A Matter of Time (2/20)
A Matter of Time (2/?)
Rating: PG
Summary: In which some things are explained, and many more are not.
Thanks to thaddeusfavour and bacchae777 for their time in betaing!
Chapter 1
~
“Why hello there,” the voice said. “And you are?”
Ianto held onto consciousness for just long enough to realize that the voice and the arms gripping him belonged to Jack before his legs folded under him and the world went dark.
~
When Ianto woke, he didn’t feel much better than when he’d passed out. His tongue was fuzzy, stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his hands and feet were freezing. It took him a moment to get a hold of his stomach before the nausea retreated enough to open his eyes.
The light danced across his vision for a moment before he could resolve the pattern on the ceiling. When he could focus a little better, he tried to sit up, only to flop back down when his muscles seized up.
“Careful there. You’re probably going to need ten minutes before sudden movements are advisable.”
Ianto - slowly - turned his head towards the speaker. It was Jack, thank God. Whatever had happened, at least Jack was still here.
“What’s wrong with me?”
“Time sickness, I think,” Jack said, coming over to the side of the bed. “Do you know when you are?”
“Time sickness?”
“Uh-huh,” said Jack, placing a hand on Ianto’s cheek. “Dizziness, blurry vision, cold extremities?”
“Sounds about right,” Ianto replied, trying to get Jack’s face to become something a little less fuzzy.
“It’s that or space sickness, but judging by the getup, I’m guessing you’re not from this century,” said Jack. He reached down and fingered Ianto’s tie, tugging it out of the front of his suit jacket. “Or millennium.”
Wait. That wasn’t right. What wasn’t right? Ianto cursed under his breath. His mind was having trouble; it felt like someone had given him a book with too-small type that he couldn’t quite make out.
“Jack, what’s going on?”
“Sorry, not Jack,” Jack said.
No, something was definitely not making sense.
Ianto struggled to get up again. This time he was successful, and he looked around at his surroundings. He was in a small room that didn’t contain more than the bed he was lying on and a bench-like chair. Or a couch-like bench. Or a-
“Not Jack?” Ianto repeated, the pieces finally falling into place. He looked back at the person beside him, this time taking a closer look.
No, he realized, with a certain amount of horror. This was definitely not the person he’d been standing beside what felt like only a moment ago. And yet - it was. The same face, the same eyes, the same cleft in his chin, the same dimples at the sides of his mouth. But younger. Younger, with different hair, and, most importantly, a look in his eyes that was impersonal. Like he was staring at a stranger.
This Jack didn’t know who he was. And this Ianto was feeling more and more that he didn’t know who this Jack was either.
The nausea came back with a vengeance, but Ianto shoved it aside. This wasn’t his Jack, okay, he could process that. But then how was this man related to Jack? Was he in the same dimension? If he was, this must be Jack before Ianto knew him, because otherwise, he’d remember him. Ianto’s mind whirred, trying to sort out the sudden rush of data, the logical conclusions. He looked younger, and every photo Jack had shown Ianto of himself since his arrival on earth had shown the same person, unchanged by time.
Which meant that this Jack was probably not immortal. This Jack was from before, before Jack had met the Doctor, before he’d died and come back, from when-
I wasn’t a good person, Ianto. You don’t want to know the kind of things I did.
Ianto’s gut wrenched. Suddenly, the only person he felt safe with, wasn’t.
“Hey, hey. Don’t go into temporal shock on me. The laundry service here is rubbish, and I’d like to use these sheets for the next few days.”
“When am I?” Ianto asked, surprising himself with the evenness of his voice.
“5056. I’m guessing you didn’t end up when you were expecting? Or you weren’t expecting to end up anywhen at all?”
“No,” said Ianto, faintly. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere in particular.”
“Ouch,” Jack said, looking sympathetic. “Accidental time travel’s a bitch on the system. Explains why you passed out in my arms, too. Generally, I know why that happens.”
The hair might have been wrong, Ianto thought numbly, but the smirk was exactly the same.
“So, this Jack,” Jack - no, not Jack - said, “Is he as hot as me, or were you still blinded from the shock when you thought I was him?”
The first rule of time travel, Ianto, Jack had said to him, is never tell anyone anything about their future. So no, I won’t tell you what happens in the twenty-first century. Just remember that it changes, and be ready for it.
