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silver_sunPart 4
Any hope that Ianto had that a full night’s sleep in a proper bed and a decent meal would help Jack had faded by morning.
The herb concoction Cisca-Mar had given Jack had helped with the pain, but the slow, steady rise of his temperature continued unabated through the day until he was drenched in sweat and shivering violently, his face flushed with fever.
The day slipped by in a hubbub of voices that Ianto couldn't understand. Pon-Pel came to visit again and to bring food, which had been coarse grained flat bread and soup this time. A few other visitors came, either of out curiosity or because they had something to collect from Cisca-Mar or to give to her..
Owen did what he could for Jack, gently but firmly ignoring Jack's pleas not to change the bandages and clean the wound because it hurt, stripping off his clothes and pulling back the bedsheets in an attempt to cool him down, and getting him to drink.
By evening, the sun was setting across the water, a ball of orange fire on the horizon visible through the open door of the house. Cisca-Mar had propped it open in an attempt to help cool Jack down, although it appeared to have had little or no effect.
“How is he doing?” Owen asked, when Ianto joined him by the fire.
“He thought he was talking to somebody called Alex,” Ianto said quietly, not really wanting to think about how sick Jack had become, his fever so high that he was delirious. “He wanted to know if he was dying.”
Owen snapped the stick he'd been idly toying with angrily and threw it on the fire. “If he can't fight off the infection he soon will be.”
It was at times like this that Ianto hated Owen's bluntness. “There must be something you can do.”
“What else is there?” Owen snapped. “Tell me and I will do it. I'm running out of ideas that aren't just bloody desperation. Hell, if I thought he stood a chance of surviving having it cut off so we could start with a clean, controlled wound I'd do it.”
Feeling sick at the thought of it, Ianto hunched forwards, arms wrapped about himself. He felt useless, stupid, a failure. Why was it everybody he cared for died? His mum after long months in Providence Park, his dad too soon after that, unable to live without the love of his life. Lisa who he'd have died for it would have meant she could have lived.
Owen sighed and got up. He paused as he passed Ianto, his hand resting briefly on his shoulder. “I'll go sit with him for a bit. You try and get your head together, 'cause I'm not doing all this on my own.”
0X0X0X0
“They're hiding something,” Owen said almost before Ianto had a chance to sit down to breakfast the next morning.
“Such as?” Ianto asked wearily, unable to summon any enthusiasm or curiosity. Sleep had been a long time coming the previous night and when it finally had it had been broken all too frequently by Jack's cries and groans as he suffered through fever fuelled nightmares.
“They know stuff.” Owen watched the Star-Chosen intently out the open doorway. “Cisca-Mar, the others healers, they understand sterilizing instruments, actually having separate medical stuff, keeping things clean. The big thing though is there's no hocus pocus crap going on with it. Sure they have herbs and stuff rather than proper medicine, but they know what they're doing with it, they weigh out the stuff, they even write it down.”
Owen leant closer to Ianto as if he didn't want anybody else to hear. “And that's another thing all the writing and counting. They live like they're something out of the Stone Age, but all the kids are sent to school, they all read and write. And they have maps and that sundial thing to tell the time.”
“You noticed all that?” Ianto said impressed. He pushed the porridge like substance round his bowl, not feeling like eating it as he wondered how he'd missed what Owen had noticed. “Couldn't that just be normal for them? They aren't human, is it really right to judge them by human standards?”
Owen glared at him. “I know you like to think you know everything, that you're so much smarter than us, well this is medical stuff and that's what I'm good at. Don't look so surprised, Jack hired me because I was good at my job, not because he wanted a new fuck toy.”
“It got me into Torchwood and back then that's all that mattered.” Ianto had no illusions why he'd been hired, he'd been willing to do anything to get himself and Lisa into Torchwood. But he also knew that his relationship with Jack had changed since then, mutating into something closer and deeper after Lisa's death or at least it had until the point Jack had gone to find the Doctor, after that Jack had seemed cut off, like there was something missing.
It didn't change the fact that what Owen said hurt, but Ianto had grown used to the fact that Owen only ever made his most vicious personal attacks when he felt that the situation was spiralling out of his control. There was nothing to be gained by arguing with Owen, so Ianto said, “So what do you think is going on?”
