The Mortal Years (4 of 6)
Aug. 6th, 2010 11:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
humantalesTitle: The Mortal Years
Author:humantales
Fandom(s): Torchwood/Doctor Who
Genre: and Pairings (if applicable): Gen with het, slash & multiples
Characters: Jack Harkness
Rating: PG-13
Betas:quean_of_swords and Goofy
Spoilers: Through Children of Earth and Flesh and Stone
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Jack wasn't always immortal. Jack's life from the invasion until he meets Rose Tyler.
4. Cadet
To Khael's bemusement, most people seemed to assume the disappearance of the invaders meant it was time to demobilize. Khael's opinion was that now was the time to go over all the intel accumulated and determine the invaders' species, home planet, motivations, and anything they might need for the next time, maybe even take the fight to them. When he tried convincing his fellow soldiers, he was faced with a bewildering pity, as if he wanted to spend his life as a soldier. After facing that irritating sympathy a couple of times, he just kept his mouth shut and kept himself ready to go at any moment.
A month passed, as he watched public opinion turn against the military, especially in his own system, where the military was blamed for their losses. One afternoon, when he'd been told the scheduled recon run was cancelled, he was called into the archbishop's office.
To Khael's relief, the archbishop was still in military uniform. When Khael walked in and stood at attention, the archbishop smiled at him and indicated the visitor's chair. "Sit down, son." As Khael complied, the archbishop looked at a padd; Khael assumed it had something to do with him. "Your record is impressive, if a little reckless. The rumours I've been hearing say you're not convinced the war is truly over. Most people think you just don't know how to live if we're not at war. What do you think?"
Khael took a minute to gather his thoughts. "They just vanished. We never found their home planet and, although we were beating them, they still had a lot of fight left in them. This isn't over. It may be years, but we'll be fighting them again." Khael shrugged. "I'd prefer not to be a soldier, to be honest, but I can't in good conscience leave innocents unprotected."
"Good man," the archbishop said, a large smile on his face. "Are you aware that we have more intel than is commonly known?"
"I'd hope so," Khael said, knowing his voice sounded a little sharp, but really.
Fortunately, the archbishop laughed. "We're reasonably certain that the invaders are time travellers." As Khael struggled to absorb that, the archbishop continued with, "In fact, we believe that they're humans, from the future, trying to escape legal action."
"A lawsuit?" Khael asked in horror.
"Criminal justice," the archbishop corrected. "We think they're criminals in their own time, trying to find a refuge here, in a place and time where the people are nonviolent--to their minds, defenceless. We've proven to be a little harder to defeat than they had expected, so they'll try somewhere, somewhen, else.
"What about the people they've taken?" Khael asked dully. If Gray was lost in time as well as space, it was hopeless. Travel in time was so strictly controlled . . .
The archbishop's voice was gentle as he said, "We don't know that they've taken anyone. But that leads me to what I wanted to speak with you about." Khael looked up sharply. "Have you heard about the Time Agency?"
"Yes, sir," Khael answered. "They research the physics, philosophy and ethics of time and time travel." According to his parents, they also meddled in time where they didn't belong, but Khael wasn't sure he believed that any longer. If people could be saved, protected, did it matter how it was done?
"That's one of the things they do, yes," the archbishop answered. "They also police Time. And it's something I think you would be especially good at. I want to submit your name to them." As if he had just thought of it, he asked, "By the way, how old are you really?"
Khael sighed. "I'll turn twenty-one in a week. But--" He swallowed hard. It would probably lose him this opportunity, the only way he had of finding Gray, but he had to be honest. "What about Gray?" He could barely hear his own question.
The archbishop smiled. "There are four kinds of people who join the Agency: the pure scientists, those who genuinely want to police time, those who just want somewhere to do what they want with few consequences . . . and those who want to change their lives. It can't be done, but that doesn't mean you can't search for Gray after he was taken."
Biting his lip, Khael closed his eyes and asked, "How likely is it that they'd accept me?" he asked.
When the archbishop snorted, Khael opened his eyes. "I'm the Church's representative on their Board," he said smiling. "I'm always looking for new talent to throw their way, but they're stricter on age, and appropriately so, than the local militias like you were in, and we needed you here. Now that the invaders are no longer within the military's jurisdiction, the Agency can take over. And find them. And I think a young man like you--intelligent, with a solid foundation in the maths and sciences, with practical military training, the cunning to understand that victory is seldom so simple and an agenda of your own--oh, yes, I think you'll do well in the Time Agency. Very well, indeed."
Something about the way the archbishop had described Khael seemed odd. Or, maybe not so odd. "You're not recommending me because I'm a straight, up-standing citizen who wants to stick to the rules. You're looking for someone who'll do whatever it takes, aren't you?"
The archbishop nodded. "As I said, intelligent and cunning. The Agency needs men like you."
Khael thought about it. His parents would have a fit if they found out, but his father was dead and his mother didn't care. He'd failed his family; maybe this was his atonement. And if he could find Gray . . . "Please put my name in, sir. I'd be honoured to join your Time Agency."
The archbishop's smile made Khael feel proud for the first time in years.
* * *
Three days later, Khael received a communication from the Time Agency, offering him a position in their Academy, which was about to start a session. When he went to his commanding officer, he found that everything had already been arranged; his discharge papers and transport were waiting. "And, kid," she said, her smile bright in her dark face, "you can't pull the stunt with the transport money you did when you joined the Army."
"I, I didn't know," Khael found himself stuttering. He hadn't been aware anyone really knew about that.
She smiled at him. "Lots of kids like you do it," she said, "but the Time Agency has an image it projects, so your mother will be sent a credit voucher for your enlisting. A nice, big one."
Khael smiled back, relieved. His pay hadn't always been reliable, especially early on, but he'd always sent everything he didn't absolutely need to her, something he knew was common knowledge. "Thanks for that," he told his CO. She'd been one of those who did what she could to help those in her command, something Khael had learned to treasure. Looking down at the info she'd given him, he jumped. He had three hours to make the transport.
He made it, just barely. He'd even managed to say goodbye to all three of his current lovers in person; he'd been rushed, but he enjoyed the resulting soreness.
The transport was basic. Khael shared his quarters with three other men, one an Academy cadet like he was (going to be), the other two just travellers going the same direction. The food was all right, but there was enough of it. The first night, Khael went through the ship's library and downloaded everything there was on physics, mathematics, philosophy, and, as an afterthought, a book on Ukanan society. There was a long chapter on the B'shani. Khael was interested in an outsider's view of his society; he knew he was viewed as something exotic by non-Ukanans.
The book was a revelation to him. Even though he knew that most of his fellow soldiers had been brought up differently than he, he'd never really thought about it. But the author, a Professor Summer Song, discussed the "extreme attachment, in which a child is kept in near continuous contact with another member of the community until just before puberty" as something remarkable. To Khael, it was just a way for a child to feel safe. Even after puberty, Khael rarely wanted to be alone; it was better when there was someone else around. After Jamin died, he'd been bereft; he hadn't just lost his best friend and lover, but no one else wanted the type of closeness Khael needed. He knew he'd gained a reputation for extreme sexuality, even in an environment where there was lots of it, because he hated to sleep alone.
It continued that way: everything that he thought normal was described as unusual or, at the very least, something to be commented on and dissected. He read the entire book the first night, finishing it in the early hours of the morning. He spent the rest of the night in a ball of misery, with the realization that, unless he returned to Boeshane, he would probably never find what he'd grown up with, with what felt right. To avoid thinking about it, he spent the rest of the trip studying. He wasn't going to look like an idiot at the Academy.
The trip took just under two weeks, arriving the day before the new session began. When he reported to the Academy, a bored man handed him his room assignment and his course schedule. "Everything you need will be in your room," he said, almost sing-songing the words. Khael thanked him and asked for a map.
The man looked up at him, his gaze sharpening. After a moment, he handed Khael a chip that contained a map of the Academy; Khael was amused to see large sections labelled "Off Limits" and wondered if anyone actually stayed out of them.
The rooms seemed huge to Khael. About the same size as the quarters he was used to, but he only shared with one other cadet, who had already arrived and had clearly made himself at home. About Khael's age, shorter and slimmer, with light brown hair and gray eyes, he was lounging on the bed next to the window. When Khael walked in and put his pack on the other bed, his new roommate looked amused.
