Series 1, Episode 12 - Captain Jack Harkness
THE RIFT
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Introduction
Torchwood has maintained a presence in Cardiff ever since we became aware of the Rift.
The Rift is a rip in space and time - one end is fixed (Cardiff Bay +/- 5 miles), the other is wandering in a seemingly random progression across the universe. The alternative is that there are many access points to the Rift, fixed in various times and locations, but they may not be open all the time.
Attempts have been made to voyage INTO the Rift, but neither travellers nor craft have returned or sent back message. Until such a voyage is successful, we are unable to determine the nature of the Rift, or the threat it poses to us.
We don't know how long the Rift has been there. There is evidence from local newspaper accounts of a serious opening of the Rift in December, 1869, with accounts of explosions, fires, and 'ghouls' appearing at the theatre. Since then, the Rift has not been quiet, with regular alien artefacts 'washing through' the Rift.
Activity from the Rift has increased since the recent Cardiff Earthquake - an action centred on the Rift, which appears to have widened both the mouth of the Rift, and the frequency of its operation.
We have no evidence of the long-term effects of the Rift's operations on Cardiff, or our dimension.
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ROMAN LETTER, 92 AD
Toshiko: I've found some interesting references in this letter home from a Roman soldier at the nearby settlement of Gelligaer in 92 AD:
From Q. Asinius Balbus to Ti. Marcus Musca, greetings
Tiberius, warmest greetings from this coldest land. I know you chide me for constant mentions of this subject, but until you've been here, you will not comprehend. It is easy to build a fine temple in good weather - but how much harder to build a simple hut in this constant deluge?
[continues about the weather for some time]
The locals continue to be a trouble - resulting in many sad hours spent on patrol at night. These Silures refuse to fight in an organised fashion, resulting in many easy victories for them, and much embarrassment for us.
[long, complicated story involving gambling debts, extra duty, bad weather and a raid by the Silures]
But all that has ceased. The tribe has gone quiet. The girls who hang around camp started to bring back stories of a terrible god underneath the land, a god who had grown restless and hungry.
An expedition out into their territory revealed villages empty, and hearths grown cold. We wondered at first if a mass raid was planned, but when thousands of spear-wielding savages failed to sweep down on us, we tried to relax.
Which was hard - there was something strange about the area - a feeling like before Jupiter throws his thunder. A feeling of dreadful tension.
We carried on patrol, through empty village after empty village, all clustered along the desolate shore. We could hear a strange roaring across the waters, like the howling of a giant beast.
The night came creeping through the mist, until all we could see were our own torches. And all the time the howling grew, beating out like a giant's heart.
We could have made camp, but none of us wanted to. And so, we carried on our patrol, stumbling in formation through the dark, wet night.
By the time we made it back to camp, we had lost three of our patrol. None of us saw them go, none of us heard them, but we knew they were just melting away, taken from us. And none of us dared do anything except carry on walking, looking straight ahead, and praying it wasn't coming for you next.
Whatever the hunger is of this strange god, I can't wait for it to end, truly. I don't understand this country, its people or their gods. I long for home.
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AUNT RICH'S LETTER HOME, 1827
Mesopotamia, 1827
My dear Lucy
How wonderful to hear from you! All continues well, my dear, with Mr Rich himself supervising some of the careful excavations. The whispers among the men that we have uncovered Babylon are causing some excitement, and some considerable amount of extra bribery among the native workmen.
As I'm told always happens at these digs, the merest hint of success brings with it a deluge of local superstition and fearmongering. The stories one hears, my dear, are dreadful - giant-winged beasts and fearsome serpents, demons, devils and, naturally, a plague of locusts.
There is a firm story told of a mighty evil buried beneath the Earth, one that should never be disturbed.
George, of course, pooh-poohs such gossip, but it has got some of the more nervous wives in a fluster, and some of the men are, I've noticed, drinking more heavily.
The weather does not help matters. All this heat! What I wouldn't give for a simple drop or two of rain!
+++ Continued +++
Dear Lucy, after closing this letter to you, the most frightful thing happened. I trust you will believe me when I tell you this, although I cannot believe the words as I scribble them with this pen.
George is wounded, and some of the men killed. Mostly workers, but the effect on this camp is striking. There was an accident of some kind down at the dig. Nothing serious at first - they were digging in a trench near where the gates were, but suddenly there was a great wind - a real howler of a sandstorm - and the wall above them swept down on them.