“They've got access to information, maybe even medical tech and they aren't telling us about it. Why else would they know this trade language thing Jack was talking to them in?”
“You really think so?” Ianto said watching the Star-Chosen laugh and talk as they loaded their boats for a day’s fishing on the lake or a trip out into the many rivers that cut through the marshes. It didn't seem likely, but now that Owen had said it all Ianto could think was how he might be right. Even the Star-Chosen's reaction to finding them was, in hindsight, suspicious. Why had they been so accepting of what to them must have seemed like very tall, strange aliens suddenly appearing close to their home? Why had they been able to speak the trade language that Jack had spoken to them if they didn't have contact with the outside world?
“As sure as I can be,” Owen replied, looking worn. “In a place like this I'd expect cutting edge medicine to be a clean bandage and it's not. Like I said something about this place just don't add up.”
“So what are we going to do?” Ianto asked, trying to come up with any ideas and failing. He was sure that if he hadn't been so tired he could have thought of something.
“That wrist strap thing he wears,” Owen said after a moment. “When we didn't know if we'd be able to speak to the aliens he was looking at it. Maybe some bits of it still work. I know he said it was broken, but he used it for stuff around the Hub, controlling the lift and switching stuff on and off.
“You think so?” Ianto said willing to grasp at any small glimmer of hope that he could find.
“I'm saying it's worth a go.” Owen glanced round to where Jack's bed was. “You should do it,” he said, before adding grudgingly, “You're better with the whole languages thing than I am and at getting weird tech to work.”
Ianto nodded and took a shaky breath, trying to settle his nerves before going over to Jack.
Jack shivered and shook in the grip of pain and fever, moving restlessly and muttering incoherently as Ianto took his wrist strap.
“I'll bring it back,” Ianto said trying to reassure him as he fastened it about his own wrist. It felt warm and heavy, the old worn leather smooth against his skin. Curious, he opened the cover, hoping that he'd be able see how it worked. The few buttons that were inside though were unmarked, while the small, oval screen didn't seem to have any kind of display beyond an occasional blue wiggling line.
He hadn't wanted to disturb Jack any more than was necessary, but he could think of no other way of find out how it worked. So keeling down by the side of Jack's bed, he asked, “Jack, I need you to tell me how this works.”
Jack stirred, his eyes opening. Over bright and poorly focused they seemed to look past Ianto. “Doesn't work. Trapped here. I waited so long.”
“I know, I just need to know if it works as a translator?” Ianto took Jack's hand in his, trying not to think about how hot it felt or how weak his grip had become. Just a few short days of sickness had seemed to wither him, his eyes bruised and sunken in a face that seemed to have ages overnight.
“Yes. Some things. It's in your mind.” He tried to hold Ianto's hand tighter and failed. “I see it all in my mind. All their faces. They leave me. Never leave me alone.” He started to cry, silent sobs shaking him. “They're all dead. Should have been me. I shouldn't have lived. I shouldn't.... shouldn't...”
“Please don't do this,” Ianto said, voice cracking as he freed his hand from Jack's, his own tears starting to fall. Leaning forward he pressed a soft kiss to Jack's forehead. “I'll be back soon, I promise.”
Owen looked at Ianto's tear streaked face with fear in his eyes. “Is he...”
“No,” Ianto managed to choke out. “But stay with him. He shouldn't alone, not if-”
“Just go and get some answers,” Owen said interrupting him.
Ianto nodded and wiped his eyes. Feeling shaken and wretched, he stood for some minutes in the doorway to the house before stepping outside and going to look for somebody to answer his questions.
He found Cisca-Mar sitting on the pier nearest the house where the morning sun shone down, chasing away they night's chill. Working from a sheaf of reeds beside her, she coiled and bound them into a growing spiral, making one of the braided rugs that covered the floors and walls of the house.
“You come with questions,” she said without turning around.
It seemed strange to be able to understand her, especially as there seemed to be a delay in the translation as he heard words that he didn't understand, but seconds later the translation appeared in his mind. Not entirely sure that he liked the sensation, Ianto sat down on the pier next to her. He was wondering how he was going to reply to her when the words seemed to form in his mind. Even less sure he liked how that felt, Ianto repeated them carefully. “You're not surprised I can talk to you?”
Cisca-Mar laughed. “You have some way to go before you speak as well as your friend.”
