Fic: A Comedy of Errors (Spooks/B7)
One of those things that definitely wasn't what I was supposed to be doing with my afternoon off. But emerald_happy's suggestion of a Ros-Avon snark fest began to take shape in my head. Two disclaimers: 1. I apologise that there isn't anything like enough snark. 2. There really ought to be a very dark version of this somewhere. (I'll think about it).
Story: A Comedy of Errors
Author: lost_spook
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3,130
Characters/Pairings: Ros Myers, Kerr Avon, Ruth Evershed, Vila Restal, Zafar Younis, Harry Pearce, Malcolm Wynn-Jones, Dayna Mellanby, Del Tarrant, Adam Carter, Jo Portman.
Warnings: No real spoilers for either show. (Set just before 5.5 for Spooks, somewhere in S3 for B7.)
Summary: In which Section D apprehend a group of apparent terrorists in the act, only to find there’s something strange about them. This could all be smoothed over if Ros hadn’t entered a battle of wills with their leader. (A Very Silly Spooks/B7 crossover, with Avon and Ros snark, and everyone else having a nice day out in London. Ruth’s continuing acceptance of all things strange and alien, is still me running on from my fic Anarchist Sprites, but it always seems in character somehow.) Most of this, as I said, is entirely emerald_happy's fault.
A Comedy of Errors
***
“A slight miscalculation on our part,” was all the suspected terrorist had said in his defence. “This wasn’t our intended target.”
Ros was unimpressed. “Then I suggest you tell me what your target was.”
“It wouldn’t leave you any the wiser,” he returned. “I don’t think I will.”
She had a gun trained on him. “I suggest you let me be the judge of that.”
“Interesting,” he observed. “A primitive firearm. You know, I’d begun to expect something more sophisticated from you.”
Ros watched him out of dark eyes for a long moment before speaking. “Yes, primitive,” she agreed. “I’d even say crude, but you wouldn’t believe the damage I could do with it. Or perhaps I’m wronging you - you seem to have some intelligence. I expect you would.”
“I admit, I’m temporarily at a disadvantage,” conceded Avon. And smiled at her.
*
“It’s the past,” said Vila in an undertone to Dayna, as they waited in a locked room off the main grid. “Well, either that or an alternate reality. I don’t care. It’s civilisation. You realise out there, there’s a whole world out there, free of the Federation - with whatever passes for women, wine and fun round here.”
She stared ahead. “Vila, I don’t know how you live with yourself. Besides, we’re stuck in here, under arrest, so it’s no good to us anyway. The problem is: why can’t Cally transport us back? Why can’t we communicate with her?”
“Probably because we’re stuck in the past. Something odd’ll have happened. I said, when the control panel started making that weird noise, something odd would happen. Didn’t I say-?”
Tarrant was listening at the door. “Ssh.”
“Anything useful?”
He turned his head. “People keep standing at that water dispenser out there, but all I’m getting is gossip, and stuff about some sort of broadcast drama. Nothing useful.”
“See?” said Vila. “Civilisation at last, and we’re trapped in here. It’s a crime, wouldn’t you say?”
*
“Malcolm?” said Harry, as he examined the remains of the supposed weapon. “Does it have destructive properties or has it in fact been constructed by the Blue Peter team with leftover cardboard and sticky-backed plastic?”
Malcolm glanced up at him. “At the moment, the Blue Peter theory is looking surprisingly likely. Mind you, there are some complicated electronics involved, so I can’t completely discount the chances that they might know what they’re doing -.”
“It’s a hoax,” said Harry. “Enough of this. Somebody hand these crackpots over to the police, or whatever asylum it is that they belong in. Thames House is not where they should be. Wretched attention seekers. Find out what cause this stunt is in aid of - free the bloody hamsters, or whatever it happens to be this time - and discourage them.”
Adam coughed.
His superior paused. “Is there something I should be aware of, or do you need a glass of water?”
“Ros is interrogating their leader,” said Adam. “I don’t think she’s finished.”
He and Ruth exchanged a glance. Harry stiffened at this, both in irritation at the delay, and also because he preferred to be the one exchanging glances with Ruth. “Well, do something with the rest of them. They shouldn’t be here.”
“Glad to hear that,” said Zaf, appearing through the open door. “That makes things a lot easier.”
