by Gary Russell
‘Nah, don’t like this deal. Too risky.’
‘Then how, dear sir,’ said Jack, ‘do you propose getting back to your time?’
‘Why would I do that?’
And that was something Bernice and her team hadn’t anticipated.
At which point Bernice stepped forward, and Kik the Assassin tensed, ready to protect her charge. Peter snarled, quivering his lips, showing some fierce canines. Kik the Assassin grinned at him, as if acknowledging his defence of Bernice, and stepped back. This little power game wasn’t witnessed by anyone other than the Doctor.
‘Nah, lissen mate, this is my job, this is my gaff, and I’m callin’ the shots, yeah?’
Globb frowned. ‘You what?’
Bernice shrugged and spoke in a broad East London accent again. This finally caused the Doctor to look at her in shock.
‘I could ask you the same thing, guv. I didn’t ask you to follow us here, this is my turf, innit. So, if you don’t wanna be part of our proposal then, get orf my planet.’
The Doctor was still staring at her.
Bernice looked at him and hissed. ‘Barbara Windsor? EastEnders? “Get aht my pub”? No? You’re not getting it? Seriously?’
The Doctor finally spoke. ‘Have you completely lost the plot?’
‘You really think you can stop Cyrrus Globb?’ asked Jaanson who, it seemed quite likely, had never even heard of Globb three hours beforehand.
‘This is my team,’ Bernice said. ‘This is Shortie, she’s my logistics expert. That’s Dog-Boy, my personal security. Over there is Legs, he’s a comedian and good with things that go “bang”. And they call me Da Trowel, cos I’m good at diggin’ up information.’
Globb looked at each one in turn, then jabbed a finger towards the Doctor.
‘And remind me who is this? I don’t remember seeing him on Aztec Moon,’ he boomed angrily.
‘That, my darlin’, that is the leader of this little entourage, this group, this gang. He was waiting here for us because we set all this up. You see, Cyrrus Globb, that is the man wanted on every civilised world for cons and grifts of the highest order. This is the leader of us all, this is the brains of this outfit – surely you’ve heard of the legendary Doc Tardis?’
All the Doctor could do was take yet another of those deep breaths that Bernice provoked in him, and count to ten. Slowly.
—
Thus the Doctor found himself deep within the exhibit rooms of the Power Station, a six-storey Victorian building attached to Hyde Park, and overlooking the Bay. Just.
It was a name only the Australians could give to a museum of important artefacts, managed and run by the afore-met Mr Thomas Gordon Taylor. Taylor was the direct descendant of Tomas Schneidter and who, it transpired upon reading the guide to the Power Station, had zero knowledge of the Glamour / lodestone / key that his great grandfather had fought so hard to find – and sacrificed so much for. Instead it was listed as ‘local unusual geological object found in the Blue Mountains National Park, not formed of basalt left by volcanic flow as per most indigenous rocks. The origins of this item remain shrouded in mystery. It may have significance to the Indigenous People, but if so, it has not been recognised as significant or culturally important by AIATSIS.’
‘Wonder what our friend Lue would think of that,’ said the Doctor.
Bernice just shrugged and checked her stopwatch. ‘Everyone should have gone home by now, so we should make our way to the Glamour.’
The Doctor reached out for the stopwatch. It reminded him of the one Jack had used earlier. ‘Do I get one of those, you know, now I’ve been co-opted onto your team of conmen?’ he asked sourly.
Bernice shook her head. ‘Have to be earned.’
‘I don’t actually want one,’ he muttered. ‘Mainly because I don’t actually want to be here. I don’t want to be a grifter. I don’t want to be responsible for committing a crime, and I don’t want to be dressed up like some idiot at an Eighties throwback party.’
Bernice beeped his nose. ‘Yes you do. You’re loving this.’
‘Am not.’
‘Am.’
‘Not.’
‘You are. You know how I know you are?’
‘Oh, do tell me,’ he said.
‘Because you’re the Doctor, and the Doctor I know, no matter what his face, loves a bit of mystery, fun, adventure and universe-saving-from-extinction. It’s your modus operandi. You might be the only leopard who can actually change his spots, but the analogy still holds – it’s what and who you are.’