Since the other man hadn't said anything, Khael walked up and held out his hand to shake. "Khael Jaxom Horton of the Boeshane Peninsula," he said.
His roommate stood up, smirking. "Mitri Trevalian, with enough middle names to be just stupid. From Earth; we're traditionalists. So, Khael Horton, how did you wind up here?"
"Archbishop Louis recommended me," Khael said, hoping he wasn't supposed to keep that quiet.
Trevalian's eyebrows went up for a minute before the other man tried to return to his cool, amused expression. "Is that supposed to impress me?" he asked.
"Just is," Khael returned. "You?"
"Finished West Point, they suggested I serve my term here," Trevalian answered, lying back down. "So, colony world, military service with the Church. Are you Church?"
"No, they were willing to help, so they worked with us."
"You believe in celibacy?" Trevalian was clearly trying to seem uninterested, but he wasn't succeeding.
Khael grinned. "I believe in it, in that I know it exists. Never quite figured out why anybody'd want to."
Trevalian's sprawl was becoming more sexual by the moment. "What's your preference?"
"Labels," Khael snorted. "Who needs 'em. But I think monogamy's practically the same as celibacy and I don't want problems, yeah?" He was going to have to get along with Trevalian, at least at first.
The other man shrugged. "Close the door. And I'm with you on monogamy; let's have some fun."
After, Khael snuggled up to Mitri, or at least tried to. "Mm," Mitri said. "We should agree on other lovers before we go putting the beds together."
Khael gave Mitri a look. "Why? We have sex with who we want and, if our lovers don't want to play, we deal with it then."
Mitri shoved at Khael. "Go get your bed over here. I thought you colonists were supposed to be all prim and proper."
Khael snorted as he shoved the beds together and jumped back in. "What does sex have to do with being prim and proper?
The Army had supposedly been regimented, with everything supposed to happen at set times and everything by the book, but on the frontier, it hadn't worked out that way. The Time Academy, however, was totally regimented. Everything was done to a strict timetable, marked by bells. One joke Khael heard was that even getting sick was scheduled and, if you didn't have it scheduled, you'd just have to wait to be sick until it was. It was only a small exaggeration.
Khael hadn't ever lived this way, needing to be somewhere on the dot, never late, uniform pressed and shoes polished, but he found himself thriving on it. His roommate, on the other hand, had been in one military school or another practically as soon as he could read, and hated every minute. When Khael asked why he didn't leave, Mitri rolled his eyes. "Signed a contract to get into West Point," he said, rolling his eyes, "which my father insisted on my doing so no getting out of it. Four years of service, but they didn't want me fucking with their record so we all agreed I could serve out my time here. Don't need the training, but the Agency insisted."
Khael kept his astonishment that parents could want their children in the military to himself. He'd already been treated to several long conversations on Mitri's family's illustrious military service.
For the first time since the invasion, Khael was living a schedule that felt right. The Academy clearly believed, even as his parents had, that an active body and an active mind were both necessary for good health. Khael surprised his academic instructors at first; knowing that he came from one of the frontier militias, they weren't expecting him to have studied the higher maths and physics. He found his classes switched around almost immediately to reflect his greater knowledge of the scientific subjects the Academy taught.
Where he was weakest surprised him: the softer sciences. His knowledge of psychology and sociology were basic and limited almost entirely to the Ukanan systems. He found that things were very different in human society as a whole. When humanity broke free of the species that viewed them as very versatile sex toys, the humans decided to embrace sexuality and explore everything. Khael agreed whole-heartedly, but found the underlying philosophy of it rather defeatist. To him, it came from a position of weakness, a readiness to be able to please anyone, rather than strength, an enjoyment of who and what they were.
After a week, the floor's proctor asked to speak with him privately. Khael couldn't think of any rules he'd broken, so he felt very uncertain when he did so. "Relax," Feeny told him, "you've done nothing wrong. Your roommate, however--"
Khael sighed. How Mitri had ever finished West Point, which was known for its insistence on strict observance of all its rules, was beyond him. Mitri did what he wanted, when he wanted, and to hell with schedules, rules and expectations.
"His family is both rich and powerful," Feeny told Khael. "One of the most powerful families left on earth. If they want Mitri to graduate West Point, a way will be found for him to do so. If they want him to become a Time Agent, a way will be found for him to do so. And I'm afraid that way here is you."
Khael groaned. He'd tried, but he couldn't carry Mitri to class and handcuff him to the desk. Well, he could, they'd proven that Khael was the stronger of the two of them, but he didn't think it would be permitted. When he said that to Feeny, though, he got a surprise. "Whatever it takes," he told an astonished Khael. "We'd prefer the classes not be disrupted--"
"So I can gag him, too?" Khael asked, not sure he was joking.
Feeny looked surprised. "Oh. Yeah, that'll work. I'll inform your instructors. Er, it'd be better if you found a way without the handcuffs and gags, though. I think."
Returning to his room, Khael found Mitri in bed with second-year twins. He went to the desk and pulled out his history homework, after declining their invitation. Two hours later, when they left, Khael looked at Mitri and said, "We have to talk."
"Thought you'd be okay with this," Mitri said with a pout. "You'd've been more than welcome to join in. Dav thinks you're nine kinds of wonderful."
Khael put that aside to address later; both of them had been very attractive. "Not about that; we agreed and it's not a problem. The Agency has sent down orders that you will pass."
Mitri groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. Khael yanked it out of his hands. Mitri looked up. "You're my keeper?"
"Got it in one and, guess what? I'm not letting that bring me down. I'm authorized to use handcuffs and gags and, if you give me trouble, I suspect anything else I want to use. Now, can we be civilized, or do I have to resort to extreme measures."
"Like what?" Mitri's expression made it clear that he didn't think Khael would be able to control him.
Khael, however, had already figured his roommate out. He was a creature of his pleasures; he would do what he had to to keep them and what he needed to avoid punishment. "First, you seem to enjoy sex." After Mitri had finished laughing at that, Khael's smile grew cold. "If you give me a hard time about being where you're supposed to be when you're supposed to be there, you don't get any." He held up a device he'd acquired while in the army; sometimes it was useful to be able to forget about sex. "Do as you're told or I'll put this on you and only I will know the combination."
Mitri looked at the Sex Inhibitor and swallowed. "You wouldn't," he said, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty.
"Nobody's going to get in my way, Trevalian," Khael said. He could hear how harsh, almost vicious, his voice sounded, but he'd be damned if some spoiled rich kid destroyed his chances at finding Gray.
"And if I'm good," Mitri looked nervous but hopeful.
Which was exactly what Khael was looking for. "If you're good," he purred, putting the Inhibitor back in his pocket and crawling across the bed to Mitri, "you can have whatever you want of me."
"Can I have an advance?"
"Call it a sample," Khael said, stripping out of his clothes.
He could barely move the next day, but Mitri made all of his classes on time, and didn't act up once. By the end of the day, the instructors were looking at Khael in near-awe.
* * *
At the end of the first year at the Academy, the cadets were divided into the field agents and those who wouldn't be leaving Agency Headquarters, the scientists and theoreticians. The cadets were asked for their opinions as to their placements, but there were no guarantees.
Khael was torn. As a child, he would have wanted to be placed with the scientists; he would have been appalled at being chosen as a field agent. He'd still be happy to be placed with the scientists; to his astonishment, he was at the top of his class in his science classes. He knew that his temporal physics instructor, in particular, was trying to get Khael assigned to his division.
On the other hand, he had found that he was good at field work. The physical activity, the quick thinking needed when something went wrong, the independence needed, all of it appealed to him. So, although he thought he'd be good as one of the Agency's scientists, he also thought he'd be good in the field. In the end, he informed his advisor that he'd allow the Agency to decide; he'd wind up making the decision by some form of random chance anyway.
Just before the Academy holiday, he was called to his advisor's office. Khael was confused. The postings were made public; cadets weren't informed privately. "That's correct," his advisor said, "but you're in a unique position. It's usually clear where a cadet belongs, but your case isn't clear."
Khael shrugged. "Then where am I needed most?"
His advisor shook his head, sighed, and handed a black envelope to Khael.
Khael's insides froze. They'd all heard of the black envelopes. Those weren't ever made public; they were given to those cadets who were headed for the Black Squadron. The Black Squadron, made up of the agents who did the dirty work: the assassins, the torturers, the thieves. When an agent of the Black Squadron was caught, they were executed, immediately, so that their crimes wouldn't reflect back on the Agency. They were everything Khael had been brought up to hate.
