Chapter 2

Secrets

Ianto Jones

"Yes Archie, subject 2640A." Ianto Jones said. He finished the fine tuning of his coffee machine and prepared the perfect cup of coffee. He added sugar and cream, and came out of the stone break oom and made his way to Tosh's station.

"2640A." The voice on the other end said. Ianto could hear the shuffle of papers and the sliding of drawers. Archie was indeed a very odd fellow. When normal people embraced the age of electronic filing he still used drawers and folders under a code likely only he understood.

Of course, Glasglow had files dating back to the 1870s, and to compile them into electronic format would take ages and more organization than Archie was likely willing to provide.

Ianto let his mind go back to the file he had memorized. "Yes, 2640A. Male, 16 years of age, 5 foot tall, pale complexion, blond hair, gold eyes, humanoid, level 5 security warning…"

"Hold your horses, will you! I've got a lot of files to go though. Are you sure he's in cryo storage?"

"I don't think you could fit him on a shelf." Ianto replied flatly. "And Torchwood One was transferring anything unrelated to the Void Sphere over to Glasglow until further notice."

As he talked, Ianto tried not to think of his time at Torchwood One. Even though his time there had been relatively pleasant, Lisa's loss still weighed heavily on his mind. Less than 23 months ago, he worked as a junior researcher there. Ultimately his title was just another name for gofer and organizer. And Ianto Jones was always very organized, which was why he was a little impatient with Archie at the moment. He would know exactly what he was looking for and where to find it. The storage and files kept by him at Torchwood Three were meticulous.

While Archie was busily searching the records Ianto decided it was best to deliver Tosh her coffee and tend to morning routine in the tourist office above.

He wasn't surprised to find Tosh at her deck, studying the strange prosthetic arm left there the previous night. The small Asian woman was holding the arm in one hand, while bending its hand joints with the other, to get a closer look at the circuits under the magnifying light she had positioned over it. Intense fascination lined her brow and narrowed her lovely features yet failed to hide the delight and child like wonder on her face.

"Coffee, cream and five lumps of sugar." Ianto said putting the cup on the small table set up next to her high tech workbench.

"Did you see this?" Tosh asked excitedly. "I've never seen anything like it before! I believe these are refined carbon fiber filaments to control fine movement in the hand and wrist. I'm certain the design relies on embedded electronics to run on the electrical impulses given off by the nervous system and brain. It's absolutely amazing!"

"Glad to see you're well entertained this morning." Ianto smiled.

Archie was still poking around the files, but now he was mumbling about dates. "Any idea when subject 2640A arrived?"

"Anytime between February 4th 2006 and May 1st 2006." Ianto answered. He glanced at Tosh and mouthed the word "Archie."

"You mention the prosthetics?" Tosh asked. She pulled off her glasses and shoved a strain of hair behind her ear. "He would have a socket into which this fit surgically emplaced in his right shoulder, serving as a support and direct neurotransmission interface. He'd have another for his left leg… hmm, I'd say he'd also have some kind of neurological connection all along his vertebrae to coordinate the signals. I'd rather expect he would also have have his skeletal structure braced to support the bionics."

"Right." Ianto nodded as he started to move away from Tosh's desk. "Got that? Our technical support says he would have some kind of bionic interface surgically placed in both his right shoulder and leg and a neurological interface between both fused to his vertebrae. Maybe skeletal augmentation too."

If that didn't help narrowing it down, nothing would.

The shuffling stopped and Archie suddenly whistled. "Why didn't you say that before then? Cyborg, eh? Dinnae see many of those, now. Yes, I believe he'd be stored in bio-cybernetic storage bay alpha. Let's see, I'd find that right here." A drawer sliding and a moment later Ianto heard the rustling of paper. "Got it, subject 2640A, he's here all right. What would you like me to do?"

Ianto looked up toward Jack's office. With luck Archie wouldn't ask any questions. "Ship him here, for storage."

"If that is what you want. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Nothing I can think of. Than you very much for your time, Archie." Ianto replied. 'Have a pleasant morning."

After brief goodbyes, Ianto made his way up the steel mesh stairs to Jack's office. The older man, was, as always in front of his desk studying salvaged security videos from Torchwood One. Ianto had brought them up earlier that morning with Jack's coffee and bagel. It was dated February 6th and Jack was rapidly going though the footage, looking for anything that would be a clue to the arrival of subject 2640A.

Jack lifted his coffee mug and took a sip, and glanced in his direction. "I understand Tosh is pleased with her present."

