Daughter of Torchwood

We Are Coming

September 2009

Starla arrived at the Plass just as the morning mist began to lift off the Bay. She stepped onto the invisible paving-stone lift, feeling that familiar stomach drop as she descended into the Hub.

The main floor was eerily quiet, the only sound the rhythmic, low-frequency hum of the Rift monitors. Starla walked toward her father's office, her lace-up boots clicking rhythmically against the metal grating. She pushed the door open and moved to the coat hook behind it to hang up her navy coat.

She paused, her hand still on the collar of her coat. Usually, Jack's iconic grey RAF greatcoat was already hanging there, a silent sentinel that meant her dad was already busy somewhere in the base. But the other hook was bare.

"Dad? Ianto?!" she called out, her voice echoing into the empty space.

Realising she was the first one in, she headed back out to the main floor. She settled at Owen's old workstation, her blue chambray shirt tucked into her skater skirt. She fired up the monitors and began checking the Rift activity logs, trying to ignore the strange stillness of the morning.

At 8:40 am, Starla stood up to head to the coffee station. She was halfway across the floor when she simply... stopped. Her fingers remained curled around the handle of her empty mug, her gaze fixed on a point in the air that wasn't there.

That was how Gwen found her a moment later. Gwen breezed in, tossing her bag aside and starting up her own station before turning back. "Morning, Starla," she said, but her voice trailed off when she saw the girl frozen like a statue.

Gwen laughed at first, walking over. "You playing along with the rest of the children, are you? Star?" She waved a hand in front of Starla's eyes. Leaning in close, she watched as Starla suddenly blinked, the life returning to her face in a rush.

Starla flinched back, nearly slopping her imaginary drink. "What?" she asked, a half-frown on her face.

"You stopped," Gwen said, her smile fading into genuine concern.

"No, I didn't," Starla brushed it off, heading back to her chair as if her body hadn't just been hijacked.

A few minutes later, Jack and Ianto walked in, joking and bickering. "Oi, Chuckle Brothers," 

Gwen called out, stopping them in their tracks, "I found something."

"Yeah, well, I want a check on St Helen's Hospital," Jack ordered, moving toward his desk, "Specifically, the morgue. Starla?"

"On it," Starla nodded.

"Meanwhile," Gwen interrupted, her voice gaining a sharp, professional edge, "I've been getting reports of seventeen road traffic accidents across the country. Every single one involves children standing in the road. Not crossing, Jack. Just standing. I saw it myself... and I think it happened to Starla, too."

Jack stopped mid-stride, his expression darkening as he looked between Gwen and his daughter, "What?"

"No, I didn't," Starla frowns.

"When I came in, she was a statue," Gwen informed him, "Just stopped, mug in hand. Then she came back to with no memory of it."

"Same reports from France," Ianto reported, his voice tight as he pulled up global data, "Norway, Germany, India... they all stopped at the same time. Simultaneous global event."

"Seen anything like this before, Dad?" Starla asked.

"No way," Jack frowned, "But why you? You're sixteen, Star. You aren't a child."