Big Bang Generation (12 page)

‘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 couple 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.

‘What are you doing here?'

Peter grinned. ‘Watching your backs. I followed you in hours ago. Had to laugh at your choice of hideout – a janitor's room? I just stood behind a big statue. No one noticed.'

‘Your mum never said you were coming.'

‘His mum didn't know,' Bernice said coming up behind the Doctor. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘I just asked him that,' the Doctor said. ‘Do you know in all my years travelling through time and space, I don't think I've ever heard a question asked as often as “What are you doing here?” “Who are you?” and “It's bigger on the inside” come a close second, though.'

At this point, Ruth's message came through, the Doctor responded, and they made their way towards the room where the Glamour was kept.

On arriving at the imaginatively named Rock Room, the Doctor stopped Peter and Bernice entering. Taking out his sonic screwdriver, he calibrated it to sense the lasers that formed the protective net around the exhibits.

The security guards were a bit rubbish, but the actual items within the museum were expertly protected by state-of-the-art lasers and motion detectors. That was
why Ruth was doing her
Mission: Impossible
-style entry from above.

‘Ruth, you need to be very careful. Unlike in those movies, the sensors here go up as well as across. It's a proper lattice surrounding the security-glassed casket the Glamour is in.'

Ruth said nothing.

‘Why isn't she replying?' Peter asked, furtively glancing behind them in case the other two guards, free of their toilet entombment, had found their unconscious chum.

‘Her mouth is full of laser cutter,' Bernice said.

‘She could nod or something,' Peter mumbled.

‘If she does, those Bluetooth things might fall out and set off the floor alarms. I keep telling the Head of Security on Legion that we need something more secure, but does he listen? No, he says, “Yeeeees, Mum,” and ignores me. But I'm right, aren't I, Mr Head of Security?'

‘Yeeeees Mum,' said Peter and went back outside to keep watch.

The Doctor was carefully watching Ruth as she came down. He instructed her to take the laser cutter and carefully start layering away the glass, but make sure she didn't blow dust away or the alarms would go off.

Then everything shook.

Not just the room, but also the building. Not just the building, but also the street. In fact, Sydney rocked, quite literally, for a few seconds.

Everyone stared at the Doctor.

‘You're assuming I have answers,' he said.

Bernice and Ruth nodded.

‘At a guess, only a guess, the Pyramid Eternia has decided it doesn't want to be here any more, it's out of time and space and is about to blow up, taking Sydney, Australia and then Earth with it.'

‘Starting a chain reaction that'll eventually wipe out the universe,' Bernice added.

‘Not eventually,' said the Doctor. ‘Pretty quickly. Shockwaves back and forth in time and the universe is rewritten in a split second.' He looked at Ruth. ‘We really need to get that key thing back inside it and forget all this stuff with Cyrrus Globb and co.'

‘Really?' said Cyrrus Globb. ‘And why would you do that?'

The Doctor and Bernice turned to find Peter on his knees, Kik the Assassin aiming a gun at the back of his head, and Globb and Professor Jaanson, hiding behind the bigger man's frame, watching them.

‘You can't keep us out of anything,' Jaanson stammered.

The Doctor turned to Globb. ‘Look, I really don't understand what it is you want here. But I should have thought not being stuck on Earth would be foremost in your mind.'

Globb grinned. ‘I'm not in prison here. Seems a great place to be.'

‘What about her?' The Doctor pointed at Kik the Assassin. ‘Your friend's hardly going to fit in.'

Kik the Assassin nodded at Globb. ‘Not his friend; he's my bounty.'

‘Oh,' the Doctor said. ‘Well, yes, that makes sense.' He tapped his ear. ‘Ruth, we can't risk another burp from the pyramid. Forget subtlety, OK?'

At which point, Ruth flipped over and kicked at the glass casket, shattering it, flipped back, scooped up the Glamour and shot back into the sky.

Globb, Kik the Assassin and Jaanson all followed her movements in surprise, as an awful lot of loud shrieking alarms went off.

The Doctor grabbed Bernice's hand and ploughed past Globb and Jaanson, running for the exit.

Peter tried the same, but Kik the Assassin, sat on him. ‘Told you you'd be mine,' she hissed.

Globb and Jaanson legged it as fast as they could after the Doctor and Bernice.

‘If we don't get out, a lot of local security people are going to find us here and blame us for all this,' Peter said.

‘Good,' said Kik the Assassin. ‘That way, I get to spend more time with you.'