"Ecstatic and speaking Orthopedic cyber-techno babble between squeals of joy." Ianto crossed into the room and came to stand in front of the desk. "Owen and Gwen are investigating a call from PC Andy Davidson. And I contacted Archie at the Torchwood Institute in Glasgow."

Jack paused the video he was watching and meet Ianto's gaze. "And…?"

"He's sending him here. Figured we needed to have the entire cyborg here so we could run the proper tests." He paused and watched Jack very closely. "Speaking officially of course."

Jack looked down and nodded. "Good work." He looked back to his computer and the image on it. "No luck here, I'm going to have Tosh have a look at it and see if she can find any editing. I have a feeling the footage I'm looking for was taken by Yvonne Hartman herself and destroyed with Torchwood One."

"Yvonne was very thorough in her record keeping; I could look in her personal effects for any clues." Ianto suggested. "I'll also look for other articles related to subject 2640A in storage. Unless he came though the Rift naked."

Jack lifted his brow. "And didn't appear in my office? What a shame."

Typical, even under the stress of his past, Jack Harkness was able to keep his sense of humor. Ianto Jones forced a smile. "Well, then good thing he didn't, he's a little young for you."

"Technically, Ianto, you're a little young for me too. Not to mention most everyone else." Jack laughed. He reached up and touched the younger man on the cheek, and Ianto found his face warming. "Did Gwen get a look at the prosthetics?"

"When she gets back." Ianto explained. "PC Davidson said it was up our alley so I suspect it will take a while. And, well, they're mates, so I suspect once she gets involved, she'll never let go."

They both knew Gwen Cooper had a tendency of bulldogging her way into a case. In many ways, it was what the team needed. Gwen's heart ruled how she did things, and she took what she did very seriously. Jack nodded. "Might be for the best. But we will see how things work out. Is there anything else I should know, Ianto?"

The young man thought about it. What he really wanted was for Jack to tell him why he woke up alone that morning, and what was on Jack's mind. He knew Jack was bothered about his past, and he was certain its ghosts were what drove him from Ianto's side that morning. But instead of pressing it, Ianto decided if Jack felt he needed to he'd come around to what was going on in his head and tell him when he was ready. Which could be never. No use being upset over something you really couldn't help.

"Other than I have some paperwork to do upstairs, nothing I can think of, besides having a fresh pot of coffee on."

"Good, let me know when Gwen and Owen are back."

He could do that. Ianto gathered up the empty plate on the desk and went to leave.

*&*&*

Ever since she started at Torchwood, Gwen Cooper had gotten used to grotesque crime scenes. Mangled and mutilated, even half-eaten corpses were routine now. The former PC stood in the middle of an alley, next to friend and fellow officer PC Andy Davison, looking over the remains of a homeless man and a dissolved garbage bin.

The alley was dark brick, wide enough for two wastebins, and ended with a brick wall. Boxes and bags lined the walls and back, and the body was sprawled between a large green waste disposal container and several smaller portable bins. Garbage was scatted everywhere, some fit foul smelling food products mixed with papers cans and wasted plastics. The body itself was wide open, its entrails, blood and tissue oozing out into the mess. The stench of decay filled the space and Gwen wasn't certain if it was from the garbage itself or the corpse.

"And your people already took photos?" Gwen asked, as she prepared her camera and started to photograph the corpse and surrounding crime scene.

"I can have them sent to your office as soon as I get back. So you think I called it right? It's one of your cases?" Andy asked, wrinkling his nose at the body.

"Our Coroner well have to get a closer look at the body, but it's very possible." Gwen told him. She paused at a bin beside the victim and wrinkled her nose. A large half-moon shaped chunk was missing, like someone or something had taken a huge bite out of it. Something about the edges looked… odd. "Now this is interesting," she said, inspecting the metal. "It's melted, and I don't see any scoring like one would get from fire or laser, looks more like acid to me; what do you think, Andy?"

"That's why I called," Andy told her. "I can't make heads or tails of it. It could be acid. We took a sample for the lab. I'll ship that to you too. Whatever it is, it's potent."

"Thank you, Andy." Gwen smiled, taking a few scrapings herself and sealed them in a test tube.

"From the position of the bins, there was a struggle," Andy observed. "Not much of one, though. "I think it overpowered our friend here quickly. I've talked to the people living in the building next door, they heard nothing at all and the body wasn't found until this morning when one of the waiters of the restaurant took out those bags over there." He pointed to two bags sitting in the front of the alley. "He called us immediately. The body wasn't there last night when the restaurant closed at midnight."

