Another Life (30 page)

You shared everything with Owen when you were together in London. Your hopes, your aspirations, your dreams. You kept nothing from him, even when you knew he was never wholly open with you. It seems entirely natural to share your latest secrets with him now.

‘I told you,’ you tell him calmly. No need to shout. ‘That thing is the real me. My body is in stasis, to protect me from the crash injuries. The rest of this warship’s crew were killed during the collision that brought us to this strange place. I need to return to Bruydac for medical attention.’

Owen has stopped struggling against his bonds now. That’s good. That will help. But he doesn’t understand yet. ‘What’s happened to Sandra? We were supposed to be stopping this ship from coming through the Rift. And then removing that tracker from her spine.’

You prod Sandra’s slumped body with your toe. ‘Not exactly what I had planned, Owen. It’s not a tracker, you see. It’s a control box.’

‘Oh God,’ murmurs Owen.

‘Though it’s strange. As Sandra, I was able to control you without having to insert a control box in your spine. And now that I’m controlling Megan… now that I
am
Megan… I can understand why.’

‘Let her go.’ Owen is pleading. ‘You don’t need her. We’re medics, we can help you – the real you I mean – to recover and get away from here,’

You place your fingers gently on his lips and silence him. ‘See? That’s what I mean. You need to be needed, Owen. Sandra recognised that. She convinced you by telling you what you wanted to hear – that she needed you. You’re a rescuer; you’re always looking for a victim to help. You think you have all the answers, and it makes you powerful, superior, the centre of attention. You want to be loved because you can protect people, you can salvage them, and they’ll depend on you. Until they don’t need you any more, and then you drop them.’

Owen is trying to shake his head furiously, but the restraint won’t allow it. ‘That’s the alien using you. That’s not you talking, Megan. That’s not…’

‘You want to be loved and needed, Owen. But you end up self-important, demanding, righteous. And in the end, contemptuous of others.’ You’re aware that you’re smiling at him, but it’s with sadness really. ‘I loved you so much, you know. Megan loved you so much.’

He thinks he found something he can use, some tactic. You recognise that familiar look in his eyes from a dozen arguments in London. ‘I loved you too, Megan. I still do. That’s what last night was about, remember? I know you’re still in there, Megan. You’re a medic, come on! Don’t get lost in this thing. Try to remember. You’re an SHO. One of the best. We both are. We’re good together, aren’t we?’

And somewhere, you do recognise what he’s saying. You think of his warm breath against your skin, his lips on your neck. His hand scooped in the small of your back. The heat of his body by your side. The feeling of him inside you.

‘Come back to me, Megan. Come back. Look at Sandra there. She needs you.’ He lowers his eyes. ‘I need you.’

The way he drops his gaze, the crack in his voice, the well-timed appeal to your better nature. You remember his technique, now. His routine.

‘I am a Bruydac Warrior!’ you snap at him.

His eyes meet yours again, and you know that he sees he has lost you.

‘I am not Megan any more,’ you tell him brutally. ‘The Bruydac stealth technology lets me use the captured inhabitants of the planets we invade. By possessing our prisoners in this way, we can infiltrate the native population in perfect disguise. And when I’ve finished with each person, I can release them wherever they are and return my consciousness back here to the ship – or to another prisoner.’

‘The sub-aqua team.’ He’s as smart as you remember him. ‘They stumbled upon your crashed warship, and you’ve used each of them in turn.’

‘They were so feeble,’ you explain.

‘What do you mean? Bee and Applegate were trained soldiers. Literally fighting fit.’

Perhaps he’s right. You think how easy it was for the soldiers to overpower other humans. ‘The problem with you humans,’ you tell Owen, ‘is that the possession just burns up so much of your meagre supply of cerebrospinal fluid. Fortunately, it’s easy enough to obtain more from other humans.’

You are surprised that Owen’s reaction to this is one of such disgust.

You explain to him that you have discovered a lot from the humans you’ve possessed. From Bee and Applegate you learned about Earth’s military structures. From Wildman, you discovered a way to refuel the ship with Earth’s crude nuclear technology. ‘And from all of them,’ you conclude, ‘I learned that they suspect and fear and despise Torchwood. So I was intrigued to discover that you work for Torchwood.’