But this was the future. So, in a sense, anything Ianto told anyone here had already happened, so he couldn’t cause any temporal paradoxes, or self-fulfilling prophecies. Except for the niggling detail that Jack was a rebel in all things, including in the tradition of following a linear timeline. So, telling this Jack anything about him would be telling him about his own future, and Ianto’s logical mind could quickly grasp all the problems with that.
“There’s some resemblance,” he answered when he realized young not-Jack was looking at him, expectantly. “I got confused, for a bit. He was with me when it happened. I thought he’d still be here.”
“No problem,” said not-Jack, cheerfully. “I’m sure you won’t mistake me for anyone else next time.” He stepping back from the bed and held out a hand. “Can you stand up, carefully? Being vertical sometimes helps the symptoms recede.”
Ianto took his hand and used it to pull himself up, almost tipping over in the process. Not-Jack grabbed him around the shoulders to steady him. When Ianto was standing on his own without swaying, he ran his hands down Ianto’s arms, tugging at his cuffs and then across his front to finger the buttons on his jacket.
“So lets see. A… suit, is it? With a fabric necklace for men, a-”
“Tie,” Ianto supplied.
“A tie, right. Because you tie it. Manufactured plastic buttons, tightly woven fabric, and natural fibers, both plant and animal based,” he listed, touching Ianto’s collar and then stepped up closer, turning Ianto’s head and pressing his nose to Ianto’s neck. “Artificial scents, probably decorative, traces of methane, fluorocarbons, fluorine and chlorine.”
He stepped back and looked Ianto up and down with a surprisingly clinical eye.
“Late twentieth century?”
Ianto raised an eyebrow. Jack - not-Jack - shrugged.
“Either that or you’ve got a fondness for period dress, and polluted air and water supplies.”
Ianto shook his head, ruefully. Even here, far from Ianto’s time and probably not much older than Ianto himself, Jack still had a know-it-all air.
“No, you’re pretty close. 2008, actually.”
“Ah. I thought suits went out of fashion in the late nineteen hundreds.”
“Not quite. Most people don’t wear them much anymore, except for special occasions.”
“Didn’t.”
“Pardon?”
“Most people didn’t wear them much anymore,” not-Jack elaborated. “You should try switching your tenses as soon as possible, it’ll probably help with adjusting.”
Ianto looked at him for a long moment, his stomach dropping.
“Adjusting to what?”
Not-Jack spread his arms wide. “To your new home, temporally speaking.”
“You can’t send me back?”
Not-Jack frowned.
“How would I be able to do that?”
Because you’re a time agent, Ianto thought. But he couldn’t say it - he didn’t know it.
“Isn’t there a way?” Ianto asked, wincing at the desperation that was leaking into his voice. “You must have some way.”
Not-Jack shrugged.
“The Time Agency could, but they don’t deal with displaced persons, not forward in time, at any rate. Maybe if you begged, but you’d be lucky to get an appointment.”
“Oh,” said Ianto, giving into the urgent need to sit down. Not-Jack bounced over to the bed and sank down next to him.
“Don’t look like that,” he said. “It’s not that terrible. It’s an all right time, lots of booze, lots of sex, lots of interesting species mixing together. It could be worse, you could be stuck in 2770.” The last part was said rhythmically, Ianto noted. Like an expression, or a proverb.
“What happened then?”
“Oh, humanity spent the next sixty years celibate,” not-Jack said, waving it off. “Don’t ask; it was as boring as it sounds.”
“All right.”
Jack turned to him with a faint look of concern written across his features, and reached out and put a warm hand on Ianto’s thigh.
“Hey, I’ll make sure you’re fixed up good. Find you some decent people who’ll make sure you don’t get eaten by the wrong species,” he said, rubbing his thigh in a gesture that was probably meant to be soothing, but only made Ianto think of his own Jack, three thousand years away. “Kethan Brisho, by the way. I don’t think I ever got the pleasure of hearing your name.”
Ianto’s name was part of this man’s future. But then, so was Ianto himself. Surely knowing his face was just as bad as knowing his name.
“Ianto. Ianto Jones.”
“I-an-to Jones,” not-Jack - Kethan - repeated slowly. “Sounds as delicious as you look.”
All of a sudden it was too much for Ianto: the sound of his name in Jack’s broad American accent, the innuendo in his words, the lecherous look that was oh-so-familiar, the brush of his hand on Ianto’s leg. Ianto lurched up again and stumbled a few steps to the far wall, placing his hands against it and resting his forehead on the cool metal. He took a few deep breaths, trying to focus his thoughts and calm his stomach. Jack - Kethan, damnit - started to say something, but was interrupted by a rap at the door. Kethan got up from the bed and opened it.
