number of people who've been nominated who don't have any political interests at all - it seems that politics is not a driving force as much as the knowledge that people are representing ordinary folk rather than just senior staff members doing it all. Certainly, he didn't expect Maddy to be a candidate.

Diego Romero has proved to be just as good an organiser as they thought, and the system they've set up is as secure as they can make it. With Malcolm's help, they've set up booths with iris recognition, so people can only access the voting form if they haven't voted yet, and are eligible to do so. It sounds a bit over the top to do it that way, as people all know each other and get on so well; but Diego is very keen on something he calls 'future-proofing', and the expectation that, in a few decades' time, there'll be a lot more people present to take part in votes.

As a consequence of such speedy voting, and the lack of a need to undertake a count, the results are through by evening, and people are gathering in front of the Command Centre to find out who won a seat.

There are no fancy names for the four wards - they're just '1, 2, 3 and 4' - so the announcements are quick and easily made, "No need to beat around the bush, folks." Taylor says, "It's my pleasure to announce our four new community councillors. For Ward one: Alfredo Costa."

That's no surprise. He won a lot of respect when he chaired the jury at Tom Jackson's trial - not that he lacked it beforehand, of course.

"For Ward two: Ryuu Tanaka."

Equally, no one seems surprised - Ryuu is also well liked and a good man; plus there are a lot of people that are wearing jewellery courtesy of his popular wife, Sozume.

"For Ward three: Sandra Guzman."

Everyone turns to see that the head of the Security teams is beaming at his wife, pleased as punch. She might well be a music teacher, but when did that stop someone being a good person to represent people?

"And last, but not least, for Ward Four: Maddy Shannon."

That gives Jim pause for thought. In spite of her marriage, and her daughter, he still hasn't quite got over thinking of her as his baby; but now he's going to have her sitting at the table in the Command Centre. How weird…how…wonderful. He starts to grin, delightedly, while Elisabeth takes his hand and smiles with tearful pride. It had nothing to do with them - they live in Ward three - so it just goes to show how much she's grown up and taken her place in the Colony. Something he never thought possible when they first came here; unwell, her lungs in a mess…now she's healthy, a wife, a mother; and a councillor.

Don't you dare cry, you wimp.

"Are you alright?" Elisabeth asks

"I'm fine. Just a bit of grit in my eye."

"Both of them?" she smiles, and laughs as he clasps her in a gigantic hug.

To say that the last fortnight has been something of a learning curve is an understatement. Everyone's got a lot to learn, and Taylor is uncharacteristically nervous as he takes his place at the head of the table. While there haven't been any arguments, the new councillors aren't too sure yet how much influence they have, so they're a bit tentative.

"Okay. What's happening out there. How about you start, Malcolm?"

Being used to the staff meetings, he immediately flicks at his plex, "Everything's going pretty well in the labs. The data that we got from Falker's laptop is interesting, and it's now gone over to the Eye so that we don't lose it. We're not in danger of finding ourselves in that position yet - but if it serves as a warning for future generations, then it's served its purpose and he didn't die in vain." He flicks again, and tries not to redden at the obvious nature of Yseult's hand resting on his leg, "Er…the crop yields are looking better than expected. Our emergency measures have managed to mitigate at least some of our losses during that locust swarm; so, while things won't be easy, we'll have sufficient stocks to get us through to next year. The work we've done this year looks promising in terms of additional yield, so we could use it either side of the growing season to extend our food supplies. We certainly aren't going to starve."

"Good. What about the portal?"

Malcolm looks surprised, but then remembers that half the people at the table don't know the full details of that escapade. He looks up and addresses the councillors, "I left some probes in the crater, and we stopped to set some relay beacons on the way back. It's not perfect - we can't maintain them - but it gives us some idea of activity there, so once we start to have a new buildup, we can send a retrieval team out there in case people come through. I don't know if we have arrivals every time, but it's better to go there and find no one than stay put and leave survivors unfound. Besides, it means that we can do more research work on the portal. I got a lot of data - but there's a hell of a lot more that I didn't get. Whether we'll be here when it opens next time is something I can't answer - but at least I can lay the ground so that other people can pick up where I left off."