His face is like stone.

‘Now Megan…’ you say to him. ‘She has a depth of affection for you, Owen. That wasn’t a shag for old times’ sake, was it? Not for Megan. It was very different on that first night at university, do you remember? After the disco? That was a basic craving for sex. Shallow emotion. Straightforward physical contact. But good. She thought you were a cast-iron virgin she’d managed to jump in his first term, so you surprised her, you know.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ He grates out the words like it’s an ordeal.

‘That’s not always how it was though. For you, maybe. But not for her. She never told you before you left how she’d really felt. And that’s why she wants to let you back into her life this week. Why she
trusts
you, despite all the craziness.’

‘Stop it,’ Owen says. This time the emotion in his voice is real. ‘You said you could let her go. Well, let her go, then. Do it now. Let her speak for herself.’

‘No, I think I need her now. She’s a doctor, isn’t she? She has a thorough understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of the human form. Physical. Emotional. And she’s young and strong, too. She can get me back to the shore. She can retrieve the remaining nuclear packs that Wildman concealed. I still need those to refuel this warship.’

Not much more to do before you go now. If you concentrate, you can feel the creature growing within you. There is the bubbling stir of rising gas, a stirring in your stomach. With one brief heave, you regurgitate the tiny starfish creature and spit it out. It splays its four legs on the floor beside Sandra Applegate’s shivering body.

Owen sees this, and his revulsion is clear.

You find yourself moving closer to him. He cannot move in the restraint, and you have to angle your head to kiss him softly on his lips. At first he resists, with his mouth set in a firm, hard line. And then his feelings begin to overwhelm him, and he softens.

That’s when you activate the device. Owen’s whole body stiffens as the restraint frame punches a control box into his spine. He can’t stop himself screaming with the sudden, agonising pain. Now his eyes are staring into yours in horror and disbelief. Now they’re glazing over. Now the head restraint relaxes, and his head slumps forward in the frame.

You will only return for him if you cannot complete your mission successfully as Megan. His eyes are closed now, and his long dark lashes flicker as he falls unconscious. You ponder your affection for him. You know how much this alien intervention means to him, how much he wants you to be a part of it. That’s why you’ve enjoyed explaining it all to him.

But then you remember that it is Megan’s affection, not yours. So you quit the room quickly, leaving him there helpless.

TWENTY-SIX

Jack was used to being able to enter anywhere and take charge at once. It didn’t matter if it was a nightclub or a shopping mall or a dingy back alley or a church. By striding in with confidence – whether it was warranted or not – his appearance, his gait, his whole demeanour told people to back down and back off.

It wasn’t like that in Cardiff Royal Infirmary A&E tonight. Jack had to squeeze his way into the building past a furious crowd who were being sent back into the thunderstorm by frustrated, irate hospital staff unable to cope with any more patients. A barrel-shaped security man didn’t even want to look at Jack’s Torchwood ID to begin with, but reluctantly allowed him through at the second attempt.

Despite the number of people turned away, the motion-activated sliding doors at the entrance were permanently jammed open as a constant stream of urgent patients staggered across the threshold or were rushed into the building on stretchers by ambulance staff. Three sodden floor mats, caked in mud, were evidence of a half-hearted attempt to prevent new arrivals treading dirt and water into the hospital. Sandbags piled by the entrance warned that they expected worse to come.

The waiting room ached with sullen frustration, and was filled to bursting with people who had already been allowed in. Two babies wailed, but the only other human voice was their mother comforting them. Everyone else was doing that British thing of sitting in sullen silence, not speaking to the person sitting right next to them, even if it was a friend or relative, but looking at crumpled copies of
AutoCar
and
OK!
as though they were the most fascinating read ever. Those without magazines checked their watches every thirty seconds. The whole place smelled of mud and sweat and anger.

Jack braved the hostile stares of the waiting room by making his way straight to the front. ‘Do you mind?’ insisted an elderly man who was clutching a bloodied rag to a cut on his temple.

‘Not at all,’ Jack told him. He kicked the outstretched foot of a seated teenager who was slumped behind an article on the Jaguar XKR he would never own. ‘Get up, kid. This man needs your seat.’