“Owen thinks you've got access to technology that we've not seen,” Ianto said, as he decided that coming straight to the point was probably the best approach.
“He is right in a way.” She put her braiding aside and turned to look at him. “Yet wrong in what he believes we still have.”
“What do you have?” he asked eager yet fearful that whatever fragile hope he had might be dashed.
“Just the stories and skills passed down to us by those that went before. The civilization of my ancestors had nearly destroyed itself with materialism and empire building.” Cisca-Mar gazed out over the rippling water. “My Mother and Grandmother were amongst the six hundred. Two of the lucky few that fled Quillasal. They ran before the shock wave, the ships behind them turned to atoms, ten million lives as dust in the wind.”
Ianto wasn't sure what he'd expected. Denial or anger he supposed. A history lesson hadn't been it.
“They ran with what little they could carry onto whatever ships they could find,” Cisca-Mar continued. “The Perisson was a freighter, not meant for so many souls. They lived in its bare cargo holds, whole families, homeless, worldless, trying to survive a journey they knew not where or when it would end. They burnt through all the fuel cells crossing empty spaces until they were running on just momentum and steering thrusters to keep them going.”
“There were three thousand on the ship when it left Quillasal but just six hundred crawled from the wreck of the Perisson.” She looked at Ianto. “They found this place and it was as the first lands were described. It was, my grandmother told me, as if they had been handed the primordial world from which we had first come into being. We were being given a second chance. They called it Elen-Sicar, the first world reborn.”
Ianto heart sank. The Star-Chosen were just as trapped on the planet as they were, it was just that they had been there long enough to start making a new life for themselves. “That's it then,” he said feeling tears threatening. “There's no way to help Jack, no way home. Nothing.”
“Don't ever give up hope. Hope is the greatest weapon we can ever possess.” She put her hand on his arm. “The Perisson remains in the marshes, perhaps there is something on board that you could use. We took much of what we could carry at the time and in the years since, but some still remains.”
“How do I find it?” Ianto asked, remembering how featureless the marshes had seemed to him.
“I will talk to Pon-Pel, she will take you there.” Cisca-Mar stood and leaned on her cane. “It will rain later, I think, so you should go soon. Much of the ship is buried now and when the rains come it can flood.”
Ianto gathered up her braiding for her. “Thank you. You've been very kind to us,”
“It is no more than you deserve. After what my people once were, we seek only to do good, to meet kindness with kindness, for you have sought to take nothing and you have met us with only gratitude.” Cisca-Mar walked with him back to the house. “I will send Pon-Pel to you. Be ready to leave soon.”
“So what have got to say for themselves then?” Owen asked as soon as Ianto go through the door.
“Cisca-Mar says that they arrived here years ago on a space ship, a generation or two ago. They salvaged what they could at the time and have been going back occasionally to retrieve anything that wasn't nailed down. Pon-Pel is going to take me there so we can see if there is anything left that might be of use.”
Owen smiled for what seemed like the first time since they arrived on the planet. “Told you, didn't I? So off you go, see what's left of the medical supplies. Maybe we'll even be able to patch up this ship once Jack's back on his feet and get home.”
“It might not be that simple,” Ianto said, hating to kill the hope that had suddenly appeared in Owen's voice. “The ship is almost completely submerged in the marsh. It's going to be hard enough getting in and out again. I don't think getting it flying again is going to be possible, I'm sorry.”
“You really know how to piss all over any little bit of good news we get, don't you?” Owen replied angrily.
“Pon-Pel is going to take me there now,” Ianto said, turning back towards the door, knowing better than to try to argue with Owen when he was like this.
He'd reached the door when he felt a sudden tug on his arm and he looked round to find Owen.
“Just be careful, all right. Don't you go doing any of that stupid self-sacrificing crap.”
The genuine concern in Owen's voice was unexpected, but Ianto replied, “I'll try not to, but Jack comes first.”
“No,” Owen's grip tightened. “You're equal. Jack wouldn't want you risking yourself for him and neither do I.”
“You really mean that,” Ianto said surprised. He knew that their relationship has gone from antagonistic to something approaching friendship over the last few months, but he hadn't realised just how deep Owen's feelings ran.
“Of course I do,” Owen said defensively. “And before you get any funny ideas it's because I don't want to be on my own with the small hairy and purples for the rest of my life. Now get going.”