He's relieved at the nods from the councillors - they're not used to him spouting technobabble, and they're still a bit too polite to demand that he speak 'English' like Taylor does when he gets too technical.

"Good. Doctor Shannon - anything to report?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary." She advises, checking her own plex, "A few minor accidents, but the ongoing measures to protect from that scorpion are proving worthwhile, as we've had reports of one or two lurking in the undergrowth again. People have their gaiters on, and the two encounters I know of didn't result in stings."

"I can live with that. Max - what about Sustainable Industries?"

"All doing well, Commander." Yseult removes her hand from her husband's thigh to flick through her plex, which embarrasses him even more, "We're turning out good quality iron regularly now, and the work to recreate the Gilchrist-Bessemer process is getting close given that we can't do it on the industrial scale. Ninette's worked overtime to get enough white cotton together for our coming weddings - we'll be seeing the results very soon, of course - and our experiments with synthetic compounds and natural fibres have got to a point where we'll be weaving some heavy-duty waterproof fabrics now that we've finished with wedding dress material."

She's not surprised at the indulgent smiles all round. Everyone's looking forward to the two forthcoming weddings.

"Shannon?" Taylor prompts.

"Much the same as last time." Jim reports, "Rosters are back on track, we've gone right round the fence line and cut back all the encroachment, and the protective measures are all checked and maintenance carried out as needed. I'll send next month's rosters to you this afternoon for approval."

"Good." The Commander looks across to the newest people at the table, "I know it's a bit soon - but is there anything we've missed?"

There's a moment of silence before Sandra speaks, still a little shy, "I've had some people come to me about a drainage problem in sector six - there's some backup in one or two of the properties. Is that not a bit trivial?"

"Not for the people with drainage issues." Taylor smiles at her, "Alfredo, could you take that up with Raj, please?"

"Will do." He starts making a note on his plex, "If anyone's got any issues like that, then I'm happy to take them up."

"Anything else?"

At first, it seems that no one's got anything to add, but Maddy looks up, "I don't know if this is a bit trivial as well, but people in my area are concerned that there are a lot of insects getting into their houses at the moment."

"It's not trivial, Maddy." Malcolm disagrees, "If we don't know there's a problem, we can't do something about it. I'll ask Clarice to investigate that. It might be that something's come up in someone's garden that's attracting them. We had an ancestor of Amorphophallus Titanum in a garden about six years ago. None of the botanists noticed it, and the person who had it didn't get rid of it because it looked exotic. God, did we know about it when it flowered. So did the local insects. They don't call the modern version 'corpse flower' for nothing."

By the time they've finished, all manner of supposedly 'trivial' issues have been raised - and their collective number suggests that the overall discontent would be anything but trivial. No wonder people thought no one was listening to them. No one would've thought to bring this to a surgery, but at the same time, people were trying to sort it out themselves and failing. At least that won't happen anymore.

"Thanks everyone." Taylor wraps up, "I've found this very useful - I'll see you all next week. If there are any issues that come up in the interim, just get in touch."

He watches as everyone files out, and then sits at his desk, looking a little uncomfortable.

"What's up?" Jim asks, intrigued.

"Next week."

"What about it?"

"Skye's asked me to give her away. I assumed she'd ask her mother."

"She sees you as a surrogate dad, Taylor - who else would she ask? I imagine Deborah's revelling in being the mother of the bride."

"Yeah - but it still feels odd." He admits, "I never saw myself giving a bride away - not without a daughter. I assumed that someone would do the honours for the bride when Lucas got married. But look where that went."