Harry put a hand to his head. “Please, don’t tell me.”
“They’ve escaped,” Zaf said. “Sorry.”
Adam instantly moved across to the door.
“Jo’s on their tail. I wasn’t sure if we had any good reason to hold them any longer,” said Zaf. “I can bring in special forces, if you want.”
Ruth frowned. “What are they doing?”
“At last report,” said Zaf, “they were buying ice creams and heading for St James’s Park.”
Harry turned to Adam. “I’m leaving this in your hands, Adam. I’m going to speak to the Home Secretary. When I come back, I want these people to be gone, neutralised in whatever fashion necessary, and I would prefer it if Ros didn’t kill anyone just yet.”
“I don’t think she will. She’s convinced he must be some sort of terrorist cell leader with important information, that’s all.”
“Then unconvince her.”
Adam paused. “What if she’s right?”
*
“Freedom fighter,” said Ros, leaning her head to one side. “Of course. I’ve heard that line so many times. Tell that to the injured, the permanently maimed, those who’ve lost relatives: children, parents, friends, lovers -.”
He shrugged.
“Not the sentimental type?” she countered. “No, neither am I.”
“Congratulations.”
She faced him. “Lucky for us. Others aren’t so fortunate. Ever spare a thought for them?”
“No,” said Avon, glancing away. “And if you were going to follow that up with spiel about suffering innocents, spare me. Nobody’s innocent.”
Ros gave the slightest of smiles. “Couldn’t agree more. Let’s say some people are a whole lot less innocent than others and I think you and I, in our very different ways, are two of them. So talk to me.”
“I don’t need a counsellor.”
She surveyed him with some amusement. “Don’t you? I can’t stand psychologists, either. Maybe we could call one in for you?”
*
Malcolm poked his head round the door as Zaf watched the two in the cell.
Zaf felt that Adam should have stayed to dissuade Ros, but Adam had expressed an opinion that if anyone had to go out and eat ice creams today, it would be him and Ruth, so he had to stay and watch the ongoing battle of wills in the cell.
“One of them’s going to end up dead,” was Malcolm’s verdict.
Zaf said, “She’s ignoring me. I’ve got to wait till she comes out to tell her that the weapon doesn’t seem to be dangerous, and that we don’t want him tortured. Could be a bit late. So I ought to go in there.”
Malcolm winced.
“Yes, that was what I thought,” said Zaf. “Although I might have to if she tries to do anything nasty to his kneecaps.”
He watched them. “He doesn’t seem to have worked out that annoying her isn’t a good idea, does he?”
*
Quite how the hunters and prey had merged together into one group sitting on the grass in the sunshine, armed only with ice creams, Adam couldn’t say, but personally he blamed Ruth’s anarchist streak and the persuasive tongue of the smaller, older man of the two.
“Aren’t you concerned about your friend?” Ruth asked Tarrant.
He turned his head. “What, Avon? No. And I’m not sure friend is the word you’re looking for.”
“Except we’re only saying that to get you off guard,” put in Dayna. “Later we’ll charge in, cause some pretty explosions and get him back, if you don’t hand him over.”
Vila paused. “If that’s the plan, I’d like to take a vote first. I’m staying here. Have you seen the view?”
As they all followed his gaze, directed towards two blonde students walking past in summery, short skirts and tops, Jo and Dayna managed a nearly identical eye-roll.
“What’s this stuff called again?” asked Vila, as he reached the end of his cone. “Whatever it is, I want to ask Orac if he knows how to make some more. If he’s as clever as he’s cracked up to be, then he should. Bet Cally would like it.”
Adam frowned. “Ice cream. I don’t get the joke.”
“They’re not from around here,” explained Ruth, quietly.
“Ruth?”
She shook her head, and smiled.
*
“So you weren’t trying to blow up the Houses of Parliament? You turned up in a restricted area with a suspicious device for fun?”
He sat back in his chair. “Something like that. You know, I find your conversation is growing tedious. Pity.”
“Believe me,” said Ros, “I’m not thrilled about you, either. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve sat in this position, heard the same old lies and excuses. And you should know I always get the truth. In the end.” And then she smiled.
*
“Are you aliens?” asked Ruth.
