Title: Evolution (19/20)

Author: Emma

Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Rhys Williams, others

Rating: Starts PG, but hey, it’s got Jack and Ianto in it!

Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?

Summary: Rhys Williams has his own monsters to fight…

Author’s Note: This story takes place in a totally different AU from Homecoming. In this one, Gwen and Owen died at the end of TW2.

            “Necks snapped, just like the five outside,” Martha said. “One quick twist. Whoever did it had training.”

            We’d found four more bodies in the reception area. The last one was that of the young technician Hart had befriended. Hart looked down at her, without any expression, but I noticed that he stroked her hair once, very gently.

            Jack sent Hart, Ianto and Euan to search the upper floors, while Martha, Mike and I followed him into the area behind the reception desk. It was divided into small rooms full of expensive-looking equipment. There was only one examining room, but it looked more like a torture chamber; or maybe it was Mike’s reaction that put you in mind of one. The boy backed away until he was pressed against the corridor wall, shaking with terror.

            “Mike.” Jack’s voice was low and soothing. “Rhys promised. We promised. No one in this place will hurt you again.”

            The reassurance seemed to get through because he drew in one big gulping breath and nodded. He peeled away from the wall and started to walk away, but he kept looking over his shoulder. It was as if he were expecting to see something or someone else. Crossing my fingers and praying I wouldn’t make it worse, I stepped a little closer to him.

            “Did you see Ashadjalle last week, Mike?”

            “Yeah. I heard her screaming and ran downstairs.” Mike’s lids drooped, but his eyes were moving rapidly. “There was so much blood, I thought she was dying, but they told me she was having a baby.  I tried to run in, but they dragged me away. They brought her to the room later. She was very tired and all she wanted to do was sleep.”

            “And the baby, Mike? What happened to the baby?”

            By now he was so deep into his memories that he barely needed prodding. “We stole it.  Ashadjalle told me what they did with the babies and the other mothers. It wasn’t right! They would bring the baby to the room so she could feed it every morning and evening, so the third night we waited until she left and climbed out the window. I wanted to go with her but they had given me the injection that morning and my head was feeling stuffed up again, so I found a phone and called Ollie and told him I was sending someone and to please, please help her. I sent her to Woodstall alone. She could move faster without me. Passyhk’alcyddh are good at that, you know.”

            “Pashi what?”

            “The literal translation would be The Ones Who Rule Over All Who Pass Beneath Their Shadow. The shorter version would be Archangel.”

            In spite of knowing it wasn’t directed at me, I couldn’t help but flinch at the Arctic flatness in Jack’s tone. I felt actually relieved to hear Ianto’s voice over the comm.

            “Jack. Upstairs, please. Dr. Sullivan would like to speak to you.”

            The first floor looked a lot more like someone’s home. There was a small sitting area at the top of the stairs, furnished like a model room in one of those design magazines Gwen had loved to look through. Three doors led to other rooms. One of the doors was open, and Euan was standing right outside, holding a gun like he meant business.

            The room beyond was set up as a very posh office. There was a man sitting behind the desk. He looked like the Woodstall scarecrow, all dressed up in borrowed finery that didn’t fit. Not that his clothes were anything but the best money could buy, but they just didn’t look his, somehow. 

            “You wanted to see me, Sullivan?”

            “Yes, Captain Harkness. First, I want to explain that I didn’t have anything to do with… with what’s downstairs. It was my punishment for losing Mr. Greene and the baby.” He was shaken by a coughing fit that rattled him in every direction, and he had to stop to sip some water from a bottle in front of him. “Gentlemen, I am going to reach for a button underneath my desk. I would appreciate it if one of you would come here and verify what I am doing. I would rather not die by gunshot wound.”

            Hart pushed Ianto away and stood next to Sullivan’s chair. “Tell me what you want to do and I’ll do it.”

            “There’s a button on the desk, right by my knee. Press it.”

            Hart aimed his wrist strap at the place. There was a soft hum and a bookcase on the wall to one side of the desk slid aside to show a closet-sized room lined with soundproofing panels. Inside were four hospital cribs.

            “My ransom, gentlemen. Or my redemption, if there’s any such thing. Four girls, all healthy, all mostly human, all carrying Archangel genes.” He coughed again. “I have wiped their records from all our databases. The only copies are on this disk.”

            “Who is behind this, Sullivan?” Hart loomed over the doctor. “You might be a decent enough gene-splicer, but you’re not the type to command an operation this size.”

            The doctor glared at Hart’s contemptuous description of his skills, but then subsided. “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Hart. I am not. But I was strategist enough to figure out a way to use you.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “The man who commands this operation –your own words, Mr. Hart – has made it his business to know everything there is to know about Jack Harkness. He knew of your existence. He likes to talk late at night over a drink.” He shivered, coughing once again. “You must understand, I believed in what I was doing: creating an army that would defend my country against all threats. But McKenzie is utterly mad. He dreams of reviving his dead empire right here, right now. I needed a way out, and when you showed up here, I made sure you saw what I wanted you to see.”

            “Why made you change your mind, Sullivan?” Jack asked.

            “After Canary Wharf, I had no place to go. I knew enough about you to know you would not tolerate the sort of thing Yvonne had me doing. McKenzie came to see me and offered me a chance to continue my research. It wasn’t until I was here that I realized what he really wanted. I convinced myself that as long as all I did was work with genes and give Mr. Greene his annual checkup, I wasn’t responsible for anything McKenzie did. But then, a few years ago he started bringing the weevil females here to give birth, and I knew I was. I was personally creating the blastocysts that were being implanted on those poor girls. Most of them died in childbirth with their babies. Their bodies were too immature to carry a fetus to term. And McKenzie would discard their bodies and take the dead fetuses and start all over again. Genetic material, he called it. God." 

            “And  that's how this McKenzie would revive his empire?” Hart scoffed. “Using weevil genes?”

            “Exactly.” He snorted at our blank stares. “Don’t you understand? According to McKenzie, the Archangels were never many in number and they were constantly tinkering with their DNA, so often one planetary population could not interbreed with another. As their empire grew, they had to rely on mercenary armies to control their subjects. They knew their history. A small group decided the best solution would be to make certain all the Archangel populations could interbreed again. They created a gene cocktail that would retroengineer Archangel DNA and released it in the general population. Something went very wrong. Ninety percent of the population died off within fifty years. The rest… well, you’ve seen them in the streets of Cardiff, Captain Harkness. A weevil is what’s happens when a pregnant Archangel gets a dose of McKenzie’s gene cocktail.”