‘Oh good grief!' Peter shoved back, then forward with his legs, sending Kik the Assassin crashing into a wall. ‘Get it into your head, I am only interested in one person.' And Peter stared at her, barely breathing. ‘His name is…was Antonio, and he died. When I'm ready to move on, believe me, I will, but it won't be with you.'

Kik the Assassin nodded. She finally seemed to understand. ‘I'm sorry for you loss,' she said.

‘Thank you,' said Peter, brought up his hand, stroked her cheek and then activated his little black box again. Her
yellow eyes widened in surprise, anger then shut – she was out for the count.

As the two security guards ran in, Peter pointed at her unconscious body. ‘Call the police,' he said. ‘She's armed and dangerous but will be sleeping for a good half-hour.'

‘Don't move,' said one of the guards to Peter, rather pointlessly.

‘Yeah, right,' Peter said, and faster than they thought could happen, Peter bounded forward, almost as if he were on all fours, like a giant dog, one of the guards would later report.

And he was gone, between their legs, down the steps and out of the building.

‘I thought you said this was going to be “a doddle”,' Benny said. ‘Yes, I'm pretty sure “doddle” was the word you used.'

The Doctor looked at Professor Bernice Summerfield as they ran for their lives through the Sydney Central Business District. ‘Seriously? I didn't even want to be here. But there's a gangster, his assassin and god knows what else after us, and you're quibbling over my choice of words?'

‘No,' Bernice replied as they both swung round a corner, him using a lamppost as extra ‘push'. ‘No, I'm quibbling over the fact you thought this was actually going to be easy.'

‘I don't think I've ever used the word “doddle” in my life,' he said, turning right into a small alleyway and stopping outside the back of a big building. ‘Nor “quibble”, for that matter.'

The nearest entrance was a huge black door, padlocked, with a few bins nearby. It was clearly the back entrance to a restaurant – Cuccurollo's, apparently. Tapas, perhaps?

Bernice stopped for breath, her hands on her knees as she sucked air in. ‘You definitely said “doddle”, but I'm so glad your priorities are about words and not dying in agony,' she said.

‘You started this whole word thing,' the Doctor retorted. ‘Don't blame me.'

There were yells and shouts from back in the streets.

‘No one in Australia screams, they just yell and swear a lot.' Bernice grinned. ‘I like this place.'

The Doctor nodded. ‘Trouble is, it means your friend Augustus Gloop is close by.'

‘Cyrrus Globb,' Bernice corrected. ‘And he's not my friend.'

‘Do you know,' the Doctor paused as he went to kick a door in. ‘If I had a penny for each time over the years you've said people trying to kill us weren't friends of yours and it turns out they were, once, a long time ago, before you crossed them – I'd be a very rich Doctor.'

‘You'll be a very dead Doctor if you don't get a move on!' She pointed at the door. ‘Sometime this week would be good.'

The Doctor glared at her, sighed and kicked at the door.

It stayed resolutely closed but did so making a loud noise at the same time.

Bernice gave him an equally withering look. She eased him aside, smiled sarcastically and kicked at it herself.

It swung open, whatever lock it had sent spinning into the darkness beyond.

‘Oh. Well, I weakened it,' he said.

‘Course you did,' she smiled. ‘After you.'

And they ran into whatever dark, dank building they'd just illegally gained entry to.

Had they waited a moment longer, they'd have seen Globb come around the corner, followed a second later by a puffing and panting Horace Jaanson.

‘Well?'

Globb was standing still, a hand up. ‘There!' He pointed at the door Doc and Da Trowel / that Summerfield woman had used.

Jaanson looked at him in amazement. ‘I can see why they call you the best of the best,' he said, not hiding his disdain. ‘I mean, a short, dead-end alleyway and a door kicked in. Gosh, I wonder where else they might have gone.'

Cyrrus Globb turned menacingly. ‘Don't cross me, Professor.'

‘Or what?' Jaanson grunted. ‘You'll have your blue lady assassinate me?'

‘Enough!' Globb slammed the little human into the wall, lifting him high off the ground, causing the Professor to squirm and dangle his legs uselessly.

‘My dear sir,' he choked. ‘I apologise if you mistook my gallows humour for rudeness. Absolutely unintentional. I have nothing but the highest regard for you and your criminal skills.'

At least, that's probably what he said – the last few words just came out as strangled gasps and wheezes.

Globb dropped Jaanson back to the ground. Still short of breath Jaanson waited for a moment until he was strong enough to get back to his feet. He held out a hand, hoping Globb would pull him up but Globb walked away, and went over to the kicked-in doorway.