"This is a choice," his advisor said. "We don't force anyone into the Black Squadron. It's usually not difficult to tell which cadets will be assigned to it; most of them would otherwise wind up facing some form of criminal justice by the time they're thirty."
Khael felt himself flush, then pale. "That's what you--"
"No," his advisor didn't even let him get the sentence out. "If you decline, we'll wipe the last hour out of your memory and go back to trying to decide if you'd be better as a temporal physicist, a creative engineer, or one of our best field agents. However, those same projections . . ." He took a deep breath. "Horton, those same projections indicate that, with the right grooming, we could use you on the Agency Board."
Khael stared at him. The Board? They were the mysterious minds in charge of determining the Agency's direction, of which events needed to be protected. "Me?" he said, amazed his voice didn't squeak. Before his advisor could say anything, he heard himself say, "Although it would be an amazing honour, sir, I'm the Agency's. I will go where they send me, and if they need me in the Black Squadron, I will do the best that I can." After a thought, he said, "Although I reserve the right to try to find ways to do what's needed with as little harm to others and to what's right as I can manage."
His advisor's face broke out into a smile. "Excellent," he said, putting the envelope away. At Khael's confused expression, he said, "We don't actually give you the envelope; it's purely symbolic. You're to tell no one about this conversation and continue with the assignments given. Is that clear, Cadet?"
When Khael returned to his room, Mitri was lying in wait for him. "Guess what?" he said as soon as Khael had closed the door. "I've been assigned to the Black Squadron. It's a secret, though, so don't tell anyone." He held his finger up to his lips in the ancient sign of "Quiet."
Khael stared at his roommate. This was one of the reasons they wanted him for Black Squadron, he realized. He was able to keep Mitri, and the half dozen other problem cadets like him, under control and out of trouble. At least at first, his job was going to be Black Squadron Babysitter. He sighed; might as well get started. He picked Mitri up and slammed him against the wall. "If you've been told to keep your mouth shut, then you'd damn well better do it," he snarled, finding himself genuinely angry, "or I'll shut it for you. Permanently. Understand?"
Mitri, his eyes wide, nodded. When Khael had released him, Mitri stared. "They picked you, too, didn't they?" he asked.
"Have you ever heard of security?" Khael hissed.
With a shrug, Mitri said, "If we're both Black Squadron, there's no reason not to discuss it."
Thoroughly exasperated now, and determined that, if he was going to be an Agency thug, he was damned well going to be a good one, Khael grabbed Mitri, threw him against the wall, and proceeded to beat him as thoroughly as possible without needing to take his idiotic roommate to the infirmary. Or, he realized after a bit, to the morgue.
At the evening meal, it became clear that his actions and reasons hadn't gone unnoticed. His advisor caught his eye, nodded at Mitri, and smiled. Khael finished his meal cheerfully. The next day, when the postings were listed, Khael was unsurprised to find himself listed as Field Agent, Red Squadron. Red Squadron were those agents who were both field agents able to work independently and agents who would serve as the Agency's military.
Most of the cadets went home for the holiday; only a few who, like Khael, didn't have family to visit stayed at the Academy. On the first day, his advisor pinged him to visit his office. When he arrived, Khael found not only his advisor but also a media crew. "As you know," his advisor began when the door had been closed, "we have been trying to recruit more agents from the Ukanan sector; so far, you're the first. We hoped you'd be willing to allow us to use you in our recruitment media. Are you willing, Cadet?"
Khael didn't actually have a problem with it, but he was annoyed that his advisor made it sound like he had a choice. He'd pretty much signed his life over to the Agency when he'd enlisted, and what was left when he'd agreed to be placed in the Black Squadron. Still, he supposed appearances had to be kept. "Of course, sir. What may I do for you gentlefolk?" he asked the media crew.
What he could do turned out to be to change into an Agency dress uniform, which he technically wasn't eligible to wear yet, and pose for scores of images. The woman in charge of the crew was in raptures; apparently, Khael was especially photogenic, "Even for a B'shani, and everyone knows they're the most attractive humans in the galaxy. Or, is it near-human?" she asked.
"Smartest, too," Khael said with a smirk, avoiding the human/non-human question. There were many groups who felt that, if you weren't one hundred percent human, you weren't human at all. Khael knew there were just enough non-human in his ancestry, less than five percent, to cause serious trouble if someone wanted to make it.
He was also interviewed--the crew seemed to want to know every instant of his life--and taped him making several publicity statements. "Join the Agency; see and protect the stars." was one of those. Three hours later, as they were wrapping up, Khael invited the head of the crew back to his quarters "to see what a typical cadet's quarters were like." She was a delightful bed partner, and promised to make him look as good as possible.
The promos came out just before the end of the holiday. They were pretty standard promos, designed to make youngsters consider the Agency as a good choice of career. Khael was pleased with them; they'd done a good job of making him look like a fantasy hero. He wasn't as pleased with the sobriquet they used for him; the Face of Boe just sounded plain silly. Otherwise, it didn't make much difference to him; his fellow cadets teased him, but they already knew him well.
In order to keep the Agency as a whole integrated, they kept the cadets from the two different groups together in as many classes as possible. Although Khael was very much on the Field Agent track, for the next two years, he found himself in many of the science and mathematics classes as well. Combat, armed and unarmed, history, sociology, anthropology, psychology, tactics and strategy, languages, and anything else that he might possibly need, to blend in or stand out. Khael loved it; there was always a new goal to meet, a new challenge in which to excel. Mitri, from Earth and with private tutoring since he could walk, had been exposed to most of it, but even he had to work at much of what was required of them.
And then there were the covert classes. There were six of them from their year, where they were taught how to get what was needed using "less than sanctified methods". And again, to Khael's surprise, he excelled. His instructor didn't seem especially surprised, but she did have a sharp warning for him. "Don't expect your pretty face to get you out of trouble," she said firmly. "It'll work most of the time, but you need something to fall back on when it doesn't." Some of the lessons surprised him: they weren't just taught how to use pain, but pleasure, too. And Khael had thought he'd known a lot about sex before; now, he was taught how to combine pain and pleasure and get the results he wanted.
They had the lessons reversed on them as well, in addition to the experimentation all of them did out of classroom hours. One night, Mitri worked him over so well, Khael would have done anything for him. Unfortunately, Mitri lacked the fine control to play the game safely and Khael wound up in the infirmary. The medic glared at him. "So, which one of you is the stupidly kinky bastard?"
"He is," Khael said, making sure he sounded amused. He was just grateful that the medic thought they were just fooling around, not applying lessons. Those lessons weren't part of the general Academy curriculum.
During the holiday after their third year, the Black Squadron cadets were sent to an illegal hospital on the fringes of the frontier. Khael was shocked to discover it was illegal; he'd heard his parents discuss a friend who had been treated there. There had been no implication of illegality, and Khael's parents were ridiculously strict about such things.
Once there, the six of them were each given their own medic. Khael's looked at him seriously. "This," she said, pointing to the screen next to her, "is a record of everything we know about your physical and medical condition. As a B'shani, well, your people are notorious for their genetic work; there hasn't been a child born on Boeshane in over a century with any genetic deficits. However, there are . . . enhancements we can give you. The Agency, of course, can't require you to have them done."
Khael rolled his eyes at her. "Give me the list; if there's anything I strongly object to, I'll let you know." The list was more extensive than he'd expected, but that was mostly because he hadn't thought about it. Strength, endurance, immunities, sensory and psychic sensitivity--all of them would only make him more valuable to the Academy. There was only one that surprised him, mostly because he didn't understand why they'd want it. "What is this?"
"Which one?" She looked at the enhancement Khael was indicating. "Oh, yes. I need to warn you that that one is very experimental, but the Agency is serious about it. It's not something they expect to activate until you retire, but they have such a hard time getting Ukanan recruits. You may not realize it, but the Agency has a, well, breeding program sounds so--"
"Like the Agency," Khael said dryly. "Not arguing, but I'm perfectly capable of participating in a breeding program without giving me a uterus and et cetera. So?"
She shrugged. "It's an experiment. There've been some interesting results from the few men who've had this done; if they can be brought to term, the children are generally stronger and . . ."