Vila shot her an alarmed look from the other end of the bench. He’d decided early on that she was the most dangerous of the group, possibly even crazy. He knew about these things, and she came across as pleasant, soft-hearted, slightly nervous, (attractive enough if you’d spent long enough in space, and he had), but there was a gleam in her eyes he mistrusted. “Human.”
“But this time isn’t your home,” she said.
He frowned at her. “You know, I’d find that hard to believe if this were the other way round, and you lot haven’t even mastered space travel and galactic domination yet. How come you don’t think we belong in a nuthouse?”
“We’re working on it,” said Ruth. “And I see a lot of things in my line of work. Most of them I dismiss as lunatic ravings, but every now and again, you read things that are harder to explain away. Personally, I just worry about the things that are our problem.”
Vila wondered whether or not to try charm, but he had a warning sense that she might not take it well. “In that case, you ought to work out to how to get us Avon back, preferably in one piece -.”
“If you’re terrorists from the future,” she said, and her eyes that seemed to keep shifting colour had a steely grey edge to them now, “maybe I ought to let Ros do whatever she likes to your friend?”
He did try out his personal appeal, then, smiling. “Yes, but we’re the good guys, honest.”
“Are you?” she said. “Jo said when she was tailing you, you stole somebody’s wallet so you could buy those ice creams.”
He leant his elbow against the bench. “It’s not like we’ve got the local currency.”
“Give it to me,” she ordered.
Vila scowled, and handed it over, throwing it onto the bench between them. “I need it more than you.”
“I can get it back it to its owner,” she said, with a smile. “Trust me. A bank card, and it’s done. Give me a hint and I can find anyone or anything.”
He grinned slowly. “You’re spies, right? You collect information on people?”
“That makes us sound sinister,” she said, her gaze clouding. “You blow things up.”
Vila leant forward. “Hah,” he told her. “That’s all you know. Most of the time, I get us in and out of places. There isn’t a lock I can’t get the better of. As for the thieving - well, that’s not me - that’s a psychological impulse. Can’t seem to shake it.”
“Really?” said Ruth.
He said, “Like a bagpipe with shiny things. Can’t stop myself.”
“Magpie.”
“Oh?”
She coloured. “I suppose I’m a bit of a magpie when it comes to information.”
“So, we’ve got things in common. You’ll help me get Avon back, won’t you? I mean, you’ve only just met him; you can’t possibly know how annoying he is yet. Hand him back; you’ll thank me. One thing I know - you don’t want Avon stuck in your HQ when he doesn’t like you much. In fact, you don’t want him there even if he does, which is pretty unlikely anyway, because he’s not very fond of anyone. Got a lump of frozen space debris for a heart.”
Ruth said, “Oh, no. I think that makes me trust you even less. We stop terrorists here. That’s what we do. And plenty of them have good reasons to start with. It doesn’t justify killing innocent people to make a point.”
“That’s because you live in a place where you can go for a walk and eat ice creams,” he said. “You can’t where I come from. Least, not if you didn’t get born in the right grade. All you get if you don’t fit in is bullying soldiers, nasty, lifeless prison planets, mind controlling drugs and death, unless you can run away fast enough.”
She looked back at him. “You could be making that up. How would I know?”
“I could,” he said. “I’m not, though. Corner Tarrant or Dayna. Ask them. Someone’s got to do it and we’re all that’s left. Actually, I’m not sure I’d trust us, but we shouldn’t be in this time. You lock us up here, or something, and who knows what happens to the future timeline? Could be the end of the universe, so help me out here.”
Ruth nodded.
He didn’t ask how she was going to solve the insoluble problem of how you separated two such opponents, because she had a slippery mind and thought round things, like him, or even more so. She was scary, he decided, but then strangers often terrified him. If he was honest, so did his fellow crew members. Sometimes, he even scared himself.
“What we need most of all,” he told her, “is those bracelets back off your tech guy.”
*
Ros had been called a heartless bitch before, and she was beginning to suspect that the man in front of her had been called a heartless bastard just as often. Well, she was; he probably was, too. Which of them was worse was a question she believed she knew the answer to. You had to. Otherwise, you went to pieces.
“Going to talk yet?”
He smothered a yawn. “You wouldn’t like the truth if I did tell you.”
“Try me. I might surprise you.”
“Oh, I doubt it.”
*
He was annoying her, thought Zaf, in the observation chamber. She was keeping her cool, and nothing would break that, he was sure of it. Unless, of course, some idiot went blundering in there and told her it was all a mistake, and to let her prisoner go.