Now Jim gets it. He sits down, "You mean a lot more to her than you did to Lucas - but I think you know that. He loved you once, but someone else took all of that and ruined it."

"I know. I shouldn't let his ghost come in and ruin this - like he did when he was alive. I don't recall him every saying that he'd haunt me - but God, it feels like it sometimes."

"And now it feels worse?"

"It'll pass. Skye's been more of a kid to me than Lucas has for a long, long time. She deserves to be happy after all she went through; I just don't want to wreck it. I have a habit of wrecking the lives of kids who get too close to me."

"You sound like every nervous father of the bride in history." Jim says sagely, "I was pretty bad myself when Maddy married Mark. It's amazing how many things come back to bite you when you're that nervous. Besides, it's not as weird as Janet and Diego - she's asked Malcolm to give her away because he let her rescue a toy dog she had."

"Okay - that's weirder than mine." Taylor agrees, rousing himself from his poor mood, "Come on - let's get out and do some patrolling. I know that Boylan's meant to be an honest man these days, but it doesn't hurt to check."

Somehow, the weather gods of the Cretaceous always seem to know when there's a wedding on - or, in this case, two. The weather is set fair, and the sun high as people gather in the orchard - which seems to have become the de rigeur wedding location in the Colony. Most people happily attended the union of Janet and Diego yesterday, as they had no family to attend, so everyone else filled in for that omission, and not a few people are nursing sore heads this morning. It was, to be sure, something of an awkward situation given that Diego is a Catholic, while the Chaplain is an Episcopalian, but they found a way through everyone's sensibilities, and the resulting ceremony was very touching.

Today, however, the couple are well known to the colonists, so most people are thus waiting to party later on once the families have finished their celebrations.

It had been a standing joke that Josh would ask Boylan to be his best man, despite denials all round, but instead it's a friend more of his own age: a gangling youth with a cheerful expression by the name of Bryan. For Jim and Elisabeth, it's weird to be sitting on the right hand side of the congregation this time; but Zoe is relieved that she's not been asked to be a flower-girl again. She's just a bit too old for the 'cute' label that such a task inspires - so she's happy to sit with her mom and watch with the grownups.

As seems to be traditional now, Skye arrives aboard a flat-bed rhino decorated with flowers and swags of pink fabric, and descends to join the Commander, dressed in a sober suit rather than his military fatigues, of course. Everyone's eyes are on the dress, naturally, a fifties-inspired creation with a fitted bodice and flared skirt that looks unusual on a woman who normally wears cargo pants like everyone else. Her hair has also been put up, with large ox-eye daisies threaded into the braids, while a carefully arranged bouquet contains a similar number of daisies to match.

Watching as his son ties the knot, Jim takes Elisabeth's hand, remembering just how much Josh didn't want to leave Chicago. He lacked Maddy's incisive intelligence, and Zoe's remarkable good sense - but he's found a maturity of his own that Jim recalls as being very akin to his own at the same age. It's not worth wondering how things might've panned out if Josh hadn't been so desperate to bring Kara to Terra Nova. She'd certainly be alive - but would he be happy? It's impossible to know - but with that door closed once and for all, he's found a new life to live - and a good woman to share it with.

Their vows are conventional, promises to one another to love, honour and cherish; and their obvious joy in one another radiates outward. Could Skye look any happier? Probably not - but then, she was once trapped in an impossible situation: a sick mother being held hostage against her good behaviour, and being forced to spy against someone who had taken her in and given her the support of a father when she had lost hers. Now, she's getting married, while that surrogate father has given her away and smiles at her alongside a recovered mother who dabs at her eyes as all mothers of the bride are obliged to do.

Perhaps they can really settle down now. The mystery of the figurehead has been solved, they know that there's a portal out there that spits open every three decades or so, and they'll know to be ready from now on. Perhaps, in a century, when the timelines coincide, there might be trouble - but as long as people know what happened, they'll be prepared to meet it.

