Rose, Sarah, Zeppelin
Written for the Rose Tyler (post-Doomsday) Gen Ficathon.
Sarah Jane looked down at the spoon sticking out of her coffee. 'Ms Tyler,' she said, 'are you trying to bribe me?'
Sarah had interviewed an awful lot of soldiers. The zeppelins disgorged them in their hundreds at the London ports, fresh from Venezuala or Thailand - not fresh, she corrected herself, thumbing a correction into her PDA. They were fresh when they left, marching up into the flying ships determined and proud. Sometimes they came home tired but proud; she had ended up hugging a young man who'd come home from the peacekeeping mission in the Cocos Islands. Sometimes they were tired and angry, sometimes they were tired and damaged. For the most part, they simply came home tired.
Sarah wasn't sure which category to put Rose Tyler into, but she knew she was talking to someone who'd been in the wars. Tyler was barely in her twenties. She had that strange jumble of naivety and worldweariness, experience and inexperience, that Sarah had encountered so many times at the ports.
She'd asked Tyler to meet her in the rooftop cafe where she'd spoken to so many veterans. Beyond the soundproof glass, a passenger zeppelin was refuelling, covered in lines like Gulliver.
'Course I'm not trying to bribe you,' said Tyler, twiddling her spoon in her cappuccino. 'All I'm trying to say is that we have more in common than you might think.' The young woman gave a genuine smile. Those teeth must have cost a pretty penny, though Sarah. 'Maybe I'm not the enemy.'
'It's not about friends and enemies,' said Sarah. 'It's just about the truth. Department C19 has been an open secret for a long time. All I'm asking you to do is to confirm a few things for me.'
Sarah snapped open her case and took out a draft of her story on Hackney. Tyler read it impassively, pushing her hair back over her ear in an unconscious gesture. God, she was young! How old could she possibly have been when she joined Torchwood?
Tyler put the sheet of paper down. 'Nobody likes what happened in Hackney. I don't just mean the MPs who want a public inquiry. I mean everyone.'
'Four people died that day.'
'A lot more didn't,' said Rose sharply. She caught herself.
'You _were_ there, weren't you?'
'That's what it says here,' said Tyler, glancing down at the story again.
'Surely it's in the Department's interests for the record to be set straight,' said Sarah. 'This is a chance for Torchwood to tell its side of the story.'
Tyler blinked at the use of C19's code name. It was the final bit of evidence, thought Sarah, the proof that her article wasn't just lucky guesses, that she really did know about the Department and its secret work.
'I dunno where you got all this,' said Tyler, 'and I dunno how I can convince you not to print it. Cause if you _do_ print it, a lot more people are going to die. A lot.'
Sarah leaned forward. 'Convince me.'
'I can't,' said Rose, slumping in her chair.
You can, thought Sarah, and you will. I've got two decades on you. Twenty years of finding out the truth of things that most people wouldn't believe.
'Trying to bribe you wouldn't work, would it?' said Rose.
Sarah had to smile. 'You don't have anything I could possibly want. Not a money, not - a job. I don't even have a family to threaten.'
She expected a shocked reaction to that, but Tyler was just nodding. 'I still think what I said was right - I think we could help each other. Let's go for a walk. There's something you should hear.'
They stood in the wind on the open rooftop, in the sound of the motors pumping the airship full of helium and petrol. That level of noise would hide any conversation from prying ears, thought Sarah.
She turned to Rose. 'What is it you want to tell me, Ms Tyler?'
Rose held up a finger. 'Just a minute.'
'What-'
'Just listen.'
The pumps hissed and whined to a stop. There was an ear-ringing moment of comparative quiet, just the wind singing through the lines, the distant background of London traffic. The engineers moved across the tarmac in their orange uniforms.
Then the smallest of the propellers started up, and almost at once there was a sound like grating, like ripping, like trumpeting: metal on metal, rising and falling. It was gone again in seconds, lost in the smooth whirring of the blades, but it had made Sarah's mouth fall open.
'It's just a coincidence,' Rose half-shouted over the engine sounds. 'But it's weird, isn't it?'
Sarah turned to look at the young woman.
'Of course,' Rose went on, 'it sounds different from _inside_ the TARDIS.'
Sarah felt all the colour ebb out of her face. 'Oh my God.'
Rose smiled. 'You haven't seen him in twenty years,' she said. 'We happen to know where he is right now. How'd you like to say hello?'