He had a feeling the resulting smugness might end in worse violence than anything else.
Trouble was, if he didn’t intervene soon, Harry would come back, and then one or both of them was going to want to kill him or fire him. Harry or Ros wasn’t a choice any sane person wanted to make, and Zaf was still pretty sane as yet. He hoped for an alternative.
*
Avon had an interesting method all his own for dealing with threats of the female variety.
Ros Myers had a trademark means of subduing men who risked condescension towards her, let alone those who tried to take what she considered to be a definite infringement of her personal rights and liberties.
He conceded that round to her and they returned to more traditional interrogation techniques.
*
“Thanks,” said Vila, when Ruth retrieved the transportation devices. “That’s a start. Fingers crossed, Orac and Cally’ll have worked out how to fix things at the other end. In the meantime, what about Avon?”
Ruth broke into a grin, a dancing light in her eyes. “I have an idea.”
“You know,” said Vila, glumly, when she explained, “I’d say that’s genius, but it’s pretty much true when you come down to it, worse luck.”
*
“I transported directly from my spaceship, the Liberator,” explained Avon airily. “I’m sorry, is something wrong, Miss Myers? You did say you wanted the truth.”
She met his gaze. “I’m too old for fairy tales.”
“I sympathise.”
“I want answers, not sympathy. What was your target? How many of you are there in your group, and what were you doing trying to get into the Commons?”
He sighed. “You seem to have a dull, one-track mind.”
“If you won’t co-operate,” she said, “we’ll have to try more painful methods. This isn’t the middle ages, but you’d be amazed what we can get away with doing to you without even breaking the law. Want to find out, or are you going to talk?”
Avon’s expression hardened. “Do your worst. You’ll find, as others have done, that I don’t break easily under torture.”
“Shame,” she said. “I was looking forward to seeing you scream and beg for mercy.”
He smiled. “I could manage a whimper if it would make you happier.”
“Sorry,” said Ros. “Nothing less than genuine, bleeding agony cuts any ice with me.”
*
“Ros,” said Ruth from the doorway. “There’s been a mistake.”
She directed a cold glance across the length of the room. “I don’t think so.”
“Yes, you see,” Ruth continued, “this man is clinically mad. Dr Restal here is from the institution he’s managed to escape from. Apparently that’s something he makes a habit of.”
Avon froze in his chair. “That’s … clearly not true.”
“Oh, come on, now, Avon,” said Vila, arriving. “You’ve had your fun. Time to go home.” He passed him the bracelet with a grin. “And I thought you’d been making such progress. This kind of lapse doesn’t bode well. It’ll be back to solitary confinement if you don’t watch out.”
Ros narrowed her gaze. “Ruth, that is not an adequate explanation of the situation.”
“Ask Adam or Harry,” she returned. “You’d better let his doctor take him away.”
She set her face. “I know I’m right on this one. He's dangerous. And if that idiot is a doctor, I’m one of Santa’s little elves”
“Need to know,” said Ruth, making a face. “Sorry. Orders from on high. Dr Restal, if you could get your patient out of here and stop wasting our officer’s valuable time?”
Avon got to his feet. Despite technically being the one being rescued, he looked almost as annoyed as Ros. “Farewell, then, Miss Myers. Just as it was beginning to get interesting.”
*
“Ruth,” said Harry, “I was going to ask for a sensible explanation of what happened here today, but something tells me I’m going to regret it if I do. I’ll settle for: did someone get rid of them satisfactorily?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.”
*
“It’s a shame,” said Avon, back on the Liberator. “We could have used someone like that.”
“She hated your guts.”
Avon gave Vila a disdainful look. “That doesn’t seem to be unusual around here. I thought her an admirable female, if rather closed-minded. Which reminds me, Vila - try a story like that again and I may have to kill you.”
“Wasn’t my idea,” said Vila. “Your captor wasn’t the only dangerous female about the place.”
Dayna entered and raised her eyebrows. “Are you talking about me, or Cally?”
“No,” said Avon, “other deadly members of your species.”
She sat down on the couch and helped herself to a glass of green liquid. “Charming. Well, that was an interesting day. I thought time travel was supposed to be impossible.”