Khael thought about it. Her body language was saying she was expecting him to object and, if he did, that she would remove it from the list. But, what the hell. If the Agency wanted him, he'd do what they asked. He pressed his thumb onto the appropriate part of the screen. "What's next?"
Most of the enhancements were done with genetic manipulation; an injection, a day or two feeling less than perfect, and Khael was experimenting with the enhanced abilities. It was kind of fun, really.
The uterine implant, however, required actual surgery, and a real recovery. Khael was in bed for a full three days, and on limited activity, which included no sex, for a week after that. It was boring, but Khael used the time to read and observe Mitri and the rest of the group's playing around. It was kind of fun.
Right before they were sent back to the Academy, Khael was called to the local proctor's office. Puzzled, he stood at attention before the man, Agent Wared.
"Sit down, Horton," Wared said, sounding tired. When Khael did, Wared continued, "I have some bad news for you. Your mother has been living at the Rebme Camps, is that correct?" When Khael nodded, Wared sighed. "I'm sorry to inform you that she's dead."
"How?" Khael asked. There was no military action in the area any more, and his mother was still young, not even fifty.
"There has been some unrest in the area lately," Wared said, not looking at Khael. "Someone planted a bomb in the sector she lives in; nothing was left." He finally looked up at Khael. "I'm sorry."
Khael nodded and wandered away, without waiting for a dismissal or otherwise acknowledging the proctor. It made no sense to him; his mother wouldn't have been involved in any kind of unrest, on either side. No one left, no more family. A stray thought had his hand on his stomach. Some day, one way or another, maybe he could create his own.
* * *
The final two years of Agency training wasn't at the Academy, but in the field. Each cadet was paired with a seasoned Agent in their squadron and was sent out to do field work. Khael was assigned to Lydia. Blonde with dark skin and eyes that betrayed non-human ancestry, she wasn't beautiful, but she was experienced and highly thought of. And since her primary assignments had been character assassination and intelligence gathering, that was impressive. Khael decided that she should be a good mentor.
When his advisor introduced them, Lydia looked sour. "Well, come on then, pretty boy," she said as they were introduced. "Let's see what you're made of. Oh, and I don't sleep with my partners." Khael sighed.
Their first assignment was comparatively easy. Artefacts plundered from the past were being sold on the black market; they were sent to stop it. It was a pretty straightforward investigation job; Lydia played an older woman wanting to indulge her younger lover and they were able to accumulate enough evidence to arrest the ring within a day. As a reward, Lydia took him to bed.
Khael was trained, but Lydia was incredible. After the first round, he lay in bed next to her, trying to remember everything they'd just done because it was amazing, and she chuckled. "Well, at least if I have to break in a rookie, he's a pretty boy who hasn't picked up too many bad habits."
Feeling very much put in his place, Khael gave her his best smile. "You'll just have to work on giving me the right ones then, hm? How about . . . now?"
She laughed.
The next two years were great. Over half of their assignments were straight Agency work: putting Time right when criminals or idiots had screwed something up, or chasing after said criminals or idiots. The rest were intelligence gathering, many of them against the invaders against the Ukanan Sector. Khael was always eager for those assignments, although Lydia hated them. "You're too emotionally involved," she told him over and over again. "It's gonna get you killed. Keep your emotions out of it." Khael couldn't, though; he had to redeem himself. Even if his mother could no longer forgive him, he had to find Gray.
Towards the end of Khael's apprenticeship, they were given a huge assignment, one that required four Agents, not two. They were paired with an old friend of Lydia's, Kestre, who was working with Mitri as an apprentice. The head of the Agency herself gave them the assignment. "We don't know what they call themselves," she told them, "but we call them the Revisionists. They are trying to eliminate the Church from all of history, although we think that there is a group within that would accept simply eliminating them now. We want them stopped." Her face was stern as she handed over the briefing chips. "We don't care how. If you bring them in alive, that's fine; we'll put them on trial and make an example of them. If you don't--" She shrugged. "The Church, needless to say, is willing to make whatever accommodations are necessary. No matter what you do, as long as it's to a Revisionist, there will be no reprisals. Questions?"
Lydia and Kestre simply took their briefing chips, as did Khael. Mitri didn't ask any questions, and took his chip meekly enough, but he looked like he'd been told he had carte blanche to do whatever he wanted. Then Khael thought back over what they'd been told. He had.
After going through all of the official information, Lydia declared they needed better intel before they even started in the field. "I've got some Agency contacts who may know more than we've been given. Kestre, do you think your Church contacts will help?"
Kestre's smile was slow and lazy. "Oh, yes, my old seminary buddies will be glad to help."
Mitri looked shocked. "You were in seminary?"
Unbelievable, Khael thought. They've been working together for a year. Out loud, he only said, "I've got a couple of Church contacts myself, although they're probably not as highly placed."
"Good," Lydia said, "they may know more than those up top anyway. Otherwise, I want you doing the prep work. See where the weak points are, when they're most likely to be aiming. If we can predict them, we'll be in better shape."
Mitri wandered off without an assignment. When Lydia gave Kestre a look, he shrugged. "He's got contacts the rest of us can only dream of and he's shit at research. He's best in the field; point him where you need mayhem and you're good."
Khael sighed. So much for apprenticeship settling Mitri down a little.
After a week of research and intelligence gathering, and digging Mitri out of every bar and jail on the planet, they had a plan of attack. "They're trying to wipe out the Church," Lydia said. "Their purposes, which we don't know yet, only need them gone for the last century or so, but they've decided it's an issue of principles and are trying to wipe them out entirely. There's about a dozen of them, spread through time, mostly on Earth. The most dangerous of the group appear to be trying to stop the Church's formation in first century Rome, but they're trying to make some money along the way. Khael and I will go there and try to track them down, at least find out what they're doing. Kestre and Mitri, you two will check out the colony on Arcadia in the twenty-seventh century; that appears to be where a second group is."
The Revisionists weren't in first century Rome; they were in first century Pompeii, running a con to make money. "Either our intel is bad or the rest of them are elsewhere," Lydia told Khael, watching them set up a con to be run the next day, when the volcano erupted. "Do you think you can distract them?"
Khael gave her his best cocky grin. "Just watch me."
They were a married couple, nice enough when not discussing the Church, and Khael quickly convinced them that a day of pleasure was just what they needed. While Khael was distracting them, Lydia searched their villa, taking all the data they had on their plans against the Church. She also removed the motor of their ship so they couldn't leave.
"The Agency doesn't care how we do it," she told him.
Khael nodded; it was true enough, but it left him feeling unsettled. They'd been nice enough people otherwise.
When Kestre and Mitri met them back at Headquarters, Mitri was bouncing off the walls, almost literally. "Don't know why they're looking for money," Mitri said. "You should see the diamonds there."
"They probably can't turn them into cash," Kestre said, looking amused at Mitri's antics. "We did get some better intel. Mid-thirty-third century, Earth, they're looking to bomb the Vatican States. Everyone left will be there; we can get them all."
After the bomb was set, Khael went after the Revisionists as a distraction while the other three went to stop the bomb. This time, the distraction didn't work.
"He's an Agent," the one man shouted. "Kill him before they track us back here."
"My partners are already here," Khael said, annoyed. "Kill me or not; they're here and they'll come after you."
"Then we'll trade you for our safety," the Revisionist said. "If they think you're worth it."
Khael banged his head against the wall. "I told you, it doesn't matter. They have you and, if you want to survive, you'll leave me here and go. Stop fighting the Church and they'll leave you alone." Khael wasn't sure if it was true, but it was worth a try.
"Stop fighting the Church?" the one woman asked him. "Do you have any idea how many people have died because of the Church? How many people have been tortured? Do you know what they've done?"
"In the past, sure," Khael said, "but they're trying to protect people now."
"Tell that to the Ukanans," he said.
"What?" Khael asked.
"Yes," the woman said. "They deliberately set up the invasions in the Ukanan Sector in order to get a foothold in that area. And it's working; people are actually fool enough to believe that the Church fought for them."
"Did you?" Khael asked.
She stared at him, and collapsed. "Hi, there," Mitri said, stepping over her body. "Sorry we took so long, lover. Had a bit of trouble with the bomb." He released Khael's bonds and took his wrist, activating his Vortex Manipulator. "Couldn't disarm it, so we gave it back."
Lydia and Kestre were already at Headquarters. "That should be all of them, but we'll check it out to confirm," Lydia said, laughing. "Gotta love it when a plan comes together."