The Doctor looked at her. ‘In your timeline, when did we last meet before all this kicked off?’
‘Years ago. On Skaro. Ace stole an Omega device.’
‘Skaro. Oh yes. I was very different back then,’ the Doctor said quietly. ‘I have been through hell, literally. A war with the Daleks that destroyed Gallifrey, leaving me pretty much the last of my kind. Billions of people, from all races and planets were affected, I watched stars burn, and galaxies implode. I faced terrible decisions and in the end when I took a chance, I broke every law of time and rewrote history. I saved Gallifrey as it was by then, probably changed the future for countless people and planets. But it still didn’t get me home, didn’t bring my people back to me. Friends and family, perhaps they live again, but I’ll never know, Benny, because I can’t find them. Beforehand, I knew that Gallifrey and the Time Lords were gone. Now I know they’re not but I don’t know what state I have left them in. In many ways, that feels worse.’
‘It isn’t, though, is it,’ Bernice said, holding her oldest friend’s hand gently. ‘Because as always, you did the right thing in the end.’
‘But I want answers,’ he said. ‘I want to know – I need to know. I feel…incomplete not knowing. Beforehand, I knew. I could move on, deal with things. Now it’s just an endless jump from one planet to the next, hoping I might accidentally find a clue, stumbling in the dark. My friend Clara – you’d like her, she’s clever and chirpy and infinitely rude to me, just like you – Clara said I was miserable and waspish once. And she was right. It’s like I don’t feel complete, for the first time ever. Once I had roots, then they were taken away. Now, I probably have those roots again, but they are out of reach.’
‘And one day, you’ll get them back.’
‘How can you know that? Why say that if you don’t know?’
‘Because,’ Bernice said quietly, ‘I have faith. In the universe. It makes things right. You know why I think that?’
‘No, go on, amaze me.’
‘Because you told me that, when I was at my lowest. After a man I loved died and you were there to look after me – you went to extraordinary lengths to understand my grief and to empathise. I have never forgotten that, even though I know you must have because you’ve had so much in your life to deal with and so many people to remember. But I never want to forget how kind you were to me after he died.’
The Doctor took a deep breath and closed his eyes. ‘Every time I visit France, I think of Guy de Carnac and what he sacrificed, Benny. No, I never forget the ones that truly matter.’
Bernice hugged him then, tightly.
‘Hugging, again, everyone does the hugging thing. I don’t do hugging, really.’
‘Right here, right now, you do.’
And presumably recognising defeat, but perhaps also recognising a rekindled friendship borne out of tears and triumph many years ago, the Doctor returned the hug for a few moments.
—
Outside the Power Station, Ruth and Jack watched the windows from across the road, hiding in a doorway, hoping no one would notice them. Which was unlikely as they were in the heart of a city that rarely sleeps and, as they were discovering, was populated by people who never went home.
‘It’s 2 a.m.,’ Ruth said. ‘Why aren’t they asleep?’
Jack was watching a young couple making out in another doorway. ‘We used to be like that once.’
‘Like what?’
‘Young
, happy, in love, unable to bear being parted, just for a few hours’ sleep.’
‘We’re still like that,’ Ruth said quietly. ‘Except I can totally bear being apart for a few hours. But that’s to do with the snoring and the legs.’
‘Legs?’
‘Yeah, those huge long things are pretty much the length of my body, and at night they kick. When you dream, you fidget. And kick.’
‘I do not.’
‘How do you know? You’re asleep. I’m not, I’m awake. Being kicked by giant grasshopper legs.’ At which point, deciding this conversation was no longer necessary, Ruth stepped out onto the pavement.
‘What are you doing?’ Jack hissed.
‘My job,’ she replied. ‘Our job.’
‘Which was what?’
‘To keep an eye out and then do the thing.’
Jack pulled a device out of his pocket. ‘Who knew Benny carried things like this with her?’
‘Anyone who pays attention to what she said back in the White Rabbit on Legion, I imagine.’