“Yes,” agreed Avon. “I was about to set Orac onto unravelling how such a thing came to occur, but it appears he is occupied with more frivolous matters.”
Vila shifted guiltily. “I only asked him for some ice-cream…”
***
Story: A Comedy of Errors
Author: lost_spook
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3,130
Characters/Pairings: Ros Myers, Kerr Avon, Ruth Evershed, Vila Restal, Zafar Younis, Harry Pearce, Malcolm Wynn-Jones, Dayna Mellanby, Del Tarrant, Adam Carter, Jo Portman.
Warnings: No real spoilers for either show. (Set just before 5.5 for Spooks, somewhere in S3 for B7.)
Summary: In which Section D apprehend a group of apparent terrorists in the act, only to find there’s something strange about them. This could all be smoothed over if Ros hadn’t entered a battle of wills with their leader. (A Very Silly Spooks/B7 crossover, with Avon and Ros snark, and everyone else having a nice day out in London. Ruth’s continuing acceptance of all things strange and alien, is still me running on from my fic Anarchist Sprites, but it always seems in character somehow.) Most of this, as I said, is entirely emerald_happy's fault.
A Comedy of Errors
***
“A slight miscalculation on our part,” was all the suspected terrorist had said in his defence. “This wasn’t our intended target.”
Ros was unimpressed. “Then I suggest you tell me what your target was.”
“It wouldn’t leave you any the wiser,” he returned. “I don’t think I will.”
She had a gun trained on him. “I suggest you let me be the judge of that.”
“Interesting,” he observed. “A primitive firearm. You know, I’d begun to expect something more sophisticated from you.”
Ros watched him out of dark eyes for a long moment before speaking. “Yes, primitive,” she agreed. “I’d even say crude, but you wouldn’t believe the damage I could do with it. Or perhaps I’m wronging you - you seem to have some intelligence. I expect you would.”
“I admit, I’m temporarily at a disadvantage,” conceded Avon. And smiled at her.
*
“It’s the past,” said Vila in an undertone to Dayna, as they waited in a locked room off the main grid. “Well, either that or an alternate reality. I don’t care. It’s civilisation. You realise out there, there’s a whole world out there, free of the Federation - with whatever passes for women, wine and fun round here.”
She stared ahead. “Vila, I don’t know how you live with yourself. Besides, we’re stuck in here, under arrest, so it’s no good to us anyway. The problem is: why can’t Cally transport us back? Why can’t we communicate with her?”
“Probably because we’re stuck in the past. Something odd’ll have happened. I said, when the control panel started making that weird noise, something odd would happen. Didn’t I say-?”
Tarrant was listening at the door. “Ssh.”
“Anything useful?”
He turned his head. “People keep standing at that water dispenser out there, but all I’m getting is gossip, and stuff about some sort of broadcast drama. Nothing useful.”
“See?” said Vila. “Civilisation at last, and we’re trapped in here. It’s a crime, wouldn’t you say?”
*
“Malcolm?” said Harry, as he examined the remains of the supposed weapon. “Does it have destructive properties or has it in fact been constructed by the Blue Peter team with leftover cardboard and sticky-backed plastic?”
Malcolm glanced up at him. “At the moment, the Blue Peter theory is looking surprisingly likely. Mind you, there are some complicated electronics involved, so I can’t completely discount the chances that they might know what they’re doing -.”
“It’s a hoax,” said Harry. “Enough of this. Somebody hand these crackpots over to the police, or whatever asylum it is that they belong in. Thames House is not where they should be. Wretched attention seekers. Find out what cause this stunt is in aid of - free the bloody hamsters, or whatever it happens to be this time - and discourage them.”
Adam coughed.
His superior paused. “Is there something I should be aware of, or do you need a glass of water?”
“Ros is interrogating their leader,” said Adam. “I don’t think she’s finished.”
He and Ruth exchanged a glance. Harry stiffened at this, both in irritation at the delay, and also because he preferred to be the one exchanging glances with Ruth. “Well, do something with the rest of them. They shouldn’t be here.”
“Glad to hear that,” said Zaf, appearing through the open door. “That makes things a lot easier.”
Harry put a hand to his head. “Please, don’t tell me.”
“They’ve escaped,” Zaf said. “Sorry.”
Adam instantly moved across to the door.