“Keth, love,” said the person on the other side, just out of Ianto’s view. “Are you going to keep the pretty one all to yourself, or let us in on the details any time soon?”
“Oh, I’m not sure he’s so into sharing,” said Kethan, and Ianto could hear the grin in his voice. “He’s twenty-first century, just barely.”
“Twenty-first? That’s a long way. Know why he’s here?”
“Nope,” replied Kethan. “And I don’t think he does either. Look, I think he’s gonna need a bit to sort things out, how about I meet you in the cafeteria on E at seven?”
“Sure. Just wanted to make sure he hadn’t stabbed you.”
“Make sure he hadn’t, or join in if he had?”
There was a shout of laughter, and then Kethan was closing the door and turning back to Ianto.
“You all right there?”
Ianto considered this. No, scratch that, he didn’t want to consider this right now. Best to focus on the moment, or the sensation of being so completely gone from where he should be would overwhelm him again. He thought about the exchange he had just heard - there had been something strange about it. Kethan’s voice had sounded different, like Ianto had been hearing him from behind a wall, with a faint echo.
“Why did you sound different?” Ianto asked.
“Just now?”
Ianto nodded.
“I wasn’t speaking English. The fish was translating for you.”
“The what?”
“Fish.” Kethan reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a thick chain, with a small, semicircular item clasped in the middle. “It’s a telepathic autotranslator. Seventy-eight languages in this one, standard twentieth-century English included, lucky for you. You’re close enough it’s working right now. Don’t wander off on your own, unless you happen to speak one of the Galactic Universals.”
Ianto considered this. The explanation had given him several questions to ask, and he sorted out which one to ask first.
“But you were speaking English before? And now?”
“Yup. The fish let me know it was your language, just after you passed out.”
“But - do people still speak English?”
“No, not except for some historians. Lucky for you, I happen to like history,” Kethan said, a bit of a salacious grin on his face.
“All right,” said Ianto, swiftly moving on. “Why is it called a fish?”
Kethan shrugged. “Jax Penther - the inventor - never would say. Always just laughed and said people needed to read more.”
Well, that explained that, Ianto thought. At least he hadn’t fallen into an alternate universe, courtesy of Douglas Adams.
“Any more questions?”
“Just one,” Ianto admitted. “How is there more than one Galactic Universal? Isn’t that a bit contradictory?”
Kethan barked a laugh.
“Not much gets by you, does it? You’re right, it is absurd, but there are three. A, B and F. People never were very good at agreeing to give up their local tongues. There used to be seven, but we’ve whittled it down to three so far.”
“C, D, E, and G lost out?” asked Ianto wryly. If anyone could understand the appeal of local tongue, it was a Welshman.
“Exactly,” Kethan said, grinning.
“I see.”
Ianto leaned back against the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets. It was getting easier by the moment, processing the time change, as he gathered more information. The more he knew, even petty little linguistic details about the fifty-first century, the less lost he felt.
“So lets see. I’m in the fifty-first century - 5056, to be precise - where they don’t speak English, have some form of instant translation, with a man named Kethan Brisho. Is that all I know so far?”
“Unless you’re telepathic, I think so.”
“What else should I know?” Ianto asked.
“Right away? Well, you’re on a ship, you might like to know. We’ll be in space for another six days - 36 hour clock, but the hours are a lot shorter than you’re used to, I’ll get you a watch - and we’re headed for the main hub of the Trell System in the Burning cluster.”
“A space ship?” Ianto asked.
“Galactic cruiser, class C9, model 5043. A real hunk of scrap, actually. Less of a decadent cruise and more of an orgy in a closet.”
“And you’re on it, why?”
“I never turn down an orgy.”
Ianto had to laugh, then.
“Just traveling. Meeting some friends on Trell Major,” Kethan said, shrugging.
Oh. Ianto knew that shrug. That was Jack’s ‘I’m casually dissembling, nope, nothing here to know, nothing here to hide’ shrug. A quick glance at Kethan’s left wrist cemented the feeling: there was Jack’s wristband, a little less worn and stained, but unmistakably the vortex manipulator. Kethan was more than able to get him back to the twenty-first century, unless Ianto missed his guess.