He looks up to see that the rings have been exchanged, and makes himself concentrate on something other than reverie - just in time for the Chaplain to announce that Josh and Skye are now married and he may kiss his wife.

Another of his kids married - another family settling down in a clean world with a bright future. It sucks as much as it makes him happy; but at least he's still got Zoe for a while, so that sense of age isn't encroaching as much as it might have done. Though the knowledge that he doesn't have to make any speeches tonight is certainly helping on that score.

Sal's catering is reminiscent of the fare she offered when Maddy got married, though Jim eschews the tofu as always, and relaxes, sipping at some fizzy wine that isn't too gassy and holding Elisabeth's hand. Skye is circulating - as all brides are required to do - while Josh does the honours across the other side of the bar. Taylor is working his way through a pile of cards with prompts on, while Bryan just looks as though he's going to puke with nerves.

"Happy, darling?" Elisabeth asks, quietly.

"Oh, let me count the ways." He smiles back at her, "The one good thing about these problems is that they always seem to resolve with weddings. I just hope that we don't have something like this happen before Zoe gets married."

"I can't see what would, Jim." She says, taking his hand, "Our enemies can't reach us, the remains of their soldiers are gone, and we know where the figurehead came from, and what it means for us in the future. All we have to do now is live, work, and get on with the prospering."

"Sounds good to me." Jim looks across to where Malcolm is sitting with Yseult, "She looks ready to pop."

"Not yet. Another month or so to go." Elisabeth says, "Though I imagine she can't wait. This is always the hardest part of the pregnancy - you're half the size of a house, your back hurts and you need to go to the loo at least five times an hour. At least we're prepared for the birth. Sue's got the home-birth setup all ready again. I don't think I'll have any more success in getting Max into the infirmary than I did the first time round." She looks across the top table, "Do you think I should go and get an anti-emetic for Bryan? He really looks like he's on the verge."

Fortunately, the speech is completed without unfortunate flight to a receptacle, and Taylor finds himself unable to put his own speech off any longer. Oddly, now that he's standing up, the words on his cards seem not to make any sense anymore.

"Er…" he fumbles briefly, but then stands up mores straight, "This feels weird; I'm not gonna lie - but it's a good weird. I always assumed someone else would be doing this at my son's wedding - but that wasn't to be, so instead I get to do it for someone who's as good as a daughter to me."

He has no recollection of what follows, other than the occasional repetition of the words 'Skye', 'Chess' and 'Proud'. He doesn't mention the spy thing - after all, that was something over which she had no control, and she did what she could to mitigate the damage her information might wreak upon the Colony. Not to mention her help with the plan to cut them off from the future.

"I may not be your father by blood, Skye." He finishes, realising now that he can remember what he's saying, "But I don't think that matters in place of Paternal pride - because I am. I'm proud of the girl you were, and of the woman you've become, and I have no doubt that Terra Nova's a better place for your being here. So - I give you my very best wishes and love as a dad for his daughter. You've picked a good man from a good family, and I couldn't be happier for you. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mr and Mrs Shannon."

He sits down with a sigh of relief, the sound concealed by the waves of applause.

"God, you're so antsy again, Pete." Yseult looks irked as her forester buzzes around her like an annoying house-fly, "I go on maternity leave tonight, so you don't have to worry about me dropping a baby in your lap."

Once again, she's refused to be told the sex of the child, wanting instead to find out when the baby's born. That she can't wait for it to happen is an understatement, though she remembers it was hardly the most pleasant of experiences giving birth to Erin. She's been obliged to abandon her bicycle again, and Malcolm again gives her lifts to and from work - but tonight he's promised to get something in from the marketplace and give her a rest from cooking, as he doesn't like the conformity to stereotypical roles in the household, but he genuinely seems to be the worst cook that ever lived.

"You're cutting it a bit fine, aren't you?" Pete fusses, "This one's due in days, isn't it?"