Gwen nodded, glancing at the building the bins were set against. There was a door close to the entrance of the alley. It led to the kitchen of Senior Valenti's Italian Restaurant. "All right, so the crime was committed between midnight and eight A.M.?"

"Seems so. I didn't let my Coroner move or touch the body. I called you immediately when I realize it was more you than us. You'd need a body temp to determine the time of death."

Gwen nodded, glancing back at the SUV parked at the entrance of the ally. Owen was still organizing his things while she poked around took photos and studied the corpse. "We should get that in the moment. You called it good, Andy." She added to her friend. "But I think you need to leave now and let us handle it."

She noticed the look on his face as it shifted from eager interest to disappointment. Ever since she had joined Torchwood, Andy and her seldom had moments to work together, and she suspected he missed it. "Let me know what I should look out for if it is anything important, all right."

She gave a short nod. It was very easy to mislead him. In all likelihood, Torchwood would take the case in question, find the killer, and deal with him or it before the night was through. The local police didn't need to be involved. "Goodbye Andy, and thank you."

The red haired police officer shrugged as he walked away. "Right, welcome. We are on the same team, you know. Later Gwen."

Gwen inhaled uneasily. She didn't like lying to anyone but Torchwood needed secrecy. Even if she trusted Andy, she didn't want to break policy, or drag him into things that could get him killed, and quickly. "Take care, Andy" she called back, aware he was already gone. Behind her, she could hear Owen saunter up and drop his kit down beside her.

"Oh, what a lovely example of existential artwork. I thought it died in the '60s," he said with a faint smirk. "Must be a pleasant smell. At times like this I feel blessed being dead and having no working nose." He stepped around the garbage and glanced down at the body. "Looks like we have some cauterization, the bleed-out should have been worse. "

Gwen nodded, studying the spatter and photographing it. "Yes, I believe most of the spatter happened when he was on the ground. The guy who over powered him, was very large, I'd say about 400 pounds, and surprisingly agile for his size."

"And you got all that just by looking at some bloody foot prints?" Owen asked glancing at her.

"Foot prints, size of spatter, position and condition of the body, it all tells me the force that was used against the victim." Gwen explained, snapping a few pictures of the ground and a set of bloody tracks in the dirt that left the victim and vanished in front of the side of the building. "Now… where did he go? No marks on the brick wall." Gwen frowned. She looked at the fire escape. It appeared untouched.

"He could have jumped." Owen examined the wound. "Well, what we have is a male, about fifty years of age, and half eaten. Not a pleasant way to go if you ask me. Cauterization tells me the attacker had acid in his saliva."

"Make sense." Gwen reached and pulled down the fire escape.

"And where are you going?" Owen glanced up at her.

"To the roof. I have a hunch." Gwen said. "Be down in a bit."

She didn't wait for a response; Owen would be busy with the corpse for a while. She quickly climbed her way up the fire escape to the roof of the building and started looking for signs of blood transfer and tracks. The roof was black and had its share of dirt and gravel on it. Walking the length of the roof twice, she noticed there was scrape marks along the edge. Kneeling down, she looked over the side and found what looked like wear marks on the bricks and an area where the actual brick was broken away. Bloodstains were smeared on the edge; that told her the killer did indeed jump up, catch onto the edge, and scramble its bulk onto the roof.

The killer in question was superhuman. The former PC looked down into the alley, and scanned its length. The large bin was open and several bags were torn open and rummaged though. There was also a empty box set across from the bin tucked snug in the corner near the end of the ally, not far from the corpse. Tossed over the box was a worn blanket, like a door.

Gwen quickly photographed the side of the roof and the battered brick wall, bin, the alley and the box. She tracked the blood smears, snapping pictures of them on the way, across the roof and realized the killer likely jumped to the other roof to make its escape.

Activating her ear comlink, she called down to Owen. "Owen, check the box to your left, it has a blanket on top. I think our victim was sleeping in it, and was woken up by someone going though the garbage and then was attacked."

"You got all that on the roof?" Owen asked. "Yes, there is a blanket inside with a few trinkets. "So, what, you think our killer was knocking about the garbage looking for some nosh?"

"I'd say so. I don't think there was much of a struggle. I also think our perp jumped to the roof and ran. He didn't attack to eat our victim, he attacked to hide his presence."

"Not very bright then, leaving a bloody corpse is a hell of a calling card."