“Jo’s on their tail. I wasn’t sure if we had any good reason to hold them any longer,” said Zaf. “I can bring in special forces, if you want.”
Ruth frowned. “What are they doing?”
“At last report,” said Zaf, “they were buying ice creams and heading for St James’s Park.”
Harry turned to Adam. “I’m leaving this in your hands, Adam. I’m going to speak to the Home Secretary. When I come back, I want these people to be gone, neutralised in whatever fashion necessary, and I would prefer it if Ros didn’t kill anyone just yet.”
“I don’t think she will. She’s convinced he must be some sort of terrorist cell leader with important information, that’s all.”
“Then unconvince her.”
Adam paused. “What if she’s right?”
*
“Freedom fighter,” said Ros, leaning her head to one side. “Of course. I’ve heard that line so many times. Tell that to the injured, the permanently maimed, those who’ve lost relatives: children, parents, friends, lovers -.”
He shrugged.
“Not the sentimental type?” she countered. “No, neither am I.”
“Congratulations.”
She faced him. “Lucky for us. Others aren’t so fortunate. Ever spare a thought for them?”
“No,” said Avon, glancing away. “And if you were going to follow that up with spiel about suffering innocents, spare me. Nobody’s innocent.”
Ros gave the slightest of smiles. “Couldn’t agree more. Let’s say some people are a whole lot less innocent than others and I think you and I, in our very different ways, are two of them. So talk to me.”
“I don’t need a counsellor.”
She surveyed him with some amusement. “Don’t you? I can’t stand psychologists, either. Maybe we could call one in for you?”
*
Malcolm poked his head round the door as Zaf watched the two in the cell.
Zaf felt that Adam should have stayed to dissuade Ros, but Adam had expressed an opinion that if anyone had to go out and eat ice creams today, it would be him and Ruth, so he had to stay and watch the ongoing battle of wills in the cell.
“One of them’s going to end up dead,” was Malcolm’s verdict.
Zaf said, “She’s ignoring me. I’ve got to wait till she comes out to tell her that the weapon doesn’t seem to be dangerous, and that we don’t want him tortured. Could be a bit late. So I ought to go in there.”
Malcolm winced.
“Yes, that was what I thought,” said Zaf. “Although I might have to if she tries to do anything nasty to his kneecaps.”
He watched them. “He doesn’t seem to have worked out that annoying her isn’t a good idea, does he?”
*
Quite how the hunters and prey had merged together into one group sitting on the grass in the sunshine, armed only with ice creams, Adam couldn’t say, but personally he blamed Ruth’s anarchist streak and the persuasive tongue of the smaller, older man of the two.
“Aren’t you concerned about your friend?” Ruth asked Tarrant.
He turned his head. “What, Avon? No. And I’m not sure friend is the word you’re looking for.”
“Except we’re only saying that to get you off guard,” put in Dayna. “Later we’ll charge in, cause some pretty explosions and get him back, if you don’t hand him over.”
Vila paused. “If that’s the plan, I’d like to take a vote first. I’m staying here. Have you seen the view?”
As they all followed his gaze, directed towards two blonde students walking past in summery, short skirts and tops, Jo and Dayna managed a nearly identical eye-roll.
“What’s this stuff called again?” asked Vila, as he reached the end of his cone. “Whatever it is, I want to ask Orac if he knows how to make some more. If he’s as clever as he’s cracked up to be, then he should. Bet Cally would like it.”
Adam frowned. “Ice cream. I don’t get the joke.”
“They’re not from around here,” explained Ruth, quietly.
“Ruth?”
She shook her head, and smiled.
*
“So you weren’t trying to blow up the Houses of Parliament? You turned up in a restricted area with a suspicious device for fun?”
He sat back in his chair. “Something like that. You know, I find your conversation is growing tedious. Pity.”
“Believe me,” said Ros, “I’m not thrilled about you, either. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve sat in this position, heard the same old lies and excuses. And you should know I always get the truth. In the end.” And then she smiled.
*
“Are you aliens?” asked Ruth.
Vila shot her an alarmed look from the other end of the bench. He’d decided early on that she was the most dangerous of the group, possibly even crazy. He knew about these things, and she came across as pleasant, soft-hearted, slightly nervous, (attractive enough if you’d spent long enough in space, and he had), but there was a gleam in her eyes he mistrusted. “Human.”
