James Goss - Almost Perfect

‘Will it be now?’

She taps his wrist again. ‘So eager! But no – we prefer to have a pre-treatment meeting. Just to screen people, to make sure they’re really happy to take part and that they understand everything. And, also, there is the small matter of payment up front.’ Her smile assures him that, if it were up to her, there wouldn’t be such a thing as payment.

‘Oh, of course!’ Ianto has the bank details of a Torchwood holding account. He passes them over, and she hands him a little slip of paper, discreetly folded in half. He lifts it up, and looks at the amount.

For a second he forgets how tired and drunk he is and instead stares aghast at the figure on the slip of paper. These people could clearly charge anything they wanted. He guesses running a ferry as a disguise can’t come cheap. But still – this is…

He manages a rueful smile. ‘It’ll be worth it in the long run.’

‘Of course,’ Christine lays a reassuring hand around his shoulder. ‘Once these bank details have cleared, we’ll contact you later tonight with a slot for treatment. It should only take a quarter of an hour. Shouldn’t hold up your fun with the hen party!’ She nudges his arm and laughs warmly. Ianto returns her smile weakly. She’s just confirmed that he’s been watched closely ever since he got on the ship.

‘What do you use?’ he asks, suddenly.

Christine doesn’t even look startled. Her voice has an easy, practised flow to it.

‘There are various advanced gene therapies that have been developed which, for one reason or another, just aren’t ever going to be practical for conventional medical care to offer. Too expensive for the NHS, impossible to obtain through other channels. My husband and I have found a way of making these therapies available easily. We use a method of delivery that’s tailored to each subject. Our primary concerns are your health and well-being. We wouldn’t proceed if there was any risk to you, or any chance of the procedure failing. You are in safe hands.’

‘Well,’ thinks Ianto. ‘That was all guff. Deliberately reassuring flannel.’

He makes a face. ‘But are there any injections? I’ve always hated those.’

Christine nods. ‘Oh, me too! But rest assured – this is far less invasive and far more effective. We don’t even need to give you an anaesthetic. Less fuss than a filling. Can you believe it?’

Right, thought Ianto. That does it – they’ve definitely nicked something alien. Miracle alien cures are never good.

He tries to leave her cabin without looking furtive and strides down the corridor, fingering his phone. No signal. He waits round the corner and then, when all is quiet, slips past Christine’s cabin to the one next door, and listens quietly at the door. He can hear a man’s soothing tones and a woman crying quietly. He stands back in the shadows and waits.

Eventually the door opens, and the very handsome man who’d been with Christine stands on the threshold, ushering two figures out. It is the old couple he’d noticed earlier. They are clasping each other and smiling. The old woman has tears running down her smiling cheeks.

‘Now, you’ve nothing to worry about – just go and have a nice little lie-down, and by the time we pull in to harbour, you should notice some dramatic improvements. Just relax and feel the Parkinson’s melt away. No, don’t thank me any more – just settle back and enjoy the next few years together.’

The woman turns and grips Ross Kielty in a fierce embrace. She starts to cry again. Her husband gently takes her shoulders and leads her away. Ianto can hear them laughing as they walk off.

Ross stands on the threshold, smiling. He is holding something small and blue in his hands. And then turns back into the room and closes the door.

Curing Parkinson’s? Oh dear.

Ianto is nervous on the deck. There’s a chill in the air and he’s not sure if he’s been followed. But there is definitely something up. He walks towards the bar and can see people spilling out of it onto the deck. He can still hear little gusts of music from the bar as people push through the doors. Everyone is standing, looking out to sea, or pointing vaguely with their camera phones.

He glances out, trying to see what they can see – and all he notices is the distant, distant glow of Cardiff, and then higher up, a dancing spot of light, like a shooting star, but one that slices across the sky towards them, only to vanish momentarily before sparkling up again.

‘It’s the Northern Lights!’ he hears someone shout, only to hear them laughed down. Gradually, with muttering, gasping, camera snapping and moaning they realise that the boat is surrounded by a perfect circle of fog, a fog that blots out Cardiff and the stars, just leaving a little twinkling globe that flickers closer and closer. There is nervous excitement, a definite feeling of anticipation. Ianto has no idea what the light is – he just knows it is linked to whatever is in the cabin, and the mysterious figures he saw in the Bay before he left. This is it. He reaches for his phone. Still no signal. And then, with a sputter, no battery.

He looks out across the deck, as the little twinkling fireflies of camera phones snuff out one by one.

Oh god. No witnesses.

The light comes closer and closer.

At first like fireworks – a bright ball of light arcs twice over the boat. Then Lucky Debbie runs up and grabs Ianto’s hand. ‘It’s still! The sea!’ she hisses. All around them, the waves settle flat, bowing down like lions before the light.

Then comes the sound – a roar of an ancient horn, like the loudest, most exciting, most frightening thing Ianto has ever heard.

For a second, it is dark. Very, very dark. And utterly silent.

And then the light comes back, a giant ball that sweeps over the boat, and then, with the sounding again of that awful horn, it splits into two, two balls of fire that circle round and round the deck.

Then the horn sounds a third time. It doesn’t die away, but is followed by a deep boom – the shattering thud of something tearing deep underneath the water. There are screams from all around, but Ianto barely hears them. ‘Oh god,’ he thinks, realising how alone they are. In the distance, he can’t even see Cardiff any more. Just this fog bank. Blocking them off from the world.

Something bad is going to happen – he knows it, feeling as afraid as he felt when in trouble at school, when he went on a date knowing he was going to be dumped, or when he’d gone back into Torchwood to find Lisa. Something terrible is going to happen and there is nothing he can do to stop it. No weapons, no technology, no Toshiko, no Captain Jack. Just Ianto Jones against this.

The balls of light arc over again, and with a scream of tin, sheets of steel rip up from the deck and flutter into the sea.

The shouts from the bar are louder now, all the more so for the completely still sea. The siren wail of the horn finally fades like a wounded beast and the balls of light glow and descend, floating along the deck until they are just above the surface. Dancing inside each sphere is… a shape. And he can hear laughter.

The spheres contract, melt, each shape flowing into a human form carved out of sun. The two figures stride forward, their feet just failing to touch the ground. One turns to the other. It speaks, a voice thundering and echoing like continents slapping together.

‘We are here for one thing. And those who have it know what that is.’

‘Give it up!’ bellows the other. ‘Bring it out now.’

‘Please,’ the other sighs, like an avalanche.

The other stretches out a hand, and light boils across the deck, wrapping around the mast, and then whipping across the lifeboats, shattering each one in a cloud of burning splinters. People start to scream. One of the figures turns, a hand forming a gentle sssshing motion against its glowing face. The first steps forward, past Ianto. Ianto feels a warmth like a furnace flicker across his cheek. ‘You have two minutes.’