"Stop panicking. Malcolm's coming in five minutes and my impending labour'll be out of your hair." She smiles at him. She knows it's because he cares - but he's a man, and they just don't get it. Malcolm's no better, and he's been through one birth already.

The fussing continues as he helps her into the passenger seat of the rover, and Malcolm's failure to assure him doesn't really help. They're all behaving like she's a bomb about to go off, for heaven's sake.

"Do you want a hand with the seatbelt?" Malcolm offers, only to have his hand swatted away, "I suppose that's a 'no' then."

"Just get me home." She snaps, fed up with the endless fussing.

"Okay." His meekness is blatantly false, but it has the desired effect, and she sits back with a sigh, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm told that these days feel longer than the first three months combined."

"They most assuredly do. Much as I hated labour, to get through it and come out the other side would be most welcome right now."

Dinner is quiet, but the meal that Malcolm has brought back from the market is very good, and they settle down on the sofa to relax for at least a while. Assuming that the squirming baby will let them.

"How's Maddy doing on the council?"

"Very well - in fact they all are. Once they worked out that nothing's too trivial to mention, it was plain sailing. If anyone claims that we don't listen to people's problems, then no one'll believe it. You'll be pleased to learn," He adds, "That a certain Mr Jackson has been obliged to clear out three clogged drains in a week."

"My heart bleeds." She says, with absolutely no sympathy whatsoever.

It's nice to simply snuggle together; while they've been back together now for nearly the entire term of her pregnancy, Yseult still doesn't like it when Malcolm's not close by, and they both missed one another very deeply while they were apart. The only sound in the room is their breathing, and the ticking of a carriage clock that sits on one of the display shelves. Malcolm is not surprised to find that she's fallen asleep on him again.

"Come on, sleepyhead. Time for bed, I think."

The little clock's tiny bells chime the hour of three in the morning when he is woken by a sharp jab in his ribs, "I'm up…what?" vaguely he realises it's still dark.

"It's time, Malcolm."

"Time for what? Oh. Er…" immediately he is very, very wide awake, "Do you want me to run you a bath?"

"That would be very nice." Yseult sits up a little, and moans at a contraction, "I'd like to avoid a load of washing, so before my waters break would be good."

"I'll see to it." She's much calmer than last time, thank God. Just as well one of them is.

By the time Sue's arrived, Yseult is relaxing in the water, sitting back and breathing through another contraction with Malcolm holding her hand and doing the same, albeit without the contraction part. "How are we doing?"

"My waters have broken, Sue. That's all I can tell you right now, though the contractions are regular, and strong." Yseult reports, "I'd appreciate some pain relief if you've got it."

"No problem. I'll set you up with the gas and air." Sue turns to Malcolm, "Could you give us a minute? I just need to see how dilated Max is."

He nods, "Can I get you a drink of something?" Anything to feel at least vaguely useful.

"I'll let you know."

It doesn't take long, and Sue calls back out, "We're a bit further along than last time, Malcolm. It looks like this labour's going to be a bit quicker than the first."

"Is that normal?" Yseult asks, intrigued rather than nervous.

"Every labour's different, Max. Some can be over in less than eight hours - but some can last nearly a day. It just depends on how long it takes for the cervix to dilate sufficiently. It's quicker this time around for you - though I'm not making any guesses."

"I'll accept quicker." Yseult says, then pulls a face and starts inhaling the gas and air again.

"I'll put the kettle on." Malcolm offers.

"That'd be great." Sue smiles at him, "If you could bring some water through as well, that would be nice."

By dawn, it's clear that things are progressing more quickly, and Sue is very pleased, "Right, that's ten centimetres. Feel free to push all you want, Max."

The water in the bath has long gone cold, so she's back on the bed again, propped up with pillows and her husband's arm about her shoulders as she complies with the instructions of the midwife. As before, there are outbursts of astonishing invective, all of it in German, but she clings to Malcolm's hands and is grateful for the sips of water he offers between contractions. That almost instinctive closeness between them as strong as ever.