“But this time isn’t your home,” she said.
He frowned at her. “You know, I’d find that hard to believe if this were the other way round, and you lot haven’t even mastered space travel and galactic domination yet. How come you don’t think we belong in a nuthouse?”
“We’re working on it,” said Ruth. “And I see a lot of things in my line of work. Most of them I dismiss as lunatic ravings, but every now and again, you read things that are harder to explain away. Personally, I just worry about the things that are our problem.”
Vila wondered whether or not to try charm, but he had a warning sense that she might not take it well. “In that case, you ought to work out to how to get us Avon back, preferably in one piece -.”
“If you’re terrorists from the future,” she said, and her eyes that seemed to keep shifting colour had a steely grey edge to them now, “maybe I ought to let Ros do whatever she likes to your friend?”
He did try out his personal appeal, then, smiling. “Yes, but we’re the good guys, honest.”
“Are you?” she said. “Jo said when she was tailing you, you stole somebody’s wallet so you could buy those ice creams.”
He leant his elbow against the bench. “It’s not like we’ve got the local currency.”
“Give it to me,” she ordered.
Vila scowled, and handed it over, throwing it onto the bench between them. “I need it more than you.”
“I can get it back it to its owner,” she said, with a smile. “Trust me. A bank card, and it’s done. Give me a hint and I can find anyone or anything.”
He grinned slowly. “You’re spies, right? You collect information on people?”
“That makes us sound sinister,” she said, her gaze clouding. “You blow things up.”
Vila leant forward. “Hah,” he told her. “That’s all you know. Most of the time, I get us in and out of places. There isn’t a lock I can’t get the better of. As for the thieving - well, that’s not me - that’s a psychological impulse. Can’t seem to shake it.”
“Really?” said Ruth.
He said, “Like a bagpipe with shiny things. Can’t stop myself.”
“Magpie.”
“Oh?”
She coloured. “I suppose I’m a bit of a magpie when it comes to information.”
“So, we’ve got things in common. You’ll help me get Avon back, won’t you? I mean, you’ve only just met him; you can’t possibly know how annoying he is yet. Hand him back; you’ll thank me. One thing I know - you don’t want Avon stuck in your HQ when he doesn’t like you much. In fact, you don’t want him there even if he does, which is pretty unlikely anyway, because he’s not very fond of anyone. Got a lump of frozen space debris for a heart.”
Ruth said, “Oh, no. I think that makes me trust you even less. We stop terrorists here. That’s what we do. And plenty of them have good reasons to start with. It doesn’t justify killing innocent people to make a point.”
“That’s because you live in a place where you can go for a walk and eat ice creams,” he said. “You can’t where I come from. Least, not if you didn’t get born in the right grade. All you get if you don’t fit in is bullying soldiers, nasty, lifeless prison planets, mind controlling drugs and death, unless you can run away fast enough.”
She looked back at him. “You could be making that up. How would I know?”
“I could,” he said. “I’m not, though. Corner Tarrant or Dayna. Ask them. Someone’s got to do it and we’re all that’s left. Actually, I’m not sure I’d trust us, but we shouldn’t be in this time. You lock us up here, or something, and who knows what happens to the future timeline? Could be the end of the universe, so help me out here.”
Ruth nodded.
He didn’t ask how she was going to solve the insoluble problem of how you separated two such opponents, because she had a slippery mind and thought round things, like him, or even more so. She was scary, he decided, but then strangers often terrified him. If he was honest, so did his fellow crew members. Sometimes, he even scared himself.
“What we need most of all,” he told her, “is those bracelets back off your tech guy.”
*
Ros had been called a heartless bitch before, and she was beginning to suspect that the man in front of her had been called a heartless bastard just as often. Well, she was; he probably was, too. Which of them was worse was a question she believed she knew the answer to. You had to. Otherwise, you went to pieces.
“Going to talk yet?”
He smothered a yawn. “You wouldn’t like the truth if I did tell you.”
“Try me. I might surprise you.”
“Oh, I doubt it.”
*
He was annoying her, thought Zaf, in the observation chamber. She was keeping her cool, and nothing would break that, he was sure of it. Unless, of course, some idiot went blundering in there and told her it was all a mistake, and to let her prisoner go.
He had a feeling the resulting smugness might end in worse violence than anything else.