‘Not in there now,' he rasped, licking his fat lips in annoyance. ‘We should disappear before the local authorities come searching for us.'

‘Why would they do that?' Jaanson asked. ‘And why do we care anyway? You can just kill them.'

‘I don't kill locals.'

‘Why not? You're happy enough to see them blown to bits when the pyramid destroys the planet.'

‘That's different.' Globb smiled. ‘I don't have to dirty my hands or reputation from a distance.' He smiled again, this time at Jaanson. ‘Mind you, when a job is over I don't mind asking people like Kik the Assassin to tie up any…loose ends.'

Globb straightened his suit. ‘Killing me would not be a good use of resources. We could have a future together, you, me, Kik the Assassin. We could pull off all sorts of crimes across the cosmos.'

Cyrrus Globb smiled the sort of smile that men like Horace Jaanson never felt comfortable around. Mainly because it implied threat, enjoyment of violence and a suggestion that they knew more than you did. Jaanson especially didn't like it because it was the sort of smile he had been given throughout his lifetime – at school, at university and even at work.

In the distance, a siren was blaring.

‘The police are coming this way,' Globb said. ‘We should go.'

‘Where?'

‘To the hideout.'

‘We have a hideout?'

‘We go to theirs.'

‘They have a hideout?'

Globb reached a hand into his business suit's inner pocket and brought out a small black device. He scanned the skyline with the device and two buildings on the fascia glowed red. He tapped twice at one.

‘Arcadia at Central?' said a sweet human female voice. ‘How can I help?'

‘Oh, hullo there,' Globb said in an equally sweet voice. ‘Awfully sorry to bother you, but my business partner and I have arrived in the city and been badly let down by –' he quickly tapped the other red-lined building – ‘the Campbell Tower, who seem to have lost our reservation. I really don't have the time or, frankly, the patience to deal with their incompetence. Do you have a room for tonight? Price is no object. I believe my…sister is staying there already, she recommended your establishment very highly.'

‘Of course we can help you,' said the Arcadia's receptionist. ‘I can have the rooms ready for you in ten minutes.'

‘We're on our way.'

‘What name is it?'

‘Summerfield,' Globb said quickly.

‘That'll be perfect, Mr Summerfield. Your sister's party have already booked in. Would you like a room next to theirs?'

‘That would be very good indeed, thank you.'

‘See you shortly,' said the receptionist.

‘And how are we going to pay for a hotel in this time zone?' Jaanson asked.

Globb just strode along the darkened pavement. He casually walked into a well-dressed man, staggering home after a night out drinking. He apologised as Globb feigned a stumble. ‘Not a problem,' Globb said, and the drunk man went on his way. A moment later, Globb repeated the same trick with a couple of giggling young women.

By the time he had done it to three more people en route to the Arcadia at Central, he had collected enough wallets and purses with enough cash to pay for a week's stay.

Peter was cleaning the apparatus Ruth had used to descend into the Power Station and grab the Glamour. It was like he was restoring an antique – the level of care and attention he was giving it made Ruth smile.

Ruth had known Peter for a year now, seen him grow from an angry teenager, bitter about his mother ‘abandoning' him for a year or so, leaving him to fend for himself in a post-war slave pit until he was rescued. She understood some of that anger – it wasn't just aimed at Bernice, who couldn't help not being around for him, that
was circumstance. The war they had both been through had separated them in time as well as distance. But there was something else behind Peter's pent-up aggression, his reason for taking on the job of Head of Security on Legion, and making it a success at 18 years old. The anger that propelled him forward back then had been a result of someone messing with his head, convincing him that his lover was still with him, every day sharing his home and bed. In fact, he'd died in the slave-pits of Bastion, a fact that had been exploited by a vampiric alien who had manipulated him for the next year. By the time Ruth and Bernice reached Legion, Peter was a bubbling cauldron of hate, angst and – although Ruth had never said this aloud to Bernice – insanity.

Time had healed them, brought Peter and his mum back together. Ruth, Jack and a few other friends had helped with that too. But at heart, Peter was a scrapper; he wasn't content unless there was a fight or battle to be won. Despite his youth, he was wise and experienced. He understood conflict, he read people's body language expertly (a trait he clearly inherited from his mum) and there were very few weapons he wasn't familiar with.