George was brought out first, along with Mr Murchison, Mr Winstanley and Mr Carruthers. All seemed in a bad way, and it was obvious that nothing much could be done for the poor trapped natives.
Then men were laid out in a tent we were keeping for findings of archaeological interest. Dr Rogers was soon at their sides, and said he was foxed. An anxious wife does not want to hear these words, but he silenced me, insisting that he could do no more for them than wait.
The men seemed so cold, and quite insensate. I stayed anxiously by George's side, as the other wives kept eager vigil on their own loved ones. We could mop brows and swat insects, if little else. Outside the tent were the sounds of industry, as the remaining men tried to prop up the trench, although with the sandstorm continuing, they soon abandoned their endeavour.
Eventually we all retired to our tents, sheltering against the sand clawing at the canvas. We stood over our men, silent and still, and it was a terrible atmosphere that crept up on the nerves so.
The storm grew and grew through the night, and next morning the sand botted out the the sun, leaving us feeling very much in the Valley of the Shadow.
And then, of a sudden, they spoke. All our men, as one, came awake. "He is coming," they said, "He will lead us into darkness."
Then they fell silent again, and the storm broke, the tents suddenly flooded with light.
It was several days before George was awake again. Poor Mr Winstanley and Mr Carruthers did not awake again, and much time was taken up with comforting their wives.
After a week, a determined attempt was made to restore normality to the camp, and to resume work. While the natives were bullied back to work, George took me down to the site of his accident.
He held my arm, and we looked across that dreadful trench. I felt his grip tighten on me, and the shudder go through him as his gaze fell on the end of the trench. There, freshly uncovered for all to see was a hideous drawing - a giant carving of a fierce creature, a vengeful demon standing over a powerless city. The creature was truly hideous to behold, and the devastation like one of Papa's dreadful Old Testament tales. Even though a simple carving, the expression on its face was one I shall never forget.
George's voice was a whisper. "That is Abaddon," he said, and we walked away. I was aware that at every step, the creature's stone gaze was glaring into my back. I have never felt such fear.
But, like most fireside tales, this one must remain a mystery. Dear George refuses to be drawn on Abaddon, or his insensate outburst. The men made sure a tarpaulin was drawn over that dreadful sculpture before any of the natives saw it. We are soon to leave camp, with vague plans to return some day.
So, we are left to wonder - what awful historical event did it depict? Or was it a warning of Revelation?
I shall write again if there is news. Meantime, tell me the happenings at home. How are the twins?
Your dear,
Aunt Much
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Police Incident Report
"999". "Police?. Yes, hello. There's a creature in my shrubbery... yes... a creature. An intruder, attacker... yes.... whatever. It's been there at night. I know it's coming for me. A silver giant, like one of those robot things. It's watching me, I know it is. I can't put up with it any longer. It's ruining the hardy perennials. Yes, send someone. I'm in Wyndham Road,"
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Equations
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THE RITZ
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Police Incident Report
Description: Unsourceable music coming from old dance hall.
Time: 21:35
Location: RELAX Nightclub (derelict) formerly The Ritz Dancehall, Sage Street, Cardiff.
Report: A local resident notified Police Call Centre at 20.23 hours on the night in question, complianing of "Strange Old Music" coming from the now derelict RELAX Nightclub on Sage St, nr Victoria Park.
Officers Ralph Bevan and Mark Blastland investigated.
The caller (anonymous) claims that whilst out walking, music could be heard coming clearly from the Nightclub, and insisted that the music was not "normal music but old music, live music". On inspection of the premises, Officers Bevan and Blastland found that all was in order and that there was no sign of any music, or any equipment capable of playing myusic at a volume to cause disturbance.
Building manager Bilis Manger aided with hte enquiry and has given a listed stastement claiming that he had routinely checked on the premises at around the time in question and that there was certainly no music coming from the Nightclub.
We were unable to contact the initial caller to further clarify the details of this incident. The enquiry was concluded and deemed to be simply a misunderstanding.
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THE CARDIFF BLITZ
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Memories of the Cardiff Blitz
I was 13 in 1941. I'll never forget the day when the bombs destroyed my school. They made us go back in the next day in wellies to try and carry out salvage work! Three of my friends had been lost the previous month. Paper was in such short supply that the teacher gave us paper from their school books. I noticed that they'd written their names on each page.