In her career as a cop, Gwen had came to the conclusion most killers weren't too bright for the most part, especially if they felt cornered and desperate, which was what this felt like to her. She crossed back to Owen and looked down at him as he finished his inspection of the corpse. "It does tell us a great deal about our killer though, he's shy, he's likely not humanoid enough to be seen, and he's very strong and dangerous."

"Yeah, well, he hasn't meet bloody Torchwood yet, let's see how well he holds up against us. We eat shy homicidal alien blokes like this for breakfast. Well, those of us who can."

This was one of the times where Gwen Cooper couldn't help but wonder how Owen Harper managed to plug on at day to day life, and still keep a sense of humor. If the situation had been reversed, she would have been driven mad. "Well, you can tell him that when we see him." Gwen joked. "Perhaps we can intimidate this one into surrendering peacefully."

"They don't surrender because we never say please." Owen told her. "Imagine how full our cells would be if we were bloody polite about it. "Mr. Weevil could you please not eat that poor sod, and come away with us peacefully and be locked in our cells in our dungeon under the city…"

He almost sounded sweet, and his tone made her laugh. "Even dead you're still crazy you know."

"Well a man has to be crazy to be dead and spend his mornings like this. I could be six feet under and taking a nice comfortable dirt nap, if I had any sense in my head. Guess it's not my time."

There was a hint of hurt and Gwen felt a twinge of worry. "We'll find a cure." She told him, hoping she'd lend him some comfort. "I promise. "

"And what, give up being the King of the Weevils? Nah, it's my fate luv, I go on until I run out and that's it, than I face the big black, but until then, let me do my job, which means, picking up this poor sod and getting back to base so you can have a lovely cup of Ianto's coffee."

"After I play Queen of Cardiff and go over these roofs." Gwen told him with a laugh.

"Well then aren't we Posh, King of the Weevils and the Queen of Cardiff." Gwen could almost see Owen laugh. "Well your high-ness, better get back to work, before my corpse starts to decay and we've got an even uglier mess than we have all ready."

Gwen Cooper shook her head and gave him a wave before starting her way across the roof. She suspected her roof-hopping wouldn't last long before she lost the trail. With luck she'd have a general idea where their alien friend went and could arrange a team to go in a capture him by that evening. All in a days' work, she thought, and decided she'd need to give Rhys a heads up, she hadn't thought she'd be home in time for dinner that night.

*&*&*

Toshiko Sato was worried she was hovering. Not that she was making it obvious, she just thought she'd take a quick walk over to medical and see what Owen was up to. In truth, she was curious and waiting just for the right moment to ask him about his little encounter with the mystery women he had had her trail but couldn't come up with an appropriate way to ask without sounding nosy.

So instead she stood up by the rail, looking down into the medical area, watching him conduct an autopsy on the body of the poor homeless fellow they had just dragged in.

It was hardly the time for pleasantries, she told herself as she looked down watching her friend and trying not to see the body, which was hard. She was never comfortable with this kind of work, and thought it was best to return to her station rather than watch the gruesome chore and strike up a conversation.

Yet, then again, if she left, she'd never likely work up the nerve to ask him why he called her in the dead of night so he could tail some woman he met at the pub.

"Morning, Owen," she started, feeling butterflies in her stomach. "So you weren't out too late last night I trust?"

The doctor gave a sigh and glanced up, striker saw in hand and offered her a faint smile. "Not too late. Hope I didn't spoil your beauty sleep."

"No, no, I was exhausted. Passed out soon as I climbed back in bed." Tosh lied. In fact, she spent the night worrying about her friend, and standing by the phone waiting for him to call back. She came to work early that day and hoped to catch Owen before he started on the clock.

The young woman brushed a strain of long dark hair from her face and leaned on to the rail. Medical was a roundish pit, really, with a curved stairwell wound its way down to the floor. Like all of Torchwood Three, the walls were made up of a polished off white brick, and the floor cement. Steel and glass cabinets stood against the walls and in the center was a grey steel door for storage.

In the center of the room was an empty examining chair. The corpse was placed on a metal gurney set up under a rotating light fixture in the center of the room. The dark-haired man reached over to the tray beside him, and placed the striker saw down, than returned to the corpse to pry its chest's open. "Oh, that's good. It was just a bit of a wild goose chase really. Not much came out of it. "

Tosh tried not to watch, yet still was very aware of the cracking of bone below. She knew he'd be secretive about what he was up to. It was likely a woman he met at the bar and wanted to spend time with. Not that he could shag anyone these days, but Owen Harper did have old habits she was certain hadn't died with his body. "So you couldn't find her? It sounded important last night, I thought you were in trouble."

