By the bar was a little DJ booth, in which a starveling Emo kid stood, mixing tracks unhappily in only a pair of jockeys and some boots. Jack sighed.
He looked around the room – the barman/woman (Jack couldn’t really tell) had already tensed and was trying to out-pout him. There were three drunk old men laughing at each other’s jokes. There was a lesbian couple rowing tiredly at a table over a packet of peanuts – one had her arm in plaster, the other was on crutches. A lone businessman sat leafing through a copy of the Pink Paper that was sodden with spilt beer. On the dance floor, a man in a backwards baseball cap was trying to do, dear god, the Running Man.
And then there was…
Well, hullo, boys!
Jack got himself a glass of water and made his way over.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Not at all. We wondered when you’d make an appearance.’ Jack sat down at the stool and looked at the two men. He smiled, impressed despite himself.
‘Is it your first human form, fellas? If so, I have to say, pretty good.’
One of the couple shrugged. They were, Jack thought, amazing. Just over six foot, mid twenties, clear blue eyes – one blond and preppy, the other dark-haired and olive-skinned. Simple, fitted T-shirts, expensive jeans – neither garment concealing any of the muscle that was rippling underneath. Both were staring at him, quiet amusement dancing across their deep blue eyes. ‘I can just imagine them advertising underwear,’ thought Jack. And then he dwelt on the thought a little too long. He realised he was supposed to say something.
‘You guys are a dream. I’m impressed.’
The dark one spread his hands out modestly. ‘Oh – consider us a work in progress. We want to be perfect.’
Jack smiled even more. ‘I see.’
‘You want to ask us some questions, don’t you?’ The blond seemed mildly amused. ‘I take it you are Torchwood.’
‘Yes, I am. And if you know us, you know that I’m not here to ask you questions. We protect the Earth from alien threats.’
‘And is that what we are? Alien threats? Puh-lease. I’m just Brendan,’ said the blond.
‘And I’m Jon,’ the dark-haired one shook Jack’s hand. It was a firm, warm handshake, and Jack grinned into Jon’s eyes despite himself.
‘Nice,’ he said. ‘Nice manners, guys. Very charming. So when does the killing start?’
Both of them laughed. Laughed like Jack was a toddler who’d said something funny.
‘There’ll be none of that. That’s not in our nature.’
‘Then what are you?’
‘We’re the Perfection.’
Jack grinned again. ‘Smug aliens. Great. What does the name mean?’
‘The Perfection are gods, Jack.’ Brendan’s tone was gentle.
‘Is that so?’ Jack took a long drink of his water, and suddenly wished for something stronger. ‘I’ve met quite a few gods. Most of them were just conmen with great gadgets.’
Brendan smiled sweetly. ‘I hear your argument. But we are the Perfection.’ It wasn’t an answer. ‘We are very old gods, Jack. We’ve spread a slow arc of perfection across the universe. We stay for millennia, we make everything perfect. And then, eventually, when all is wonderful, we move on.’
‘Leaving a dustbowl in your wake.’
Jon shook his head. ‘Not at all. When a society is functioning as well as is possible – then our work is done. When a people no longer need their gods, we must bow and leave the stage.’
‘No doubt to rapturous applause.’
Brendan laid a hand softly on Jack’s. ‘Underneath that cynicism, you’re hoping that we’re real. Let yourself trust us, Jack. Hallam’s World, the Province of Sovertial, the Min Barrier – these are but the latest in our projects. Worlds known across the galaxy for their harmony, stability and peace. Not, perhaps, utopia, but the very best they can be.’
Jack nodded, impressed. Hallam’s World – he’d once been stationed at the Time Agency outpost there. The most boring time of his life. Everything was like a warm Sunday afternoon just after lunch and before the television got good. But… in their own way, decent people. Very good people.
Jon smiled. ‘You yourself are an outsider – born on another world, making the most of this one. And that’s all we want to do.’
Jack sneered. ‘I see. And in six months – what? A brave new Reich of joy and harmony?’
‘Oh god, no!’ chuckled Brendan, lighting a fag. Jack blinked. ‘I said we are old gods. We’ve spent millennia building worlds where the skies burned with thought and our names were written in gold across the moons. Pfft!’ he exhaled wearily.
‘We’re knackered,’ sighed Jon. ‘It’s all such… work. We just wanted something a little smaller.’
‘Wales?’ offered Jack, mulling it over. The PM would be pissed, but…
‘No. Not even Cardiff. The Welsh are such a strong people – and, frankly, much prefer talking to God than listening. No. Look around you.’
Jack looked around the bar.
‘What?’
‘This. This tiny little group of disparate little outcasts. This gay community. Oh, they could be so beautiful, so fabulous, couldn’t they? But it’s all so drab and tired and joyless. Why – look at the hair, Jack. This is a gay scene where the mullet never went out. Couldn’t it all be more fun?’
Jack sat there. Sipping his water. And thinking.
‘No, hang on,’ he said.
Sip. Think.
‘Let me just check.’
Sip. Think.
Actually, when was this glass last cleaned?
‘So, you just want to give the gay scene a makeover?’ Brendan and Jon nodded together.
‘And it’s not going to involve some weird ritual sacrifice?’
Jon shook his head vehemently. ‘Oh lordy, no. How old school are you, sweet cheeks? We’ll just lead by example. It’s how we work. We are the Perfection. There’s no magic – wherever we go, people adore us, they love us, they want to be more like us. And we help them. But we don’t cheat. We don’t steal. We just bask in their love and we grow stronger. That’s all we want – to be wanted.’
Jack grinned at them with disbelief.
‘I really still think you could be evil. This could all be a horrible, horrible thing. It would be easier to just drag you down to the cells. Job done.’
Jon shuddered, theatrically, and laid his hand on Jack’s arm, muscles incidentally tensing magnificently, like weasels in a sack. ‘It would be easier, yes, but not as much fun.’
Brendan stubbed out his cigarette and grinned. ‘And you won’t. You trust us. You like us. You’ll give us a chance. And you’ll stay for another drink. A proper drink.’
Jack gazed sadly at his glass. ‘I’d love to, but I have to be ready. For when everything changes.’
Jon turned back from the bar, three drinks in his hand. ‘Trust us – you’ll be fine for a few hours. God’s word.’
A few minutes later…
‘Brendan,’ said Jack. ‘Your boyfriend’s hand is on my leg.’
‘Oh,’ said Brendan. ‘Is that a problem?’
Jack grinned. ‘Not at all. I just wondered if you felt left out.’
Brendan shrugged. ‘Not really.’ And placed his hand on Jack’s other leg.
‘Ah, I see. Does anyone ever say no to you guys?’
Jon tipped his head on one side, puzzled. ‘Why would they? We’re perfect!’
And the Perfection laughed, together. Not at all creepily.
And, about an hour later…
‘OK,’ muttered Jack happily into the pillow. ‘I’m open to making a deal.’
Somewhere, Brendan gave a muffled laugh. ‘Oh, you’re open to a lot more than that.’
‘Yup,’ admitted Jack, giggling.
Jon leaned in close, his voice joining the blissful throbbing in Jack’s head. ‘You’re prepared to consider an arrangement?’