5. Agent
Author:
humantalesFandom(s): Torchwood/Doctor Who
Genre: and Pairings (if applicable): Gen with het, slash & multiples
Characters: Jack Harkness
Rating: PG-13
Betas:
quean_of_swords and GoofySpoilers: Through Children of Earth and Flesh and Stone
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Jack wasn't always immortal. Jack's life from the invasion until he meets Rose Tyler.
4. Cadet
To Khael's bemusement, most people seemed to assume the disappearance of the invaders meant it was time to demobilize. Khael's opinion was that now was the time to go over all the intel accumulated and determine the invaders' species, home planet, motivations, and anything they might need for the next time, maybe even take the fight to them. When he tried convincing his fellow soldiers, he was faced with a bewildering pity, as if he wanted to spend his life as a soldier. After facing that irritating sympathy a couple of times, he just kept his mouth shut and kept himself ready to go at any moment.
A month passed, as he watched public opinion turn against the military, especially in his own system, where the military was blamed for their losses. One afternoon, when he'd been told the scheduled recon run was cancelled, he was called into the archbishop's office.
To Khael's relief, the archbishop was still in military uniform. When Khael walked in and stood at attention, the archbishop smiled at him and indicated the visitor's chair. "Sit down, son." As Khael complied, the archbishop looked at a padd; Khael assumed it had something to do with him. "Your record is impressive, if a little reckless. The rumours I've been hearing say you're not convinced the war is truly over. Most people think you just don't know how to live if we're not at war. What do you think?"
Khael took a minute to gather his thoughts. "They just vanished. We never found their home planet and, although we were beating them, they still had a lot of fight left in them. This isn't over. It may be years, but we'll be fighting them again." Khael shrugged. "I'd prefer not to be a soldier, to be honest, but I can't in good conscience leave innocents unprotected."
"Good man," the archbishop said, a large smile on his face. "Are you aware that we have more intel than is commonly known?"
"I'd hope so," Khael said, knowing his voice sounded a little sharp, but really.
Fortunately, the archbishop laughed. "We're reasonably certain that the invaders are time travellers." As Khael struggled to absorb that, the archbishop continued with, "In fact, we believe that they're humans, from the future, trying to escape legal action."
"A lawsuit?" Khael asked in horror.
"Criminal justice," the archbishop corrected. "We think they're criminals in their own time, trying to find a refuge here, in a place and time where the people are nonviolent--to their minds, defenceless. We've proven to be a little harder to defeat than they had expected, so they'll try somewhere, somewhen, else.
"What about the people they've taken?" Khael asked dully. If Gray was lost in time as well as space, it was hopeless. Travel in time was so strictly controlled . . .
The archbishop's voice was gentle as he said, "We don't know that they've taken anyone. But that leads me to what I wanted to speak with you about." Khael looked up sharply. "Have you heard about the Time Agency?"
"Yes, sir," Khael answered. "They research the physics, philosophy and ethics of time and time travel." According to his parents, they also meddled in time where they didn't belong, but Khael wasn't sure he believed that any longer. If people could be saved, protected, did it matter how it was done?
"That's one of the things they do, yes," the archbishop answered. "They also police Time. And it's something I think you would be especially good at. I want to submit your name to them." As if he had just thought of it, he asked, "By the way, how old are you really?"
Khael sighed. "I'll turn twenty-one in a week. But--" He swallowed hard. It would probably lose him this opportunity, the only way he had of finding Gray, but he had to be honest. "What about Gray?" He could barely hear his own question.
The archbishop smiled. "There are four kinds of people who join the Agency: the pure scientists, those who genuinely want to police time, those who just want somewhere to do what they want with few consequences . . . and those who want to change their lives. It can't be done, but that doesn't mean you can't search for Gray after he was taken."
Biting his lip, Khael closed his eyes and asked, "How likely is it that they'd accept me?" he asked.
When the archbishop snorted, Khael opened his eyes. "I'm the Church's representative on their Board," he said smiling. "I'm always looking for new talent to throw their way, but they're stricter on age, and appropriately so, than the local militias like you were in, and we needed you here. Now that the invaders are no longer within the military's jurisdiction, the Agency can take over. And find them. And I think a young man like you--intelligent, with a solid foundation in the maths and sciences, with practical military training, the cunning to understand that victory is seldom so simple and an agenda of your own--oh, yes, I think you'll do well in the Time Agency. Very well, indeed."
Something about the way the archbishop had described Khael seemed odd. Or, maybe not so odd. "You're not recommending me because I'm a straight, up-standing citizen who wants to stick to the rules. You're looking for someone who'll do whatever it takes, aren't you?"
The archbishop nodded. "As I said, intelligent and cunning. The Agency needs men like you."
Khael thought about it. His parents would have a fit if they found out, but his father was dead and his mother didn't care. He'd failed his family; maybe this was his atonement. And if he could find Gray . . . "Please put my name in, sir. I'd be honoured to join your Time Agency."
The archbishop's smile made Khael feel proud for the first time in years.
Three days later, Khael received a communication from the Time Agency, offering him a position in their Academy, which was about to start a session. When he went to his commanding officer, he found that everything had already been arranged; his discharge papers and transport were waiting. "And, kid," she said, her smile bright in her dark face, "you can't pull the stunt with the transport money you did when you joined the Army."
"I, I didn't know," Khael found himself stuttering. He hadn't been aware anyone really knew about that.
She smiled at him. "Lots of kids like you do it," she said, "but the Time Agency has an image it projects, so your mother will be sent a credit voucher for your enlisting. A nice, big one."
Khael smiled back, relieved. His pay hadn't always been reliable, especially early on, but he'd always sent everything he didn't absolutely need to her, something he knew was common knowledge. "Thanks for that," he told his CO. She'd been one of those who did what she could to help those in her command, something Khael had learned to treasure. Looking down at the info she'd given him, he jumped. He had three hours to make the transport.
He made it, just barely. He'd even managed to say goodbye to all three of his current lovers in person; he'd been rushed, but he enjoyed the resulting soreness.
The transport was basic. Khael shared his quarters with three other men, one an Academy cadet like he was (going to be), the other two just travellers going the same direction. The food was all right, but there was enough of it. The first night, Khael went through the ship's library and downloaded everything there was on physics, mathematics, philosophy, and, as an afterthought, a book on Ukanan society. There was a long chapter on the B'shani. Khael was interested in an outsider's view of his society; he knew he was viewed as something exotic by non-Ukanans.
The book was a revelation to him. Even though he knew that most of his fellow soldiers had been brought up differently than he, he'd never really thought about it. But the author, a Professor Summer Song, discussed the "extreme attachment, in which a child is kept in near continuous contact with another member of the community until just before puberty" as something remarkable. To Khael, it was just a way for a child to feel safe. Even after puberty, Khael rarely wanted to be alone; it was better when there was someone else around. After Jamin died, he'd been bereft; he hadn't just lost his best friend and lover, but no one else wanted the type of closeness Khael needed. He knew he'd gained a reputation for extreme sexuality, even in an environment where there was lots of it, because he hated to sleep alone.
It continued that way: everything that he thought normal was described as unusual or, at the very least, something to be commented on and dissected. He read the entire book the first night, finishing it in the early hours of the morning. He spent the rest of the night in a ball of misery, with the realization that, unless he returned to Boeshane, he would probably never find what he'd grown up with, with what felt right. To avoid thinking about it, he spent the rest of the trip studying. He wasn't going to look like an idiot at the Academy.
The trip took just under two weeks, arriving the day before the new session began. When he reported to the Academy, a bored man handed him his room assignment and his course schedule. "Everything you need will be in your room," he said, almost sing-songing the words. Khael thanked him and asked for a map.
The man looked up at him, his gaze sharpening. After a moment, he handed Khael a chip that contained a map of the Academy; Khael was amused to see large sections labelled "Off Limits" and wondered if anyone actually stayed out of them.
The rooms seemed huge to Khael. About the same size as the quarters he was used to, but he only shared with one other cadet, who had already arrived and had clearly made himself at home. About Khael's age, shorter and slimmer, with light brown hair and gray eyes, he was lounging on the bed next to the window. When Khael walked in and put his pack on the other bed, his new roommate looked amused.
Since the other man hadn't said anything, Khael walked up and held out his hand to shake. "Khael Jaxom Horton of the Boeshane Peninsula," he said.