She winced at the hurt in her voice.

"Tosh, she said something and I wanted to follow it up, that's all." Owen explained. With the chest wide open he looked up, and tilted up the protection visor he was wearing. "I wasn't looking for a shag if that's what you mean. Can't get the damn thing up, or get excited as a matter of fact. I'm not a glutton for punishment."

Now she had gone and done it. It was always best not to talk to Owen about these things because he was a psychiatrist as well as a physician and he could spot a lie and one;s motives a mile away. Tosh shifted and folded her arms uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Owen, I wasn't accusing you of anything. I was worried, that's all."

"Oh." He raised a brow. "Well don't be, I'll be fine."

Peachy. Tosh nodded, and noticed Owen lean over and examine the corpse's internals. The conversation was finished, and she was certain, she wouldn't get heads or tails out of him until he decided to come clean with her and discuss the matter. With a sigh, the young woman shifted. "Well I'll be at my station when you're done," she said. She knew he heard, but wouldn't respond right away. He seemed to be engrossed. "Jack wants you to help me go over a prosthesis they found in storage at Torchwood One."

"Yes, yes the one Gwen has in forensics looking for trace. I'll get to it when I'm done here." Owen replied distracted. "Is that it Tosh?"

She nodded. "That's it, back to work. I'm actually searching the records for complaint made in the last few weeks of animals making a mess of the bins. Might be helpful."

"Good. Talk to you later then." Owen took a tissue sample and quickly made a slide.

The conversation was done. Toshiko Sato gave a frustrated sigh. "Very well."

Well, that went well. Defeated, the woman turned and made her way back to her station and her search.

*&*&*

2∑(2000√x * πiLn(a/∑0-∞ µ… Numbers, flowed in and out of his thoughts, logarithms of extreme complexity and computations of seemingly infinite proportions filled his every moment. He saw, breathed, and lived numbers and formula. They were the truth, and the core to the existence of life, time and yet something, deep in his heart, told him there was something more to existence, the world was far more than the codes filling his mind.

The boy opened his eyes to golden bubbles and vibrating wires. He was floating in a confined space, and liquid filled his lungs, yet he could breathe. He felt nothing, and saw very little. The man with the strange blue eyes was gone. It was a woman now, one he should know. A face of familiar proportions and symmetry: it invoked terror and anger, and loss. When he fought the numbers, that face would smile and made him feel pain.

But beyond the bubbles, and beyond the floating sensations, the boy knew he was alone.

Alone with the numbers and the one memory he had as salvation. They tried to burn it away, but he held to it. There was always hope. He just needed help.

Help from someone the boy trusted.

He shivered, and closed his eyes; he needed to command the numbers, the numbers could do anything, makes things, bring things to him and to others, the numbers could help him…

And brother too; they could help brother. If only he could remember… But those blue eyes locked away those memories so only the numbers stayed with him. He was the Truth. He was the darkness inside of him.

But no, forget the cold blue eyes. He needed to… to find someone. Who? Who did he need to find?

Golden bubbles drifted around him like crystal sand in a current and he thought of a face. Smiling, laughing, lost, unpredictable, friendly face. Blue eyes… nice ones, not like the ones that burned.

Blue eyes…

Jack.

The memory of the man blurred with other faces, none that he could recall completely but knew they were faces of the long dead past. A woman, a girl, a man with gold hair, a dark haired man with a child, a tall grim man with a scar, so many people. It was an effort to refocus. He could barely see Jack now, too many images and formulas that followed them were in his mind, and numbers interfered with ordering his thoughts.

The numbers could be used to make things, change things, or move them, call them. He understood how to use them… when they didn't use him.

Too much! He couldn't focus…

…it took hours of fighting the influx of information before he managed to master his own mind once more. Hours gone, just letting the numbers flow, change, define, create, destroy… he was now scattered and confused as to what he was doing. All he knew was he needed someone to find him, stop the numbers and the black things inside of him before the world changed. With all his will, the boy let his mind choose the equations, the parameters, shape the formula, begin to project it. But his efforts were greeted by a firestorm of agony that hammered away at his will.

Once more the numbers became deafening. For a moment he fought, and forced memories against the cold equations: sweet ice cream, the musky smell of the fairgrounds in the summer, child's laughter, his brother's warm arms, his mother's kiss, blocking the calculations, but the numbers ate away at his mind, he couldn't master them, not yet…

The numbers were why he still lived. They controlled all.