35. Four
Four
Torchwood
FR-T
"That's not a good sound!" Andrews called over the deafening cacophany of groaning and shredding that filled the Core.
"We're ripping directly through the fabric of space and time using equipment made from old radio valves and baling wire," Dr Spite reminded the director. "It was never going to be gentle."
Andrews grinned manically. "That's the spirit, Helen," he chuckled. "How are our pilots holding up?"
"Two dead, five unconscious; we've still got more than a dozen reserves but we're down to the last of the Grade A time sensitives," Spite replied. Mathers is still going strong."
"Glad to hear it. This is all for him, after all." Andrews turned his back on the stuttering temporal impeller and walked to the railing of the command gantry.
Below, the six active time sensitives stood gripping their lecterns, bending their minds to controlling the Core's passage through the Space-Time Vortex. TE Mathers, the strongest sensitive ever produced by the human race, according to Spite, looked cool and composed, but the others were sweating, foaming at the mouth, and as Andrews watched a pretty young girl broke from her lectern and began clawing at her own eyes. Swiftly, another sensitive was brought forward to take her place, and only then did the attendants move to restrain her.
"How much longer, Helen?"
"Too long," she replied wearily. "The sensitives are burning out faster and faster and the Core is losing containment. At this rate, only one man will make it as to the destination."
Andrews frowned. "And I wonder if that wasn't the plan all along." He glowered down at Mathers. "Let me know when the shielding is about to collapse."
"You want to prepare your soul?" Spite laughed bitterly.
"Far too late for that," he replied. "I just want to put a bullet in Mathers before the end."
Spite regarded him seriously. "Then I'd do it now, Eric." Even as she spoke, sparks erupted from the impeller as valve after valve - the old-fashioned technology more robust in the Vortex than electronic circuits, but not robust enough - burst. The sensitives, all apart from Mathers, screamed in horror.
Andrews nodded to Spite. "Well then," he agreed. "It was a brave attempt."
"It was vainglory," she admitted, "but glory nonetheless."
He smiled coolly, drew his pistol, leaned over the railing and fired.
Mathers collapsed and at once the Core grew still.
"Are we out?" Andrews asked.
"Just coasting," Spite replied. "drifting to the end of the universe, or until the shields collapse and the Core disintegrates."
Andrews sighed and offered a hip flask to Spite. She shook her head and produced her own. Andrews lifted his flask in a toast. "To Torchwood Four," he proposed.
"Torchwood Four," she replied.
They drank, and the Core dissolved around them, the raw energy of the Time Vortex tearing them apart. At last, only one man remained, drifting into eternity with tendrils of regenerative energy spilling out around him.
Torchwood
FR-T
"That's not a good sound!" Andrews called over the deafening cacophany of groaning and shredding that filled the Core.
"We're ripping directly through the fabric of space and time using equipment made from old radio valves and baling wire," Dr Spite reminded the director. "It was never going to be gentle."
Andrews grinned manically. "That's the spirit, Helen," he chuckled. "How are our pilots holding up?"
"Two dead, five unconscious; we've still got more than a dozen reserves but we're down to the last of the Grade A time sensitives," Spite replied. Mathers is still going strong."
"Glad to hear it. This is all for him, after all." Andrews turned his back on the stuttering temporal impeller and walked to the railing of the command gantry.
Below, the six active time sensitives stood gripping their lecterns, bending their minds to controlling the Core's passage through the Space-Time Vortex. TE Mathers, the strongest sensitive ever produced by the human race, according to Spite, looked cool and composed, but the others were sweating, foaming at the mouth, and as Andrews watched a pretty young girl broke from her lectern and began clawing at her own eyes. Swiftly, another sensitive was brought forward to take her place, and only then did the attendants move to restrain her.
"How much longer, Helen?"
"Too long," she replied wearily. "The sensitives are burning out faster and faster and the Core is losing containment. At this rate, only one man will make it as to the destination."
Andrews frowned. "And I wonder if that wasn't the plan all along." He glowered down at Mathers. "Let me know when the shielding is about to collapse."
"You want to prepare your soul?" Spite laughed bitterly.
"Far too late for that," he replied. "I just want to put a bullet in Mathers before the end."
Spite regarded him seriously. "Then I'd do it now, Eric." Even as she spoke, sparks erupted from the impeller as valve after valve - the old-fashioned technology more robust in the Vortex than electronic circuits, but not robust enough - burst. The sensitives, all apart from Mathers, screamed in horror.
Andrews nodded to Spite. "Well then," he agreed. "It was a brave attempt."
"It was vainglory," she admitted, "but glory nonetheless."
He smiled coolly, drew his pistol, leaned over the railing and fired.
Mathers collapsed and at once the Core grew still.
"Are we out?" Andrews asked.
"Just coasting," Spite replied. "drifting to the end of the universe, or until the shields collapse and the Core disintegrates."
Andrews sighed and offered a hip flask to Spite. She shook her head and produced her own. Andrews lifted his flask in a toast. "To Torchwood Four," he proposed.
"Torchwood Four," she replied.
They drank, and the Core dissolved around them, the raw energy of the Time Vortex tearing them apart. At last, only one man remained, drifting into eternity with tendrils of regenerative energy spilling out around him.