Link to part five
Any hope that Ianto had that a full night’s sleep in a proper bed and a decent meal would help Jack had faded by morning.
The herb concoction Cisca-Mar had given Jack had helped with the pain, but the slow, steady rise of his temperature continued unabated through the day until he was drenched in sweat and shivering violently, his face flushed with fever.
The day slipped by in a hubbub of voices that Ianto couldn't understand. Pon-Pel came to visit again and to bring food, which had been coarse grained flat bread and soup this time. A few other visitors came, either of out curiosity or because they had something to collect from Cisca-Mar or to give to her..
Owen did what he could for Jack, gently but firmly ignoring Jack's pleas not to change the bandages and clean the wound because it hurt, stripping off his clothes and pulling back the bedsheets in an attempt to cool him down, and getting him to drink.
By evening, the sun was setting across the water, a ball of orange fire on the horizon visible through the open door of the house. Cisca-Mar had propped it open in an attempt to help cool Jack down, although it appeared to have had little or no effect.
“How is he doing?” Owen asked, when Ianto joined him by the fire.
“He thought he was talking to somebody called Alex,” Ianto said quietly, not really wanting to think about how sick Jack had become, his fever so high that he was delirious. “He wanted to know if he was dying.”
Owen snapped the stick he'd been idly toying with angrily and threw it on the fire. “If he can't fight off the infection he soon will be.”
It was at times like this that Ianto hated Owen's bluntness. “There must be something you can do.”
“What else is there?” Owen snapped. “Tell me and I will do it. I'm running out of ideas that aren't just bloody desperation. Hell, if I thought he stood a chance of surviving having it cut off so we could start with a clean, controlled wound I'd do it.”
Feeling sick at the thought of it, Ianto hunched forwards, arms wrapped about himself. He felt useless, stupid, a failure. Why was it everybody he cared for died? His mum after long months in Providence Park, his dad too soon after that, unable to live without the love of his life. Lisa who he'd have died for it would have meant she could have lived.
Owen sighed and got up. He paused as he passed Ianto, his hand resting briefly on his shoulder. “I'll go sit with him for a bit. You try and get your head together, 'cause I'm not doing all this on my own.”
0X0X0X0
“They're hiding something,” Owen said almost before Ianto had a chance to sit down to breakfast the next morning.
“Such as?” Ianto asked wearily, unable to summon any enthusiasm or curiosity. Sleep had been a long time coming the previous night and when it finally had it had been broken all too frequently by Jack's cries and groans as he suffered through fever fuelled nightmares.
“They know stuff.” Owen watched the Star-Chosen intently out the open doorway. “Cisca-Mar, the others healers, they understand sterilizing instruments, actually having separate medical stuff, keeping things clean. The big thing though is there's no hocus pocus crap going on with it. Sure they have herbs and stuff rather than proper medicine, but they know what they're doing with it, they weigh out the stuff, they even write it down.”
Owen leant closer to Ianto as if he didn't want anybody else to hear. “And that's another thing all the writing and counting. They live like they're something out of the Stone Age, but all the kids are sent to school, they all read and write. And they have maps and that sundial thing to tell the time.”
“You noticed all that?” Ianto said impressed. He pushed the porridge like substance round his bowl, not feeling like eating it as he wondered how he'd missed what Owen had noticed. “Couldn't that just be normal for them? They aren't human, is it really right to judge them by human standards?”
Owen glared at him. “I know you like to think you know everything, that you're so much smarter than us, well this is medical stuff and that's what I'm good at. Don't look so surprised, Jack hired me because I was good at my job, not because he wanted a new fuck toy.”
“It got me into Torchwood and back then that's all that mattered.” Ianto had no illusions why he'd been hired, he'd been willing to do anything to get himself and Lisa into Torchwood. But he also knew that his relationship with Jack had changed since then, mutating into something closer and deeper after Lisa's death or at least it had until the point Jack had gone to find the Doctor, after that Jack had seemed cut off, like there was something missing.
It didn't change the fact that what Owen said hurt, but Ianto had grown used to the fact that Owen only ever made his most vicious personal attacks when he felt that the situation was spiralling out of his control. There was nothing to be gained by arguing with Owen, so Ianto said, “So what do you think is going on?”
“They've got access to information, maybe even medical tech and they aren't telling us about it. Why else would they know this trade language thing Jack was talking to them in?”