Jack walked past the front desk. The pretty young redhead on reception was moaning to a nearby nurse that her boyfriend never noticed when she’d had her hair done, and why did she spend a fortune on it if he was never going to peel his eyes away from
Match of the Day
, the lazy, good-for-nothing sod? Even the sex wasn’t what it was; she wasn’t sure why she pretended any more. Hello, can I take your name, home address and GP details, please?

Beyond her, two tired doctors were discussing the latest batch of new patients. ‘There’s another capsized water taxi,’ raged the younger of the two. ‘Who the fuck is taking a water taxi out in this weather? We should just let the stupid bastards take themselves out of the gene pool if they insist on it.’ His older counterpart put a comforting arm around his shoulder and led him calmly back into the cubicles.

Jack had located the staff picture board. He scanned its contents quickly to locate the guy in charge. The photographs told him that the red-haired receptionist was Kirsty Donald, the nearby nurse was Kai Mahasintunan. Megan Tegg was a Senior House Officer – slim face, elfin features, short dark hair, cute rather than pretty, definitely Owen’s type. Terry Hartiman, the angry young doctor, looked a lot happier in his mug shot than in real life. Ah, there you go, the Clinical Director (Acting) was Amit Majunath – grey hair, thick glasses, slightly scarred face, best-dressed guy on the board.

Jack had already pissed off one consultant (Janette Brownlees, the photo told him) by abandoning the SUV across her reserved parking space. And within a few more minutes, here was another, refusing to answer any of Jack’s questions.

‘We’ll get to you as fast as we can, honestly,’ Majunath told him for the third time. The consultant peered over his tortoiseshell glasses at an LED display that repeatedly scrolled its mournful red warning above the reception desk: ‘Estimated Waiting Time Five Hours’. ‘So, Mr Harkness, please put your ID away. There’s really no point you flaunting your credentials in here.’

‘He can flaunt his credentials at me any time,’ the red-haired receptionist muttered, and smirked at her friend the nurse, who was checking paperwork at her desk. Jack caught her eye and grinned. She hadn’t thought that he could overhear her, and her pretty face blushed so deeply that her freckles almost disappeared. She picked up a manila folder and hid behind it.

‘I’m gonna have to insist…’ Jack began. He was interrupted by three trolleys being wheeled between him and the consultant, each bearing a soaking-wet victim in urgent need of treatment.

‘Insist all you like, Mr Harkness,’ Majunath replied wearily. ‘Clinical need is what takes priority. God knows I’d prefer a break. Do you know that when the river burst its banks, a funeral home was flooded and bodies got washed out into the street? The ambulance crews spent an hour working out who were the fresh victims.’ He turned to address the latest ambulance crew. ‘Straight through to resus. I’m right behind you.’ He held up his hands to forestall Jack’s renewed remonstration. ‘As soon as I can, I promise. We want to know who murdered Bobbie as much as you do. More so, I dare say. We’ve sealed off the crime scene, and you can use the Relatives Room as your base of operations if you wish. No doubt you’ll need that when the rest of your team arrives. But you must see we’re drowning tonight.’

‘Wait a minute,’ protested Jack. ‘Murdered who?’ This was an entirely unexpected piece of news. But Majunath was already off into resus.

Jack knew he didn’t have much time. If they’d called the police, then chasing the consultant was not going to be fast enough to get what he wanted.

On the reception desk, the redhead was saying goodbye to the nurse. Jack sauntered up to the counter.

‘Hi, Kirsty,’ he told her. ‘Cap’n Jack Harkness.’

She blushed again, and tried to hide it by facing her computer screen and typing. ‘Can I have your address?’

‘Fast work. I like that,’ he grinned. ‘Shouldn’t we go for dinner or something first? Or a trip out. Not soccer, though. Not a big fan.’

She ducked her head down, grinning too. ‘I’m sorry, I meant that I need your details to book you in.’

Jack showed his ID. ‘I’m not a patient. I’m here to investigate the murder. Mr Majunath said you’d help.’

Kirsty’s expression changed suddenly and completely. It was now one of deep concern, with the risk of tears. ‘Are you here to find out who killed

Bobbie?’ She blinked rapidly. ‘I’m sorry, I mean Roberta Nottingham.’

He kept his reassuring smile going. ‘Yeah. Need to see the scene.’