Which meant that he’d better not lose this young Jack, because he was probably his best bet if he ever wanted to return to his own time. The question was, how to persuade him to send him home when Kethan clearly wasn’t interested in owning up to his own time-traveling aptitude.
“So what are you going to do with me, then?”
“With a face like that? Whatever you let me.”
No, Ianto decided, the smirk wasn’t the same, it was worse. But then, he’d always known that Jack came from a less prudish time. It only made sense that he’d reined himself in after landing in Victorian times.
“I’m assuming I’m stuck on this ship until we land. Is there somewhere I can room?” Ianto asked, ignoring the pass.
“Unless you have a few hundred credits on you, no. They don’t take kindly to stowaways, so best not to ask them if you can have a room. The ‘but I accidentally fell through a temporal rift’ line doesn’t usually work on cruise directors,” Kethan said. “You can stay here, with me.”
Ianto made a show of looking around.
“And sleep, pray tell, where?”
Kethan gestured at the bed. “I won’t bite.”
“Unless I ask?” Ianto quipped, immediately wishing he hadn’t. It would be too easy to fall into his and Jack’s traditional banter with Kethan, if he wasn’t careful, and Kethan was sure to take that as a come on.
“Just say the word,” Kethan grinned, and then held out his palms, upward. “Hey, I know you people aren’t as forward, so if I’m scaring you off, or anything, let me know. I don’t do anything without consent.”
Ianto nodded at him.
“And when we reach Trell?”
“I told you, I know some nice people there. They’ll help you get on your feet,” Kethan said, and then gave him an apologetic half smile. “I’m really sorry I can’t do more, but I-” He cut himself off, shrugging.
“No, that’s fine,” Ianto said slowly. “I understand.”
“Good,” Kethan replied. “Now, I’ve only been on this ship for a fortnight, but I’ve met some people who know how to have a really good time. Join us for supper?”
“Sure,” said Ianto, pushing off the wall and following Kethan out of the room. “Just supper?”
“Just supper,” Kethan confirmed. “We’ll break you in slowly, I promise. And don’t worry, I know I take some getting used to, but you’ll sort me out in no time, I’m sure.”
Yes, Ianto thought. No time at all.
~
Read chapter 3.
Rating: PG
Summary: In which some things are explained, and many more are not.
Thanks to thaddeusfavour and bacchae777 for their time in betaing!
Chapter 1
~
“Why hello there,” the voice said. “And you are?”
Ianto held onto consciousness for just long enough to realize that the voice and the arms gripping him belonged to Jack before his legs folded under him and the world went dark.
~
When Ianto woke, he didn’t feel much better than when he’d passed out. His tongue was fuzzy, stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his hands and feet were freezing. It took him a moment to get a hold of his stomach before the nausea retreated enough to open his eyes.
The light danced across his vision for a moment before he could resolve the pattern on the ceiling. When he could focus a little better, he tried to sit up, only to flop back down when his muscles seized up.
“Careful there. You’re probably going to need ten minutes before sudden movements are advisable.”
Ianto - slowly - turned his head towards the speaker. It was Jack, thank God. Whatever had happened, at least Jack was still here.
“What’s wrong with me?”
“Time sickness, I think,” Jack said, coming over to the side of the bed. “Do you know when you are?”
“Time sickness?”
“Uh-huh,” said Jack, placing a hand on Ianto’s cheek. “Dizziness, blurry vision, cold extremities?”
“Sounds about right,” Ianto replied, trying to get Jack’s face to become something a little less fuzzy.
“It’s that or space sickness, but judging by the getup, I’m guessing you’re not from this century,” said Jack. He reached down and fingered Ianto’s tie, tugging it out of the front of his suit jacket. “Or millennium.”
Wait. That wasn’t right. What wasn’t right? Ianto cursed under his breath. His mind was having trouble; it felt like someone had given him a book with too-small type that he couldn’t quite make out.
“Jack, what’s going on?”
“Sorry, not Jack,” Jack said.
No, something was definitely not making sense.
Ianto struggled to get up again. This time he was successful, and he looked around at his surroundings. He was in a small room that didn’t contain more than the bed he was lying on and a bench-like chair. Or a couch-like bench. Or a-
“Not Jack?” Ianto repeated, the pieces finally falling into place. He looked back at the person beside him, this time taking a closer look.