“You really think so?” Ianto said watching the Star-Chosen laugh and talk as they loaded their boats for a day’s fishing on the lake or a trip out into the many rivers that cut through the marshes. It didn't seem likely, but now that Owen had said it all Ianto could think was how he might be right. Even the Star-Chosen's reaction to finding them was, in hindsight, suspicious. Why had they been so accepting of what to them must have seemed like very tall, strange aliens suddenly appearing close to their home? Why had they been able to speak the trade language that Jack had spoken to them if they didn't have contact with the outside world?
“As sure as I can be,” Owen replied, looking worn. “In a place like this I'd expect cutting edge medicine to be a clean bandage and it's not. Like I said something about this place just don't add up.”
“So what are we going to do?” Ianto asked, trying to come up with any ideas and failing. He was sure that if he hadn't been so tired he could have thought of something.
“That wrist strap thing he wears,” Owen said after a moment. “When we didn't know if we'd be able to speak to the aliens he was looking at it. Maybe some bits of it still work. I know he said it was broken, but he used it for stuff around the Hub, controlling the lift and switching stuff on and off.
“You think so?” Ianto said willing to grasp at any small glimmer of hope that he could find.
“I'm saying it's worth a go.” Owen glanced round to where Jack's bed was. “You should do it,” he said, before adding grudgingly, “You're better with the whole languages thing than I am and at getting weird tech to work.”
Ianto nodded and took a shaky breath, trying to settle his nerves before going over to Jack.
Jack shivered and shook in the grip of pain and fever, moving restlessly and muttering incoherently as Ianto took his wrist strap.
“I'll bring it back,” Ianto said trying to reassure him as he fastened it about his own wrist. It felt warm and heavy, the old worn leather smooth against his skin. Curious, he opened the cover, hoping that he'd be able see how it worked. The few buttons that were inside though were unmarked, while the small, oval screen didn't seem to have any kind of display beyond an occasional blue wiggling line.
He hadn't wanted to disturb Jack any more than was necessary, but he could think of no other way of find out how it worked. So keeling down by the side of Jack's bed, he asked, “Jack, I need you to tell me how this works.”
Jack stirred, his eyes opening. Over bright and poorly focused they seemed to look past Ianto. “Doesn't work. Trapped here. I waited so long.”
“I know, I just need to know if it works as a translator?” Ianto took Jack's hand in his, trying not to think about how hot it felt or how weak his grip had become. Just a few short days of sickness had seemed to wither him, his eyes bruised and sunken in a face that seemed to have ages overnight.
“Yes. Some things. It's in your mind.” He tried to hold Ianto's hand tighter and failed. “I see it all in my mind. All their faces. They leave me. Never leave me alone.” He started to cry, silent sobs shaking him. “They're all dead. Should have been me. I shouldn't have lived. I shouldn't.... shouldn't...”
“Please don't do this,” Ianto said, voice cracking as he freed his hand from Jack's, his own tears starting to fall. Leaning forward he pressed a soft kiss to Jack's forehead. “I'll be back soon, I promise.”
Owen looked at Ianto's tear streaked face with fear in his eyes. “Is he...”
“No,” Ianto managed to choke out. “But stay with him. He shouldn't alone, not if-”
“Just go and get some answers,” Owen said interrupting him.
Ianto nodded and wiped his eyes. Feeling shaken and wretched, he stood for some minutes in the doorway to the house before stepping outside and going to look for somebody to answer his questions.
He found Cisca-Mar sitting on the pier nearest the house where the morning sun shone down, chasing away they night's chill. Working from a sheaf of reeds beside her, she coiled and bound them into a growing spiral, making one of the braided rugs that covered the floors and walls of the house.
“You come with questions,” she said without turning around.
It seemed strange to be able to understand her, especially as there seemed to be a delay in the translation as he heard words that he didn't understand, but seconds later the translation appeared in his mind. Not entirely sure that he liked the sensation, Ianto sat down on the pier next to her. He was wondering how he was going to reply to her when the words seemed to form in his mind. Even less sure he liked how that felt, Ianto repeated them carefully. “You're not surprised I can talk to you?”
Cisca-Mar laughed. “You have some way to go before you speak as well as your friend.”