Trouble was, if he didn’t intervene soon, Harry would come back, and then one or both of them was going to want to kill him or fire him. Harry or Ros wasn’t a choice any sane person wanted to make, and Zaf was still pretty sane as yet. He hoped for an alternative.
*
Avon had an interesting method all his own for dealing with threats of the female variety.
Ros Myers had a trademark means of subduing men who risked condescension towards her, let alone those who tried to take what she considered to be a definite infringement of her personal rights and liberties.
He conceded that round to her and they returned to more traditional interrogation techniques.
*
“Thanks,” said Vila, when Ruth retrieved the transportation devices. “That’s a start. Fingers crossed, Orac and Cally’ll have worked out how to fix things at the other end. In the meantime, what about Avon?”
Ruth broke into a grin, a dancing light in her eyes. “I have an idea.”
“You know,” said Vila, glumly, when she explained, “I’d say that’s genius, but it’s pretty much true when you come down to it, worse luck.”
*
“I transported directly from my spaceship, the Liberator,” explained Avon airily. “I’m sorry, is something wrong, Miss Myers? You did say you wanted the truth.”
She met his gaze. “I’m too old for fairy tales.”
“I sympathise.”
“I want answers, not sympathy. What was your target? How many of you are there in your group, and what were you doing trying to get into the Commons?”
He sighed. “You seem to have a dull, one-track mind.”
“If you won’t co-operate,” she said, “we’ll have to try more painful methods. This isn’t the middle ages, but you’d be amazed what we can get away with doing to you without even breaking the law. Want to find out, or are you going to talk?”
Avon’s expression hardened. “Do your worst. You’ll find, as others have done, that I don’t break easily under torture.”
“Shame,” she said. “I was looking forward to seeing you scream and beg for mercy.”
He smiled. “I could manage a whimper if it would make you happier.”
“Sorry,” said Ros. “Nothing less than genuine, bleeding agony cuts any ice with me.”
*
“Ros,” said Ruth from the doorway. “There’s been a mistake.”
She directed a cold glance across the length of the room. “I don’t think so.”
“Yes, you see,” Ruth continued, “this man is clinically mad. Dr Restal here is from the institution he’s managed to escape from. Apparently that’s something he makes a habit of.”
Avon froze in his chair. “That’s … clearly not true.”
“Oh, come on, now, Avon,” said Vila, arriving. “You’ve had your fun. Time to go home.” He passed him the bracelet with a grin. “And I thought you’d been making such progress. This kind of lapse doesn’t bode well. It’ll be back to solitary confinement if you don’t watch out.”
Ros narrowed her gaze. “Ruth, that is not an adequate explanation of the situation.”
“Ask Adam or Harry,” she returned. “You’d better let his doctor take him away.”
She set her face. “I know I’m right on this one. He's dangerous. And if that idiot is a doctor, I’m one of Santa’s little elves”
“Need to know,” said Ruth, making a face. “Sorry. Orders from on high. Dr Restal, if you could get your patient out of here and stop wasting our officer’s valuable time?”
Avon got to his feet. Despite technically being the one being rescued, he looked almost as annoyed as Ros. “Farewell, then, Miss Myers. Just as it was beginning to get interesting.”
*
“Ruth,” said Harry, “I was going to ask for a sensible explanation of what happened here today, but something tells me I’m going to regret it if I do. I’ll settle for: did someone get rid of them satisfactorily?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.”
*
“It’s a shame,” said Avon, back on the Liberator. “We could have used someone like that.”
“She hated your guts.”
Avon gave Vila a disdainful look. “That doesn’t seem to be unusual around here. I thought her an admirable female, if rather closed-minded. Which reminds me, Vila - try a story like that again and I may have to kill you.”
“Wasn’t my idea,” said Vila. “Your captor wasn’t the only dangerous female about the place.”
Dayna entered and raised her eyebrows. “Are you talking about me, or Cally?”
“No,” said Avon, “other deadly members of your species.”
She sat down on the couch and helped herself to a glass of green liquid. “Charming. Well, that was an interesting day. I thought time travel was supposed to be impossible.”
“Yes,” agreed Avon. “I was about to set Orac onto unravelling how such a thing came to occur, but it appears he is occupied with more frivolous matters.”
Vila shifted guiltily. “I only asked him for some ice-cream…”
***