His roommate stood up, smirking. "Mitri Trevalian, with enough middle names to be just stupid. From Earth; we're traditionalists. So, Khael Horton, how did you wind up here?"
"Archbishop Louis recommended me," Khael said, hoping he wasn't supposed to keep that quiet.
Trevalian's eyebrows went up for a minute before the other man tried to return to his cool, amused expression. "Is that supposed to impress me?" he asked.
"Just is," Khael returned. "You?"
"Finished West Point, they suggested I serve my term here," Trevalian answered, lying back down. "So, colony world, military service with the Church. Are you Church?"
"No, they were willing to help, so they worked with us."
"You believe in celibacy?" Trevalian was clearly trying to seem uninterested, but he wasn't succeeding.
Khael grinned. "I believe in it, in that I know it exists. Never quite figured out why anybody'd want to."
Trevalian's sprawl was becoming more sexual by the moment. "What's your preference?"
"Labels," Khael snorted. "Who needs 'em. But I think monogamy's practically the same as celibacy and I don't want problems, yeah?" He was going to have to get along with Trevalian, at least at first.
The other man shrugged. "Close the door. And I'm with you on monogamy; let's have some fun."
After, Khael snuggled up to Mitri, or at least tried to. "Mm," Mitri said. "We should agree on other lovers before we go putting the beds together."
Khael gave Mitri a look. "Why? We have sex with who we want and, if our lovers don't want to play, we deal with it then."
Mitri shoved at Khael. "Go get your bed over here. I thought you colonists were supposed to be all prim and proper."
Khael snorted as he shoved the beds together and jumped back in. "What does sex have to do with being prim and proper?
The Army had supposedly been regimented, with everything supposed to happen at set times and everything by the book, but on the frontier, it hadn't worked out that way. The Time Academy, however, was totally regimented. Everything was done to a strict timetable, marked by bells. One joke Khael heard was that even getting sick was scheduled and, if you didn't have it scheduled, you'd just have to wait to be sick until it was. It was only a small exaggeration.
Khael hadn't ever lived this way, needing to be somewhere on the dot, never late, uniform pressed and shoes polished, but he found himself thriving on it. His roommate, on the other hand, had been in one military school or another practically as soon as he could read, and hated every minute. When Khael asked why he didn't leave, Mitri rolled his eyes. "Signed a contract to get into West Point," he said, rolling his eyes, "which my father insisted on my doing so no getting out of it. Four years of service, but they didn't want me fucking with their record so we all agreed I could serve out my time here. Don't need the training, but the Agency insisted."
Khael kept his astonishment that parents could want their children in the military to himself. He'd already been treated to several long conversations on Mitri's family's illustrious military service.
For the first time since the invasion, Khael was living a schedule that felt right. The Academy clearly believed, even as his parents had, that an active body and an active mind were both necessary for good health. Khael surprised his academic instructors at first; knowing that he came from one of the frontier militias, they weren't expecting him to have studied the higher maths and physics. He found his classes switched around almost immediately to reflect his greater knowledge of the scientific subjects the Academy taught.
Where he was weakest surprised him: the softer sciences. His knowledge of psychology and sociology were basic and limited almost entirely to the Ukanan systems. He found that things were very different in human society as a whole. When humanity broke free of the species that viewed them as very versatile sex toys, the humans decided to embrace sexuality and explore everything. Khael agreed whole-heartedly, but found the underlying philosophy of it rather defeatist. To him, it came from a position of weakness, a readiness to be able to please anyone, rather than strength, an enjoyment of who and what they were.
After a week, the floor's proctor asked to speak with him privately. Khael couldn't think of any rules he'd broken, so he felt very uncertain when he did so. "Relax," Feeny told him, "you've done nothing wrong. Your roommate, however--"
Khael sighed. How Mitri had ever finished West Point, which was known for its insistence on strict observance of all its rules, was beyond him. Mitri did what he wanted, when he wanted, and to hell with schedules, rules and expectations.
"His family is both rich and powerful," Feeny told Khael. "One of the most powerful families left on earth. If they want Mitri to graduate West Point, a way will be found for him to do so. If they want him to become a Time Agent, a way will be found for him to do so. And I'm afraid that way here is you."
Khael groaned. He'd tried, but he couldn't carry Mitri to class and handcuff him to the desk. Well, he could, they'd proven that Khael was the stronger of the two of them, but he didn't think it would be permitted. When he said that to Feeny, though, he got a surprise. "Whatever it takes," he told an astonished Khael. "We'd prefer the classes not be disrupted--"
"So I can gag him, too?" Khael asked, not sure he was joking.
Feeny looked surprised. "Oh. Yeah, that'll work. I'll inform your instructors. Er, it'd be better if you found a way without the handcuffs and gags, though. I think."
Returning to his room, Khael found Mitri in bed with second-year twins. He went to the desk and pulled out his history homework, after declining their invitation. Two hours later, when they left, Khael looked at Mitri and said, "We have to talk."
"Thought you'd be okay with this," Mitri said with a pout. "You'd've been more than welcome to join in. Dav thinks you're nine kinds of wonderful."
Khael put that aside to address later; both of them had been very attractive. "Not about that; we agreed and it's not a problem. The Agency has sent down orders that you will pass."
Mitri groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. Khael yanked it out of his hands. Mitri looked up. "You're my keeper?"
"Got it in one and, guess what? I'm not letting that bring me down. I'm authorized to use handcuffs and gags and, if you give me trouble, I suspect anything else I want to use. Now, can we be civilized, or do I have to resort to extreme measures."
"Like what?" Mitri's expression made it clear that he didn't think Khael would be able to control him.
Khael, however, had already figured his roommate out. He was a creature of his pleasures; he would do what he had to to keep them and what he needed to avoid punishment. "First, you seem to enjoy sex." After Mitri had finished laughing at that, Khael's smile grew cold. "If you give me a hard time about being where you're supposed to be when you're supposed to be there, you don't get any." He held up a device he'd acquired while in the army; sometimes it was useful to be able to forget about sex. "Do as you're told or I'll put this on you and only I will know the combination."
Mitri looked at the Sex Inhibitor and swallowed. "You wouldn't," he said, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty.
"Nobody's going to get in my way, Trevalian," Khael said. He could hear how harsh, almost vicious, his voice sounded, but he'd be damned if some spoiled rich kid destroyed his chances at finding Gray.
"And if I'm good," Mitri looked nervous but hopeful.
Which was exactly what Khael was looking for. "If you're good," he purred, putting the Inhibitor back in his pocket and crawling across the bed to Mitri, "you can have whatever you want of me."
"Can I have an advance?"
"Call it a sample," Khael said, stripping out of his clothes.
He could barely move the next day, but Mitri made all of his classes on time, and didn't act up once. By the end of the day, the instructors were looking at Khael in near-awe.
At the end of the first year at the Academy, the cadets were divided into the field agents and those who wouldn't be leaving Agency Headquarters, the scientists and theoreticians. The cadets were asked for their opinions as to their placements, but there were no guarantees.
Khael was torn. As a child, he would have wanted to be placed with the scientists; he would have been appalled at being chosen as a field agent. He'd still be happy to be placed with the scientists; to his astonishment, he was at the top of his class in his science classes. He knew that his temporal physics instructor, in particular, was trying to get Khael assigned to his division.
On the other hand, he had found that he was good at field work. The physical activity, the quick thinking needed when something went wrong, the independence needed, all of it appealed to him. So, although he thought he'd be good as one of the Agency's scientists, he also thought he'd be good in the field. In the end, he informed his advisor that he'd allow the Agency to decide; he'd wind up making the decision by some form of random chance anyway.
Just before the Academy holiday, he was called to his advisor's office. Khael was confused. The postings were made public; cadets weren't informed privately. "That's correct," his advisor said, "but you're in a unique position. It's usually clear where a cadet belongs, but your case isn't clear."
Khael shrugged. "Then where am I needed most?"
His advisor shook his head, sighed, and handed a black envelope to Khael.
Khael's insides froze. They'd all heard of the black envelopes. Those weren't ever made public; they were given to those cadets who were headed for the Black Squadron. The Black Squadron, made up of the agents who did the dirty work: the assassins, the torturers, the thieves. When an agent of the Black Squadron was caught, they were executed, immediately, so that their crimes wouldn't reflect back on the Agency. They were everything Khael had been brought up to hate.