“Owen thinks you've got access to technology that we've not seen,” Ianto said, as he decided that coming straight to the point was probably the best approach.
“He is right in a way.” She put her braiding aside and turned to look at him. “Yet wrong in what he believes we still have.”
“What do you have?” he asked eager yet fearful that whatever fragile hope he had might be dashed.
“Just the stories and skills passed down to us by those that went before. The civilization of my ancestors had nearly destroyed itself with materialism and empire building.” Cisca-Mar gazed out over the rippling water. “My Mother and Grandmother were amongst the six hundred. Two of the lucky few that fled Quillasal. They ran before the shock wave, the ships behind them turned to atoms, ten million lives as dust in the wind.”
Ianto wasn't sure what he'd expected. Denial or anger he supposed. A history lesson hadn't been it.
“They ran with what little they could carry onto whatever ships they could find,” Cisca-Mar continued. “The Perisson was a freighter, not meant for so many souls. They lived in its bare cargo holds, whole families, homeless, worldless, trying to survive a journey they knew not where or when it would end. They burnt through all the fuel cells crossing empty spaces until they were running on just momentum and steering thrusters to keep them going.”
“There were three thousand on the ship when it left Quillasal but just six hundred crawled from the wreck of the Perisson.” She looked at Ianto. “They found this place and it was as the first lands were described. It was, my grandmother told me, as if they had been handed the primordial world from which we had first come into being. We were being given a second chance. They called it Elen-Sicar, the first world reborn.”
Ianto heart sank. The Star-Chosen were just as trapped on the planet as they were, it was just that they had been there long enough to start making a new life for themselves. “That's it then,” he said feeling tears threatening. “There's no way to help Jack, no way home. Nothing.”
“Don't ever give up hope. Hope is the greatest weapon we can ever possess.” She put her hand on his arm. “The Perisson remains in the marshes, perhaps there is something on board that you could use. We took much of what we could carry at the time and in the years since, but some still remains.”
“How do I find it?” Ianto asked, remembering how featureless the marshes had seemed to him.
“I will talk to Pon-Pel, she will take you there.” Cisca-Mar stood and leaned on her cane. “It will rain later, I think, so you should go soon. Much of the ship is buried now and when the rains come it can flood.”
Ianto gathered up her braiding for her. “Thank you. You've been very kind to us,”
“It is no more than you deserve. After what my people once were, we seek only to do good, to meet kindness with kindness, for you have sought to take nothing and you have met us with only gratitude.” Cisca-Mar walked with him back to the house. “I will send Pon-Pel to you. Be ready to leave soon.”
“So what have got to say for themselves then?” Owen asked as soon as Ianto go through the door.
“Cisca-Mar says that they arrived here years ago on a space ship, a generation or two ago. They salvaged what they could at the time and have been going back occasionally to retrieve anything that wasn't nailed down. Pon-Pel is going to take me there so we can see if there is anything left that might be of use.”
Owen smiled for what seemed like the first time since they arrived on the planet. “Told you, didn't I? So off you go, see what's left of the medical supplies. Maybe we'll even be able to patch up this ship once Jack's back on his feet and get home.”
“It might not be that simple,” Ianto said, hating to kill the hope that had suddenly appeared in Owen's voice. “The ship is almost completely submerged in the marsh. It's going to be hard enough getting in and out again. I don't think getting it flying again is going to be possible, I'm sorry.”
“You really know how to piss all over any little bit of good news we get, don't you?” Owen replied angrily.
“Pon-Pel is going to take me there now,” Ianto said, turning back towards the door, knowing better than to try to argue with Owen when he was like this.
He'd reached the door when he felt a sudden tug on his arm and he looked round to find Owen.
“Just be careful, all right. Don't you go doing any of that stupid self-sacrificing crap.”
The genuine concern in Owen's voice was unexpected, but Ianto replied, “I'll try not to, but Jack comes first.”
“No,” Owen's grip tightened. “You're equal. Jack wouldn't want you risking yourself for him and neither do I.”
“You really mean that,” Ianto said surprised. He knew that their relationship has gone from antagonistic to something approaching friendship over the last few months, but he hadn't realised just how deep Owen's feelings ran.
“Of course I do,” Owen said defensively. “And before you get any funny ideas it's because I don't want to be on my own with the small hairy and purples for the rest of my life. Now get going.”
Link to part five