Sarah Jane looked down at the spoon sticking out of her coffee. 'Ms Tyler,' she said, 'are you trying to bribe me?'
Sarah had interviewed an awful lot of soldiers. The zeppelins disgorged them in their hundreds at the London ports, fresh from Venezuala or Thailand - not fresh, she corrected herself, thumbing a correction into her PDA. They were fresh when they left, marching up into the flying ships determined and proud. Sometimes they came home tired but proud; she had ended up hugging a young man who'd come home from the peacekeeping mission in the Cocos Islands. Sometimes they were tired and angry, sometimes they were tired and damaged. For the most part, they simply came home tired.
Sarah wasn't sure which category to put Rose Tyler into, but she knew she was talking to someone who'd been in the wars. Tyler was barely in her twenties. She had that strange jumble of naivety and worldweariness, experience and inexperience, that Sarah had encountered so many times at the ports.
She'd asked Tyler to meet her in the rooftop cafe where she'd spoken to so many veterans. Beyond the soundproof glass, a passenger zeppelin was refuelling, covered in lines like Gulliver.
'Course I'm not trying to bribe you,' said Tyler, twiddling her spoon in her cappuccino. 'All I'm trying to say is that we have more in common than you might think.' The young woman gave a genuine smile. Those teeth must have cost a pretty penny, though Sarah. 'Maybe I'm not the enemy.'
'It's not about friends and enemies,' said Sarah. 'It's just about the truth. Department C19 has been an open secret for a long time. All I'm asking you to do is to confirm a few things for me.'
Sarah snapped open her case and took out a draft of her story on Hackney. Tyler read it impassively, pushing her hair back over her ear in an unconscious gesture. God, she was young! How old could she possibly have been when she joined Torchwood?
Tyler put the sheet of paper down. 'Nobody likes what happened in Hackney. I don't just mean the MPs who want a public inquiry. I mean everyone.'
'Four people died that day.'
'A lot more didn't,' said Rose sharply. She caught herself.
'You _were_ there, weren't you?'
'That's what it says here,' said Tyler, glancing down at the story again.
'Surely it's in the Department's interests for the record to be set straight,' said Sarah. 'This is a chance for Torchwood to tell its side of the story.'
Tyler blinked at the use of C19's code name. It was the final bit of evidence, thought Sarah, the proof that her article wasn't just lucky guesses, that she really did know about the Department and its secret work.
'I dunno where you got all this,' said Tyler, 'and I dunno how I can convince you not to print it. Cause if you _do_ print it, a lot more people are going to die. A lot.'
Sarah leaned forward. 'Convince me.'
'I can't,' said Rose, slumping in her chair.
You can, thought Sarah, and you will. I've got two decades on you. Twenty years of finding out the truth of things that most people wouldn't believe.
'Trying to bribe you wouldn't work, would it?' said Rose.
Sarah had to smile. 'You don't have anything I could possibly want. Not a money, not - a job. I don't even have a family to threaten.'
She expected a shocked reaction to that, but Tyler was just nodding. 'I still think what I said was right - I think we could help each other. Let's go for a walk. There's something you should hear.'
They stood in the wind on the open rooftop, in the sound of the motors pumping the airship full of helium and petrol. That level of noise would hide any conversation from prying ears, thought Sarah.
She turned to Rose. 'What is it you want to tell me, Ms Tyler?'
Rose held up a finger. 'Just a minute.'
'What-'
'Just listen.'
The pumps hissed and whined to a stop. There was an ear-ringing moment of comparative quiet, just the wind singing through the lines, the distant background of London traffic. The engineers moved across the tarmac in their orange uniforms.
Then the smallest of the propellers started up, and almost at once there was a sound like grating, like ripping, like trumpeting: metal on metal, rising and falling. It was gone again in seconds, lost in the smooth whirring of the blades, but it had made Sarah's mouth fall open.
'It's just a coincidence,' Rose half-shouted over the engine sounds. 'But it's weird, isn't it?'
Sarah turned to look at the young woman.
'Of course,' Rose went on, 'it sounds different from _inside_ the TARDIS.'
Sarah felt all the colour ebb out of her face. 'Oh my God.'
Rose smiled. 'You haven't seen him in twenty years,' she said. 'We happen to know where he is right now. How'd you like to say hello?'