"This is a choice," his advisor said. "We don't force anyone into the Black Squadron. It's usually not difficult to tell which cadets will be assigned to it; most of them would otherwise wind up facing some form of criminal justice by the time they're thirty."
Khael felt himself flush, then pale. "That's what you--"
"No," his advisor didn't even let him get the sentence out. "If you decline, we'll wipe the last hour out of your memory and go back to trying to decide if you'd be better as a temporal physicist, a creative engineer, or one of our best field agents. However, those same projections . . ." He took a deep breath. "Horton, those same projections indicate that, with the right grooming, we could use you on the Agency Board."
Khael stared at him. The Board? They were the mysterious minds in charge of determining the Agency's direction, of which events needed to be protected. "Me?" he said, amazed his voice didn't squeak. Before his advisor could say anything, he heard himself say, "Although it would be an amazing honour, sir, I'm the Agency's. I will go where they send me, and if they need me in the Black Squadron, I will do the best that I can." After a thought, he said, "Although I reserve the right to try to find ways to do what's needed with as little harm to others and to what's right as I can manage."
His advisor's face broke out into a smile. "Excellent," he said, putting the envelope away. At Khael's confused expression, he said, "We don't actually give you the envelope; it's purely symbolic. You're to tell no one about this conversation and continue with the assignments given. Is that clear, Cadet?"
When Khael returned to his room, Mitri was lying in wait for him. "Guess what?" he said as soon as Khael had closed the door. "I've been assigned to the Black Squadron. It's a secret, though, so don't tell anyone." He held his finger up to his lips in the ancient sign of "Quiet."
Khael stared at his roommate. This was one of the reasons they wanted him for Black Squadron, he realized. He was able to keep Mitri, and the half dozen other problem cadets like him, under control and out of trouble. At least at first, his job was going to be Black Squadron Babysitter. He sighed; might as well get started. He picked Mitri up and slammed him against the wall. "If you've been told to keep your mouth shut, then you'd damn well better do it," he snarled, finding himself genuinely angry, "or I'll shut it for you. Permanently. Understand?"
Mitri, his eyes wide, nodded. When Khael had released him, Mitri stared. "They picked you, too, didn't they?" he asked.
"Have you ever heard of security?" Khael hissed.
With a shrug, Mitri said, "If we're both Black Squadron, there's no reason not to discuss it."
Thoroughly exasperated now, and determined that, if he was going to be an Agency thug, he was damned well going to be a good one, Khael grabbed Mitri, threw him against the wall, and proceeded to beat him as thoroughly as possible without needing to take his idiotic roommate to the infirmary. Or, he realized after a bit, to the morgue.
At the evening meal, it became clear that his actions and reasons hadn't gone unnoticed. His advisor caught his eye, nodded at Mitri, and smiled. Khael finished his meal cheerfully. The next day, when the postings were listed, Khael was unsurprised to find himself listed as Field Agent, Red Squadron. Red Squadron were those agents who were both field agents able to work independently and agents who would serve as the Agency's military.
Most of the cadets went home for the holiday; only a few who, like Khael, didn't have family to visit stayed at the Academy. On the first day, his advisor pinged him to visit his office. When he arrived, Khael found not only his advisor but also a media crew. "As you know," his advisor began when the door had been closed, "we have been trying to recruit more agents from the Ukanan sector; so far, you're the first. We hoped you'd be willing to allow us to use you in our recruitment media. Are you willing, Cadet?"
Khael didn't actually have a problem with it, but he was annoyed that his advisor made it sound like he had a choice. He'd pretty much signed his life over to the Agency when he'd enlisted, and what was left when he'd agreed to be placed in the Black Squadron. Still, he supposed appearances had to be kept. "Of course, sir. What may I do for you gentlefolk?" he asked the media crew.
What he could do turned out to be to change into an Agency dress uniform, which he technically wasn't eligible to wear yet, and pose for scores of images. The woman in charge of the crew was in raptures; apparently, Khael was especially photogenic, "Even for a B'shani, and everyone knows they're the most attractive humans in the galaxy. Or, is it near-human?" she asked.
"Smartest, too," Khael said with a smirk, avoiding the human/non-human question. There were many groups who felt that, if you weren't one hundred percent human, you weren't human at all. Khael knew there were just enough non-human in his ancestry, less than five percent, to cause serious trouble if someone wanted to make it.
He was also interviewed--the crew seemed to want to know every instant of his life--and taped him making several publicity statements. "Join the Agency; see and protect the stars." was one of those. Three hours later, as they were wrapping up, Khael invited the head of the crew back to his quarters "to see what a typical cadet's quarters were like." She was a delightful bed partner, and promised to make him look as good as possible.
The promos came out just before the end of the holiday. They were pretty standard promos, designed to make youngsters consider the Agency as a good choice of career. Khael was pleased with them; they'd done a good job of making him look like a fantasy hero. He wasn't as pleased with the sobriquet they used for him; the Face of Boe just sounded plain silly. Otherwise, it didn't make much difference to him; his fellow cadets teased him, but they already knew him well.
In order to keep the Agency as a whole integrated, they kept the cadets from the two different groups together in as many classes as possible. Although Khael was very much on the Field Agent track, for the next two years, he found himself in many of the science and mathematics classes as well. Combat, armed and unarmed, history, sociology, anthropology, psychology, tactics and strategy, languages, and anything else that he might possibly need, to blend in or stand out. Khael loved it; there was always a new goal to meet, a new challenge in which to excel. Mitri, from Earth and with private tutoring since he could walk, had been exposed to most of it, but even he had to work at much of what was required of them.
And then there were the covert classes. There were six of them from their year, where they were taught how to get what was needed using "less than sanctified methods". And again, to Khael's surprise, he excelled. His instructor didn't seem especially surprised, but she did have a sharp warning for him. "Don't expect your pretty face to get you out of trouble," she said firmly. "It'll work most of the time, but you need something to fall back on when it doesn't." Some of the lessons surprised him: they weren't just taught how to use pain, but pleasure, too. And Khael had thought he'd known a lot about sex before; now, he was taught how to combine pain and pleasure and get the results he wanted.
They had the lessons reversed on them as well, in addition to the experimentation all of them did out of classroom hours. One night, Mitri worked him over so well, Khael would have done anything for him. Unfortunately, Mitri lacked the fine control to play the game safely and Khael wound up in the infirmary. The medic glared at him. "So, which one of you is the stupidly kinky bastard?"
"He is," Khael said, making sure he sounded amused. He was just grateful that the medic thought they were just fooling around, not applying lessons. Those lessons weren't part of the general Academy curriculum.
During the holiday after their third year, the Black Squadron cadets were sent to an illegal hospital on the fringes of the frontier. Khael was shocked to discover it was illegal; he'd heard his parents discuss a friend who had been treated there. There had been no implication of illegality, and Khael's parents were ridiculously strict about such things.
Once there, the six of them were each given their own medic. Khael's looked at him seriously. "This," she said, pointing to the screen next to her, "is a record of everything we know about your physical and medical condition. As a B'shani, well, your people are notorious for their genetic work; there hasn't been a child born on Boeshane in over a century with any genetic deficits. However, there are . . . enhancements we can give you. The Agency, of course, can't require you to have them done."
Khael rolled his eyes at her. "Give me the list; if there's anything I strongly object to, I'll let you know." The list was more extensive than he'd expected, but that was mostly because he hadn't thought about it. Strength, endurance, immunities, sensory and psychic sensitivity--all of them would only make him more valuable to the Academy. There was only one that surprised him, mostly because he didn't understand why they'd want it. "What is this?"
"Which one?" She looked at the enhancement Khael was indicating. "Oh, yes. I need to warn you that that one is very experimental, but the Agency is serious about it. It's not something they expect to activate until you retire, but they have such a hard time getting Ukanan recruits. You may not realize it, but the Agency has a, well, breeding program sounds so--"
"Like the Agency," Khael said dryly. "Not arguing, but I'm perfectly capable of participating in a breeding program without giving me a uterus and et cetera. So?"
She shrugged. "It's an experiment. There've been some interesting results from the few men who've had this done; if they can be brought to term, the children are generally stronger and . . ."
Khael thought about it. Her body language was saying she was expecting him to object and, if he did, that she would remove it from the list. But, what the hell. If the Agency wanted him, he'd do what they asked. He pressed his thumb onto the appropriate part of the screen. "What's next?"