It was strange going out in the City Centre at the time, as many of the buildings had gone. Once the bombs destroyed my favourite toy shop, and we watched from the shelter of the cinema along with a crowd of others. My dad walked me home after the blast, and all the toys were lying there in the street, but Dad wouldn't let me touch any of them. I remember I cried then.
At the time, I wish we'd had a cellar to stay in. Our house was in such a state. My mother was always very houseproud, and she never really got over our windows etc being blown out. Dad did his best with canvas sheets to patch up the roof, but the house was so cold.
At night we'd leave the house and go and sleep inside Cardiff Castle, which was exciting I suppose, but at the time I didn't like it much. The place was so full that we all sat on one bunk, sleeping sitting upright, fully clothed! Every morning, my father's alarm would go off and he'd jump up and head to work!
Just down the road from our house was a place where people would go and dance, and sometimes, if there wasn't a raid, I'd lean up against the window, and listen to the music, and the singing, and watch the soldiers out on the streets. They made me feel safe.
Mrs Angela Feathers
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Newspaper Accounts
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Posters
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CAPTAIN JACK HARKNESS
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FLIGHT TRANSCRIPT (May 14th, 1940)
Captain Jack Harkness and Trainee Pilot Albert Richards.
RICHARDS: I can see the enemy sir.
HARKNESS: You have visual contact, over?
RICHARDS: Er, yes. Sir. Yes. Navigator's report confirms. Yes. 45 degrees.
HARKNESS: In which...
RICHARDS: No! There's another. And two more. Oh god sir. They're right on top of us.
HARKNESS: Stay calm, Richards. We're coming out to you. We'll be there in no time. Just get the gunner to...
RICHARDS: They're firing sir! They're firing at us! And-
HARKNESS: Bear away! Bear away! We're nearly there - I've got visual contact. Albert? Albert? Richards! Damn you!
RICHARDS: Sir. Yes sir. I'm trying my best. Slow to respond.
HARKNESS: Now's not a time for technique, just get out of there!
RICHARDS: Will do sir. Just... [screams] Oh god sir, oh god! Oh mum oh god. I'm hit and jesus and god and it hurts. What do I do, mummy? Oh what do I do?
HARKNESS: Albert! Albert! I can see you. We're there - there's covering fire. We're coming to get you. Stay calm. Just fly the plane. We're hit, but we'll get to you! Albert!
RICHARDS: Mum, help me! Help me mum. They're coming round again and - Oh Jack, help me. Jack. Mum. Mum, please! Make them...
HARKNESS: Jesus.
[ transcript ends ]
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CAPTAIN'S BLOG (BBC AMERICA)
Ongoing Archive Notes
Torchwood 3
Volume 72, Week 50
Alien activity: Nine confirmed Weevil sightings.
Alien technology: Rift Manipulator used by Owen to open the Rift. Owen recovered the missing key to the manipulator, which was in the dance hall (see below).
Rift activity: Breach at an abandoned dance hall, causing a temporal shift. Myself and Toshiko were sent to 1941, and trapped there, where we met Captain Jack Harkness. The real one. The one whose name I took. Rift opened (see above), using the key and Tosh's equations, then closed again. Seems to be stable for now, but there's a high risk of fracture. Appreciate the rescue, but must have a word with Owen about not poking unpredictable wormholes with sticks.
Security: Civilian deaths: Captain Jack Harkness (the real one). Sure, he was already dead, but now it feels like it just happened. I never gave it much thought, other than finding a handy identity to steal. Now I've met him, I'm glad that I can continue to do good work in his name. Such bravery, I'm in awe. What if Owen hadn't opened the rift, and we'd been stuck there? Would I have let history carry on, let Jack die? That would be the right thing, the best thing to do. Saving him might have completely messed up the course of history. But sometimes you don't care, you want to break the rules of time and space, throw everything into chaos and to hell with the consequences, just to save someone you love. It's a good thing Owen opened that rift, because right now I couldn't care less about the rules and preserving history.
Other security issues: Need to find Bilis Manger. I've got some questions for him. Questions and a nice metal chair in the interrogation room.
Staff: Owen claims he opened the Rift purely to rescue us. It's painfully obvious that it was also an attempt to try and find Diane again. The thing is, she left of her own accord, and I don't think she'd ever want to come back here. But I hope she does, before Owen self destructs.
Other Staff issues: Ianto tried to stop Owen opening the Rift, and actually shot him in the shoulder. Everyone except Owen is finding this very amusing.
Capt. Jack Harkness.
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