"That's the head!" Sue exults, "Not much longer now, Max. This is the hardest bit."

"Don't I know it!" Yseult says, breathlessly, and begins to push again.

Elisabeth is checking her plex every five minutes, and Jim sighs, "That's not going to make the baby come any faster."

Finally a message pings its arrival, and she looks up at him, "You were saying?"

"Well?" She's not the only one on tenterhooks.

"It's a boy." Elisabeth's face is wreathed in a smile, "Erin's got a little brother. Sue's just making sure that the placenta's fully detached."

"Well that was good news right up until the last bit." Jim says, putting down his toast and very red-looking berry jam, "So, how many nanoseconds before you head over there?"

"You know me too well."

By the time she arrives, the new arrival has been washed, wrapped in a blanket and is resting upon Yseult's chest. She, too, has been tidied up somewhat, and is demurely covered up to accept the very few visitors permitted at such an early stage, "Congratulations, both of you, he looks very well indeed."

"Everything's looking good, Elisabeth." Sue reports, looking up from her plex, where she's making her final notes before she goes, "If there's anything you want to check?"

"Believe me, you know more than I could ever hope to, Sue. I'm a surgeon - I know nothing at all about midwifery."

"I wouldn't have minded having some doctors in Orlando who thought like that."

"No one's perfect." She turns back to Yseult, "I won't stay long - I know you're very tired. Would you like Maddy to look after Erin this morning while you get some sleep?"

"I'll do it." Malcolm shakes his head, "She's just old enough to know what's going on, but not old enough to know what it means. I don't want her thinking that she's been replaced."

Elisabeth's eyes widen; he never used to be so aware of such things - Yseult's influence has really worked with him, "That sounds like a good idea. I'll leave you to it - I just wanted to see the little one."

It doesn't take long for the news to spread around the colony, and everyone's clamouring for details - health, weight and suchlike. They know that it's a boy, but no more than that. Despite the nosiness, people are too polite to harass the couple, and they're allowed a day and a half of privacy before the Commander knocks on their door.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course." Malcolm opens the door more widely to admit him, and he smiles cheerfully at Erin, who is very close to her daddy, "Hi sweetheart."

Yseult is resting on the couch, their new arrival in her arms, while Malcolm lifts Erin into his arms and carries her across to join their gathering, "I take it this little one has a name?"

She nods, "Yes - we named Erin after our mothers, and we decided we'd name a boy after our fathers, so allow me to introduce you to Gerhard Duncan Wallace."

"My pleasure." Taylor smiles, "You know the colony's clamouring to meet this little one, right?"

"Of course." She smiles back, "Given that tomorrow's Harvest Festival, it seems appropriate to do the honours then, doesn't it?"

"In that case, how can I refuse?"

Given the disruption caused by the locusts, and the extension of the season through the planting of emergency crops, the Harvest Festival was postponed to coincide with Solstice - though they're holding it the day before, and having the two holidays combined. This year's theme is something akin to a 'Midwestern Idyll', celebrating the farming heritage of the American Midwest. While the harvest has been messed up somewhat by the locust infestation, there's still a good deal to celebrate. There's enough food to get them through the coming year, disaffected colonists have been given a voice, and they've solved the mystery of that figurehead. It's still a while before anyone can use it in the future, as it's opening too far back in the past for them to use it yet. Once it gets to 2150-ish at that end, of course, things might be different - but they can prepare for it. They've got a good century to do that, so no one needs to stress today. No - they can celebrate another good year in the Colony, and just enjoy themselves for the day.

The children present a set of dances, accompanied by the small folk band, to the delight of everyone, while Sharon has put together an arrangement of folk songs from the region for the choir to sing. It might not have the same impact as Jerusalem, but the music is a joy to listen to, and not a few people are able to join in, as they remember the songs from when they were kids.