Most of the enhancements were done with genetic manipulation; an injection, a day or two feeling less than perfect, and Khael was experimenting with the enhanced abilities. It was kind of fun, really.
The uterine implant, however, required actual surgery, and a real recovery. Khael was in bed for a full three days, and on limited activity, which included no sex, for a week after that. It was boring, but Khael used the time to read and observe Mitri and the rest of the group's playing around. It was kind of fun.
Right before they were sent back to the Academy, Khael was called to the local proctor's office. Puzzled, he stood at attention before the man, Agent Wared.
"Sit down, Horton," Wared said, sounding tired. When Khael did, Wared continued, "I have some bad news for you. Your mother has been living at the Rebme Camps, is that correct?" When Khael nodded, Wared sighed. "I'm sorry to inform you that she's dead."
"How?" Khael asked. There was no military action in the area any more, and his mother was still young, not even fifty.
"There has been some unrest in the area lately," Wared said, not looking at Khael. "Someone planted a bomb in the sector she lives in; nothing was left." He finally looked up at Khael. "I'm sorry."
Khael nodded and wandered away, without waiting for a dismissal or otherwise acknowledging the proctor. It made no sense to him; his mother wouldn't have been involved in any kind of unrest, on either side. No one left, no more family. A stray thought had his hand on his stomach. Some day, one way or another, maybe he could create his own.
The final two years of Agency training wasn't at the Academy, but in the field. Each cadet was paired with a seasoned Agent in their squadron and was sent out to do field work. Khael was assigned to Lydia. Blonde with dark skin and eyes that betrayed non-human ancestry, she wasn't beautiful, but she was experienced and highly thought of. And since her primary assignments had been character assassination and intelligence gathering, that was impressive. Khael decided that she should be a good mentor.
When his advisor introduced them, Lydia looked sour. "Well, come on then, pretty boy," she said as they were introduced. "Let's see what you're made of. Oh, and I don't sleep with my partners." Khael sighed.
Their first assignment was comparatively easy. Artefacts plundered from the past were being sold on the black market; they were sent to stop it. It was a pretty straightforward investigation job; Lydia played an older woman wanting to indulge her younger lover and they were able to accumulate enough evidence to arrest the ring within a day. As a reward, Lydia took him to bed.
Khael was trained, but Lydia was incredible. After the first round, he lay in bed next to her, trying to remember everything they'd just done because it was amazing, and she chuckled. "Well, at least if I have to break in a rookie, he's a pretty boy who hasn't picked up too many bad habits."
Feeling very much put in his place, Khael gave her his best smile. "You'll just have to work on giving me the right ones then, hm? How about . . . now?"
She laughed.
The next two years were great. Over half of their assignments were straight Agency work: putting Time right when criminals or idiots had screwed something up, or chasing after said criminals or idiots. The rest were intelligence gathering, many of them against the invaders against the Ukanan Sector. Khael was always eager for those assignments, although Lydia hated them. "You're too emotionally involved," she told him over and over again. "It's gonna get you killed. Keep your emotions out of it." Khael couldn't, though; he had to redeem himself. Even if his mother could no longer forgive him, he had to find Gray.
Towards the end of Khael's apprenticeship, they were given a huge assignment, one that required four Agents, not two. They were paired with an old friend of Lydia's, Kestre, who was working with Mitri as an apprentice. The head of the Agency herself gave them the assignment. "We don't know what they call themselves," she told them, "but we call them the Revisionists. They are trying to eliminate the Church from all of history, although we think that there is a group within that would accept simply eliminating them now. We want them stopped." Her face was stern as she handed over the briefing chips. "We don't care how. If you bring them in alive, that's fine; we'll put them on trial and make an example of them. If you don't--" She shrugged. "The Church, needless to say, is willing to make whatever accommodations are necessary. No matter what you do, as long as it's to a Revisionist, there will be no reprisals. Questions?"
Lydia and Kestre simply took their briefing chips, as did Khael. Mitri didn't ask any questions, and took his chip meekly enough, but he looked like he'd been told he had carte blanche to do whatever he wanted. Then Khael thought back over what they'd been told. He had.
After going through all of the official information, Lydia declared they needed better intel before they even started in the field. "I've got some Agency contacts who may know more than we've been given. Kestre, do you think your Church contacts will help?"
Kestre's smile was slow and lazy. "Oh, yes, my old seminary buddies will be glad to help."
Mitri looked shocked. "You were in seminary?"
Unbelievable, Khael thought. They've been working together for a year. Out loud, he only said, "I've got a couple of Church contacts myself, although they're probably not as highly placed."
"Good," Lydia said, "they may know more than those up top anyway. Otherwise, I want you doing the prep work. See where the weak points are, when they're most likely to be aiming. If we can predict them, we'll be in better shape."
Mitri wandered off without an assignment. When Lydia gave Kestre a look, he shrugged. "He's got contacts the rest of us can only dream of and he's shit at research. He's best in the field; point him where you need mayhem and you're good."
Khael sighed. So much for apprenticeship settling Mitri down a little.
After a week of research and intelligence gathering, and digging Mitri out of every bar and jail on the planet, they had a plan of attack. "They're trying to wipe out the Church," Lydia said. "Their purposes, which we don't know yet, only need them gone for the last century or so, but they've decided it's an issue of principles and are trying to wipe them out entirely. There's about a dozen of them, spread through time, mostly on Earth. The most dangerous of the group appear to be trying to stop the Church's formation in first century Rome, but they're trying to make some money along the way. Khael and I will go there and try to track them down, at least find out what they're doing. Kestre and Mitri, you two will check out the colony on Arcadia in the twenty-seventh century; that appears to be where a second group is."
The Revisionists weren't in first century Rome; they were in first century Pompeii, running a con to make money. "Either our intel is bad or the rest of them are elsewhere," Lydia told Khael, watching them set up a con to be run the next day, when the volcano erupted. "Do you think you can distract them?"
Khael gave her his best cocky grin. "Just watch me."
They were a married couple, nice enough when not discussing the Church, and Khael quickly convinced them that a day of pleasure was just what they needed. While Khael was distracting them, Lydia searched their villa, taking all the data they had on their plans against the Church. She also removed the motor of their ship so they couldn't leave.
"The Agency doesn't care how we do it," she told him.
Khael nodded; it was true enough, but it left him feeling unsettled. They'd been nice enough people otherwise.
When Kestre and Mitri met them back at Headquarters, Mitri was bouncing off the walls, almost literally. "Don't know why they're looking for money," Mitri said. "You should see the diamonds there."
"They probably can't turn them into cash," Kestre said, looking amused at Mitri's antics. "We did get some better intel. Mid-thirty-third century, Earth, they're looking to bomb the Vatican States. Everyone left will be there; we can get them all."
After the bomb was set, Khael went after the Revisionists as a distraction while the other three went to stop the bomb. This time, the distraction didn't work.
"He's an Agent," the one man shouted. "Kill him before they track us back here."
"My partners are already here," Khael said, annoyed. "Kill me or not; they're here and they'll come after you."
"Then we'll trade you for our safety," the Revisionist said. "If they think you're worth it."
Khael banged his head against the wall. "I told you, it doesn't matter. They have you and, if you want to survive, you'll leave me here and go. Stop fighting the Church and they'll leave you alone." Khael wasn't sure if it was true, but it was worth a try.
"Stop fighting the Church?" the one woman asked him. "Do you have any idea how many people have died because of the Church? How many people have been tortured? Do you know what they've done?"
"In the past, sure," Khael said, "but they're trying to protect people now."
"Tell that to the Ukanans," he said.
"What?" Khael asked.
"Yes," the woman said. "They deliberately set up the invasions in the Ukanan Sector in order to get a foothold in that area. And it's working; people are actually fool enough to believe that the Church fought for them."
"Did you?" Khael asked.
She stared at him, and collapsed. "Hi, there," Mitri said, stepping over her body. "Sorry we took so long, lover. Had a bit of trouble with the bomb." He released Khael's bonds and took his wrist, activating his Vortex Manipulator. "Couldn't disarm it, so we gave it back."
Lydia and Kestre were already at Headquarters. "That should be all of them, but we'll check it out to confirm," Lydia said, laughing. "Gotta love it when a plan comes together."
5. Agent