That was the bit that always alarmed Ruth. She wasn't good with guns; she didn't want to be, either. Her background, as far as she could remember it at all, was as a slightly submissive servant. Yes, there was far more to her than that, other aspects of her past that had been overwritten and distorted by the same vampire-creature that had affected Peter, but Ruth had chosen to focus on
the life she recalled, as a worshipper of Poseidon, when she was happy in blissful ignorance. Her true history, where she came from, who she was and the things she did were something she didn't talk about.

Jack had tried, once, to get her to face that part of her past, but she had made it clear (as did the frosty side of their relationship for about a fortnight) that she was not inclined to think about it. However much of a lie the Poseidon thing was, it was a past she was happier to embrace.

That's how bad her real life had been.

So Ruth understood Peter, she liked him and treated him like a little brother – although there wasn't much between them age wise. A handful of years. Then again, Peter was part Killoran, so maybe in ‘dog' years, he was older than 19. ‘Dog' years, however, wasn't a phrase one used around Peter.

Everyone, it seemed, had parts of their past they'd rather ignore/delude themselves about.

Talking of which, Ruth looked up as Jack entered their hotel room, pizza boxes in his arms.

‘Isn't it good to know that no matter how far back in time you go, pizza is still pizza.' He put them down, sitting cross-legged (in his case that took up some space) opposite his fiancée.

‘Go back past the eighteenth century and it's very different,' Peter said. ‘What we call “pizza” back home started around then.'

Ruth smiled. ‘Pizza expert?'

‘Archaeologist mum, with a passion for Earth. It's amazing what you pick up in idle conversation. My dad liked pizza. Hawaiian.'

Jack pointed at a box. ‘There's one of those there, though I really don't get pineapple on pizza. Each to his own.' He stuffed something meat-based into his mouth and Ruth was sure his eyes momentarily glowed redder. He smiled. ‘Jalapenos.'

Ruth didn't know what that meant so Jack went to pick one off a slice. ‘Red or green, my lovely? What's your desire?'

‘Don't,' warned Peter. ‘You'll regret it.'

Ruth decided Jack wasn't out to poison her – it'd be a short engagement if he did – and she liked trying new things. She took one of each and popped them in her mouth.

And spat them out again, shrieking, while Jack literally rolled onto his back, kicking his legs, laughing raucously.

Even Peter managed a smile, Ruth could see, through her tears of burning-mouth-syndrome. He reached down and passed her a can of cola and she took great gulping mouthfuls of it.

‘Mean, Jack,' Peter said. ‘Dead mean.'

‘But so funny,' Jack countered, still unable to get off the ground, he was so amused.

Finally Ruth was able to move and she leapt onto Jack, pummelling his chest with her small hands furiously, not sure if she wanted to break his ribs or move to his face.

Jack eventually stopped laughing and grabbed her
wrists. She struggled for a moment as he drew her closer. ‘That was funny,' he said, grinning from ear to ear.

‘Not to me, it wasn't,' Ruth said.

Jack pushed his head forward and kissed her on the lips. ‘Oh, it so was, babe, it really was.'

‘Get a room,' was Peter's response.

‘Already got one.'

‘Yeah, I feel welcome,' laughed Peter. ‘Listen guys, look after that Glamour thing, yeah? I am a bit worried about that Spyro weaponista.'

‘Finally got you to notice her?' asked Jack, managing to hold Ruth away with a long arm, as her fists flailed pointlessly in the air around his hand.

‘Ha ha, Jack. No, she's a lethal trained killer, probably locked up in some local prison with a bunch of idiots she could kill before they even breathe at her.'

‘She's not your problem, Petey,' Jack said.

‘She is,' Peter said, as Ruth gave up and slumped on the floor, waving air into her mouth. ‘I got her captured, I ought to get her back to the pyramid ready for Mum and the Doctor to do their magic with that rock thing.'

Ruth took the Glamour from her rucksack. ‘I wonder what this actually is?'

‘Didn't get a chance to see it in the future.' Jack nodded. ‘Close up, it just looks like a rock.'

‘It is a rock,' Ruth said.

‘Maybe it's a bomb,' Peter said.

The other two stared at him.

‘Well, if I wanted to create a bomb to blow up the
universe, I'd disguise it as a rock. Seeya.' And with a smile at their newly alarmed expressions, Peter slipped away.

Ruth and Jack were still staring at it, pizza getting cold when, ten minutes later, Bernice and the Doctor entered the room.

The Doctor stuffed some Hawaiian into his mouth. ‘Cold pizza. My favourite. Not.'