‘I pay attention!’
‘Clearly not enough. Now come on, we need to be on the roof by two-fifteen local time.’
Jack watched as the happy couple down the street finally stopped kissing and moved quickly away, probably aided by him making a loud throat-clearing sound and ensuring that, when they looked at him, his red eyes glowed more brightly than normal in the dark.
He gave a final look around, grabbed his fiancée around her waist and leapt the height of the old Victorian building.
Almost.
What he actually did was scale four storeys with ease, but the last two were a bit awkward. He’d later say it was Ruth’s fault, that he wasn’t carrying the additional – he was sensible enough not to use the word ‘weight’, even though Ruth weighed very little as she was so small, but foolishly he did tell one person the story later and instead said ‘baggage’, which went down like a lead balloon. But the gist was there.
And now so were he and Ruth, clinging on to a ledge four storeys above ground, silently. Ruth’s wide eyes widened further as she looked down, and then realised Jack was holding on to the ledge with only one hand – the other of course safely holding her waist.
‘And now what?’
Jack considered this.
Which was unusual for Jack – he didn’t ‘do’ consideration; he was more an instant reactor to situations. ‘Go deal with these people who haven’t paid their bills,’ his father would say, and off he’d go, ready to face whatever hoodlums, Mafiosi and dark underworld characters owed the firm cash. ‘Go take this exceptionally dodgy-looking package that could be a bomb or the severed head of another crime lord’s girlfriend to that war-torn planet in the irradiated sector that no one can survive more than thirty seconds in,’ was another one of his father’s suggestions. After a while, it occurred to Jack that perhaps his father and his brothers and sisters wanted him out of the firm. Permanently. Dead.
It was one of those things he had been going to talk to them about when, on a mission for his dad, Jack had become embroiled with Bernice and Ruth for the first time. Then he’d lost track of them for a while. Then he’d found them. Then he’d found time-splintered alternative reality versions that weren’t actually alternatives but just perfect duplicates. (Or maybe the originals and the ones he was now hanging out with were duplicates, who knew?) Either way, Jack’s involvement with Bernice and Ruth was fraught, frequently dangerous and usually involved Jack wanting to take Ruth away to some quiet leisure planet, get married and settle down, as far from Legion, guns, crime lords and his home world of Kadept as he could, and be happy. It was all Jack really ever wanted – to be happy. Ruth made him happy. So why was he now thousands of years in the past on a planet he didn’t like, helping Bernice and a strange grouchy man with an accent he couldn’t really understand, and hanging dangerously off a tall building, knowing that the slightest misstep could kill Ruth?
Oh yeah, because he couldn’t say no.
Jack loved Bernice, absolutely. Great mates. But one day he really would have to say to her that it was fine if she wanted to go off and be all clever and adventurous, but to do it by herself. Or with Peter. But not him or Ruth.
‘You’d better be thinking of a way out of this, Jack,’ Ruth said, ‘and not daydreaming again.’
‘Again?’
‘You do that, you drift off. In moments of stress, you just cease to be in the present. It’s very annoying. It’s also endearing at times and probably a great self-preservation thing, but at other times, like when you’re about to drop your wife-to-be from a height she’s not likely to survive, it can be a disadvantage.’
‘I was thinking about that actually,’ he said. ‘About it being a disadvantage. Mind you, being here in the first place might also be considered a disadvantage – and I’m not talking about hanging from this building. I’m talking about being on Earth.’
‘What?’
‘Well, when we get home – and I’m sure we will because Benny and this Doctor bloke seem to be pretty good at all this and haven’t died yet – can we just say, “Thanks, Benny, but no thanks”? Go somewhere, get married, have kids, live a nice life away from Legion and grow runner beans, breed cats, watch old episodes of EastEnders, that sort of thing.’
‘What?’
‘EastEnders. Haven’t you seen Benny’s collection? She’s got every episode except the live ones.’
‘No, I meant “What?” to the rest of it.’
‘Oh. You want to stay on Legion?’