No, he realized, with a certain amount of horror. This was definitely not the person he’d been standing beside what felt like only a moment ago. And yet - it was. The same face, the same eyes, the same cleft in his chin, the same dimples at the sides of his mouth. But younger. Younger, with different hair, and, most importantly, a look in his eyes that was impersonal. Like he was staring at a stranger.
This Jack didn’t know who he was. And this Ianto was feeling more and more that he didn’t know who this Jack was either.
The nausea came back with a vengeance, but Ianto shoved it aside. This wasn’t his Jack, okay, he could process that. But then how was this man related to Jack? Was he in the same dimension? If he was, this must be Jack before Ianto knew him, because otherwise, he’d remember him. Ianto’s mind whirred, trying to sort out the sudden rush of data, the logical conclusions. He looked younger, and every photo Jack had shown Ianto of himself since his arrival on earth had shown the same person, unchanged by time.
Which meant that this Jack was probably not immortal. This Jack was from before, before Jack had met the Doctor, before he’d died and come back, from when-
I wasn’t a good person, Ianto. You don’t want to know the kind of things I did.
Ianto’s gut wrenched. Suddenly, the only person he felt safe with, wasn’t.
“Hey, hey. Don’t go into temporal shock on me. The laundry service here is rubbish, and I’d like to use these sheets for the next few days.”
“When am I?” Ianto asked, surprising himself with the evenness of his voice.
“5056. I’m guessing you didn’t end up when you were expecting? Or you weren’t expecting to end up anywhen at all?”
“No,” said Ianto, faintly. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere in particular.”
“Ouch,” Jack said, looking sympathetic. “Accidental time travel’s a bitch on the system. Explains why you passed out in my arms, too. Generally, I know why that happens.”
The hair might have been wrong, Ianto thought numbly, but the smirk was exactly the same.
“So, this Jack,” Jack - no, not Jack - said, “Is he as hot as me, or were you still blinded from the shock when you thought I was him?”
The first rule of time travel, Ianto, Jack had said to him, is never tell anyone anything about their future. So no, I won’t tell you what happens in the twenty-first century. Just remember that it changes, and be ready for it.
But this was the future. So, in a sense, anything Ianto told anyone here had already happened, so he couldn’t cause any temporal paradoxes, or self-fulfilling prophecies. Except for the niggling detail that Jack was a rebel in all things, including in the tradition of following a linear timeline. So, telling this Jack anything about him would be telling him about his own future, and Ianto’s logical mind could quickly grasp all the problems with that.
“There’s some resemblance,” he answered when he realized young not-Jack was looking at him, expectantly. “I got confused, for a bit. He was with me when it happened. I thought he’d still be here.”
“No problem,” said not-Jack, cheerfully. “I’m sure you won’t mistake me for anyone else next time.” He stepping back from the bed and held out a hand. “Can you stand up, carefully? Being vertical sometimes helps the symptoms recede.”
Ianto took his hand and used it to pull himself up, almost tipping over in the process. Not-Jack grabbed him around the shoulders to steady him. When Ianto was standing on his own without swaying, he ran his hands down Ianto’s arms, tugging at his cuffs and then across his front to finger the buttons on his jacket.
“So lets see. A… suit, is it? With a fabric necklace for men, a-”
“Tie,” Ianto supplied.
“A tie, right. Because you tie it. Manufactured plastic buttons, tightly woven fabric, and natural fibers, both plant and animal based,” he listed, touching Ianto’s collar and then stepped up closer, turning Ianto’s head and pressing his nose to Ianto’s neck. “Artificial scents, probably decorative, traces of methane, fluorocarbons, fluorine and chlorine.”
He stepped back and looked Ianto up and down with a surprisingly clinical eye.
“Late twentieth century?”
Ianto raised an eyebrow. Jack - not-Jack - shrugged.
“Either that or you’ve got a fondness for period dress, and polluted air and water supplies.”
Ianto shook his head, ruefully. Even here, far from Ianto’s time and probably not much older than Ianto himself, Jack still had a know-it-all air.
“No, you’re pretty close. 2008, actually.”
“Ah. I thought suits went out of fashion in the late nineteen hundreds.”
“Not quite. Most people don’t wear them much anymore, except for special occasions.”
“Didn’t.”
“Pardon?”
“Most people didn’t wear them much anymore,” not-Jack elaborated. “You should try switching your tenses as soon as possible, it’ll probably help with adjusting.”