As night draws in, Taylor steps up onto the stage to make his customary speech, "I must admit that I was wondering if I'd get the chance to do this again." He admits, people's applause fades, "Thanks to Doctor Shannon, and to Mira, I'm here and I'm doing pretty good." Everyone knows now what happened to him - no one saw any point in pretending otherwise, "It's been another tough year, and it's been hard for a lot of people. But you always come through - and we're celebrating again. We know a lot more than we did a year ago, and we have a new system of government. In time, you'll have someone else standing up here and boring the hell out of you - and it's someone you'll choose amongst yourselves. You should all be proud of your achievements as a community. It's time for us to grow up, and I'm happy to see that starting to happen. Now - before I tell you all to start dancing," He beckons the Wallaces up to the stage, "You're all dying to know - so allow me to introduce our newest colonist - just a couple of days old: Gerhard Duncan Wallace."

He pauses to allow for a large wave of applause which - fortunately - Gerhard sleeps right through, "Congratulations to Max and Malcolm - and also to Erin." He turns to the little girl, "That's one lucky little boy - he's got you to be his sister."

She huddles shyly into Malcolm's leg as the applause breaks out again, and he lifts her into his arms with a smile.

"I seem to have that affect on children." Taylor says, smiling with a deliberately fake abashed air, "Right - that's it from me. Get partying people!"

He pauses to acknowledge the cheers, before returning to his habitual eyrie. There were times when he would imagine that Alicia was with him here, watching the happy scenes below; but having had her rather more literally present than she should've been, he doesn't do it anymore.

"I'd ask why you're not dancing; but given that you never do, I'd be wasting my breath."

He turns to see Skye standing beside him, and smiles at her, "I'm the world's worst dancer; you know that."

"Good point."

"You don't usually come up here."

"I know - but I wanted you to know something. We both did." She looks back down to the bottom of the stairs where Josh is standing.

"Why isn't he coming up?"

"We want to keep it out of general circulation - just for a bit. If he comes up as well, then people might figure it out."

"Figure what out?"

"You've been my surrogate dad for a long time." She smiles him, "I just wanted you to know that you'll be a surrogate grandfather by next harvest."

His eyes widen, "Congratulations - both of you. How long have you known?"

"We found out today. Mom knows - and you do. But that's it for now - it's a very early stage. Elisabeth only picked it up because I went in for a routine medical check." She smiles, and gives him a peck on the cheek, "I just wanted you to know."

"I'm grateful." He watches as she retreats, and returns her husband, who gives her a hug and looks up at him, giving a slight wave. He responds with a slight nod.

So he's going be a grandpa. Something that Lucas would never have given him…no - enough of Lucas. They've shaken off the last legacy of that damaged young man in the discovery of that portal, and the knowledge that no one can use it against them for a century or more. Assuming anyone wants to even try it.

He thinks back to what he was told about the crew of the Polly Constance. He hadn't been present for the reading of the log - but Malcolm filled him in on the details. Their ordeal had been hellish - but thanks to the discovery of that figurehead, three people are safely living in the colony now who would otherwise have been dead. Perhaps they didn't die entirely in vain, then.

He'll go and see Alicia tomorrow as he always does at Solstice - to fill her in on the latest news. He has little recollection of his conversations with her when he hallucinated her, but she's still in his mind's eye as clearly as she was when she used to stand before him. He'll always miss her - but she knew that life moved on, and he does at least recall that promise he made to her before he saw her for the last time in the infirmary. Hallucination it might've been - but he meant every word of that promise.

There's a future stretching out for Terra Nova that's untroubled by invaders, mysteries or internal strife - and he can't wait to grasp it.

Hell - why stay up here? So what if he moves like a horse with its legs in splints? Why not go and enjoy himself like everyone else does?

He looks about one more time with a smile, then heads down the stairs to join the dance.