‘Pretty much, yeah.’ She looked at Jack, his dark red eyes, little pointy chin and sharp ears. ‘Then again, what you want sounds kind of good too. But…’
‘There’s always a “but”, isn’t there. I don’t like “but”. A Ruth “but” leads to unhappy Jack,’ he said.
‘But, let’s pick a world not too far away so that if Benny or Peter or any of our other friends need us in an emergency, we can get there pretty fast. Deal?’
Jack kissed her. ‘Deal,’ he said, and then suddenly leapt straight up in the air, grabbing a startled Ruth and did an amazing back flip that resulted in him landing easily on the flat roof, and lowering Ruth down beside him.
‘You planned that all along, didn’t you?’
‘You thought I couldn’t get us out of that situation, didn’t you?’
Ruth kissed him again. ‘One day, I’ll stop thinking about what I think you can’t do and think about all the things I think you can do. Like making me happy.’
And with a smile, Jack went into business mode.
Before them was a skylight, raised in a sort of triangular shape. He took the device Bernice had given him and with it he silently cut a small circle of glass. Then he cut a bigger one, and then a bigger one, all the time making the original hole larger but in increments so the glass wouldn’t shatter. Eventually it was big enough to fit a reasonably small human through. Jack, being neither small nor human, wasn’t going in. Beside him, Ruth had attached a cable to a belt around her waist and the other end around a brick chimney.
‘Hope that holds out,’ Jack muttered.
‘It’s been here two hundred years, through thick and thin,’ smiled Ruth. ‘I don’t think it’s going to crumble to dust tonight.’
With the glass safely cut away, Ruth took a pen-sized laser cutter out of her pocket and jumped through the hole. The cable slowly extended, on a ratchet, so, rather than dropping through the air, Ruth lowered herself, lying flat, face down.
‘I saw an old movie where they did this once,’ Ruth said into a Bluetooth contraption pressed into her ear.
‘The art of this manoeuvre is to be in and out, quickly and silently,’ said a gruff Scots accent in both her and Jack’s ears.
‘Yes, “Doc”,’ Ruth said. She stuck the laser-cutter in her mouth, using her arms to balance her slow but steady descent.
—
Having waited quite a few hours till the Power Station was empty of all life (bar a c
ouple of momentarily intrigued spiders and a cockroach and three security officers), the Duchess and Mr Smythe had emerged from their hidey-hole (a rather tight janitor’s closet) and made their way to the Security Room.
This was clearly misnamed – the room wasn’t secure, and the security guards weren’t in attendance. The former was down to incompetence; the latter to a strong dose of laxatives Bernice had slipped into the milk in their kitchenette (both soy and normal, just to be sure) some hours earlier.
Their VIP lanyards, which had got them into the more private areas of the museum and thus to the closet, were now discarded, as were their Shimmers. Thus Bernice’s outrageously OTT clothes were no more, and she was back in black. The Doctor was in his usual trousers and long coat.
His spare sonic screwdriver taking care of any cameras that might spy on them, they made their way into the security office, and Bernice created a fifteen-minute loop on their recording equipment that oversaw the Glamour.
They had opted not to take out all the cameras in the museum – that might draw attention. So they only took offline the immediate ones between the closet and the Security Room – the rest went into loops of empty corridors.
The Doctor froze – footsteps were approaching. Had one of the guards defeated his laxative ailment? He looked at Bernice. ‘Three hours, you said!’
‘It affects annoying White Rabbit customers for that long,’ she hissed back.
‘How many of them are overweight, underpaid security guards from Earth?’
‘None of them.’
‘Great trial subjects then,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and deal with him.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know. This is your plan, not mine. I’m making this up as I go along.’
‘So am I,’ Bernice admitted.
‘Oh that’s just great,’ the Doctor said, and left the room while Bernice finished her video sabotage.
‘Hullo there,’ the Doctor said, regretting ditching his VIP lanyard immediately. ‘I appear to have got lost.’
The guard gave him a strange look. Then an even stranger one as something small was pressed against the skin on the back of his neck and he collapsed to the floor unconscious. As his body dropped, it revealed Peter Summerfield standing behind him, a little black box in his hand.