Ianto looked at him for a long moment, his stomach dropping.
“Adjusting to what?”
Not-Jack spread his arms wide. “To your new home, temporally speaking.”
“You can’t send me back?”
Not-Jack frowned.
“How would I be able to do that?”
Because you’re a time agent, Ianto thought. But he couldn’t say it - he didn’t know it.
“Isn’t there a way?” Ianto asked, wincing at the desperation that was leaking into his voice. “You must have some way.”
Not-Jack shrugged.
“The Time Agency could, but they don’t deal with displaced persons, not forward in time, at any rate. Maybe if you begged, but you’d be lucky to get an appointment.”
“Oh,” said Ianto, giving into the urgent need to sit down. Not-Jack bounced over to the bed and sank down next to him.
“Don’t look like that,” he said. “It’s not that terrible. It’s an all right time, lots of booze, lots of sex, lots of interesting species mixing together. It could be worse, you could be stuck in 2770.” The last part was said rhythmically, Ianto noted. Like an expression, or a proverb.
“What happened then?”
“Oh, humanity spent the next sixty years celibate,” not-Jack said, waving it off. “Don’t ask; it was as boring as it sounds.”
“All right.”
Jack turned to him with a faint look of concern written across his features, and reached out and put a warm hand on Ianto’s thigh.
“Hey, I’ll make sure you’re fixed up good. Find you some decent people who’ll make sure you don’t get eaten by the wrong species,” he said, rubbing his thigh in a gesture that was probably meant to be soothing, but only made Ianto think of his own Jack, three thousand years away. “Kethan Brisho, by the way. I don’t think I ever got the pleasure of hearing your name.”
Ianto’s name was part of this man’s future. But then, so was Ianto himself. Surely knowing his face was just as bad as knowing his name.
“Ianto. Ianto Jones.”
“I-an-to Jones,” not-Jack - Kethan - repeated slowly. “Sounds as delicious as you look.”
All of a sudden it was too much for Ianto: the sound of his name in Jack’s broad American accent, the innuendo in his words, the lecherous look that was oh-so-familiar, the brush of his hand on Ianto’s leg. Ianto lurched up again and stumbled a few steps to the far wall, placing his hands against it and resting his forehead on the cool metal. He took a few deep breaths, trying to focus his thoughts and calm his stomach. Jack - Kethan, damnit - started to say something, but was interrupted by a rap at the door. Kethan got up from the bed and opened it.
“Keth, love,” said the person on the other side, just out of Ianto’s view. “Are you going to keep the pretty one all to yourself, or let us in on the details any time soon?”
“Oh, I’m not sure he’s so into sharing,” said Kethan, and Ianto could hear the grin in his voice. “He’s twenty-first century, just barely.”
“Twenty-first? That’s a long way. Know why he’s here?”
“Nope,” replied Kethan. “And I don’t think he does either. Look, I think he’s gonna need a bit to sort things out, how about I meet you in the cafeteria on E at seven?”
“Sure. Just wanted to make sure he hadn’t stabbed you.”
“Make sure he hadn’t, or join in if he had?”
There was a shout of laughter, and then Kethan was closing the door and turning back to Ianto.
“You all right there?”
Ianto considered this. No, scratch that, he didn’t want to consider this right now. Best to focus on the moment, or the sensation of being so completely gone from where he should be would overwhelm him again. He thought about the exchange he had just heard - there had been something strange about it. Kethan’s voice had sounded different, like Ianto had been hearing him from behind a wall, with a faint echo.
“Why did you sound different?” Ianto asked.
“Just now?”
Ianto nodded.
“I wasn’t speaking English. The fish was translating for you.”
“The what?”
“Fish.” Kethan reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a thick chain, with a small, semicircular item clasped in the middle. “It’s a telepathic autotranslator. Seventy-eight languages in this one, standard twentieth-century English included, lucky for you. You’re close enough it’s working right now. Don’t wander off on your own, unless you happen to speak one of the Galactic Universals.”
Ianto considered this. The explanation had given him several questions to ask, and he sorted out which one to ask first.
“But you were speaking English before? And now?”
“Yup. The fish let me know it was your language, just after you passed out.”
“But - do people still speak English?”
“No, not except for some historians. Lucky for you, I happen to like history,” Kethan said, a bit of a salacious grin on his face.
“All right,” said Ianto, swiftly moving on. “Why is it called a fish?”
Kethan shrugged. “Jax Penther - the inventor - never would say. Always just laughed and said people needed to read more.”
Well, that explained that, Ianto thought. At least he hadn’t fallen into an alternate universe, courtesy of Douglas Adams.
“Any more questions?”
“Just one,” Ianto admitted. “How is there more than one Galactic Universal? Isn’t that a bit contradictory?”
Kethan barked a laugh.
“Not much gets by you, does it? You’re right, it is absurd, but there are three. A, B and F. People never were very good at agreeing to give up their local tongues. There used to be seven, but we’ve whittled it down to three so far.”
“C, D, E, and G lost out?” asked Ianto wryly. If anyone could understand the appeal of local tongue, it was a Welshman.
“Exactly,” Kethan said, grinning.
“I see.”
Ianto leaned back against the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets. It was getting easier by the moment, processing the time change, as he gathered more information. The more he knew, even petty little linguistic details about the fifty-first century, the less lost he felt.
“So lets see. I’m in the fifty-first century - 5056, to be precise - where they don’t speak English, have some form of instant translation, with a man named Kethan Brisho. Is that all I know so far?”
“Unless you’re telepathic, I think so.”
“What else should I know?” Ianto asked.
“Right away? Well, you’re on a ship, you might like to know. We’ll be in space for another six days - 36 hour clock, but the hours are a lot shorter than you’re used to, I’ll get you a watch - and we’re headed for the main hub of the Trell System in the Burning cluster.”
“A space ship?” Ianto asked.
“Galactic cruiser, class C9, model 5043. A real hunk of scrap, actually. Less of a decadent cruise and more of an orgy in a closet.”
“And you’re on it, why?”
“I never turn down an orgy.”
Ianto had to laugh, then.
“Just traveling. Meeting some friends on Trell Major,” Kethan said, shrugging.
Oh. Ianto knew that shrug. That was Jack’s ‘I’m casually dissembling, nope, nothing here to know, nothing here to hide’ shrug. A quick glance at Kethan’s left wrist cemented the feeling: there was Jack’s wristband, a little less worn and stained, but unmistakably the vortex manipulator. Kethan was more than able to get him back to the twenty-first century, unless Ianto missed his guess.
Which meant that he’d better not lose this young Jack, because he was probably his best bet if he ever wanted to return to his own time. The question was, how to persuade him to send him home when Kethan clearly wasn’t interested in owning up to his own time-traveling aptitude.
“So what are you going to do with me, then?”
“With a face like that? Whatever you let me.”
No, Ianto decided, the smirk wasn’t the same, it was worse. But then, he’d always known that Jack came from a less prudish time. It only made sense that he’d reined himself in after landing in Victorian times.
“I’m assuming I’m stuck on this ship until we land. Is there somewhere I can room?” Ianto asked, ignoring the pass.
“Unless you have a few hundred credits on you, no. They don’t take kindly to stowaways, so best not to ask them if you can have a room. The ‘but I accidentally fell through a temporal rift’ line doesn’t usually work on cruise directors,” Kethan said. “You can stay here, with me.”
Ianto made a show of looking around.
“And sleep, pray tell, where?”
Kethan gestured at the bed. “I won’t bite.”
“Unless I ask?” Ianto quipped, immediately wishing he hadn’t. It would be too easy to fall into his and Jack’s traditional banter with Kethan, if he wasn’t careful, and Kethan was sure to take that as a come on.
“Just say the word,” Kethan grinned, and then held out his palms, upward. “Hey, I know you people aren’t as forward, so if I’m scaring you off, or anything, let me know. I don’t do anything without consent.”
Ianto nodded at him.
“And when we reach Trell?”
“I told you, I know some nice people there. They’ll help you get on your feet,” Kethan said, and then gave him an apologetic half smile. “I’m really sorry I can’t do more, but I-” He cut himself off, shrugging.
“No, that’s fine,” Ianto said slowly. “I understand.”
“Good,” Kethan replied. “Now, I’ve only been on this ship for a fortnight, but I’ve met some people who know how to have a really good time. Join us for supper?”
“Sure,” said Ianto, pushing off the wall and following Kethan out of the room. “Just supper?”
“Just supper,” Kethan confirmed. “We’ll break you in slowly, I promise. And don’t worry, I know I take some getting used to, but you’ll sort me out in no time, I’m sure.”
Yes, Ianto thought. No time at all.
~
Read chapter 3.