Torchwood: Exodus Code

Ormond, however, was not about to let the issue slip from Pride’s radar. Over breakfast with her husband and daughter, she’d practised exactly what she was going to say to Mr Alan Pride.
    ‘I respect the position you’re in, Mr Pride, especially in light of this recent oceanic event, but as far as we can tell these formations are benign. That is not, however, the case with this mental illness that’s affecting so many women here and around the world. The public should be kept informed , and these women deserve to be treated with the full resources that we can bring to bear. To simply continue to say that these women just need to be sedated is neither a solution nor a palatable stopgap any more. The public has a right to know what we’re doing to find a cure, especially given the increase in suicides among these woman and the rise in violent crimes towards their families. Are we simply going to wait until they all kill themselves and then hope that the problem will disappear?’
    Her daughter had found her argument convincing, but Ormond wasn’t sure a 10-year-old really counted, or even much cared. Problem was, Ormond was becoming convinced that far too few people in positions of power did either. A few mad women was nothing compared to massive rock chimneys popping up across the world’s oceans. If even the worst of the papers had bumped the story to an occasional feature, what chance was there of engaging public interest in a few emotionally unbalanced women?
    Ormond had wiped jam from her daughter’s chin, kissed her husband and let her driver carry her briefcase and her coat to the car.
    ‘Try to stay sane today,’ her husband had called as she left. Funny man.
    And now she was sitting waiting for a man who could decide on a whim whether those women sank or swam.
    ‘Mr Pride will be with you shortly,’ said the assistant. ‘He’s on an overseas call at the moment. Can I get you a coffee?’
    ‘Thank you. Black. Two sugars.’
    Dr Ormond was sipping her second cup when the heavy office doors swung open and Alan Pride stepped out to greet her.
    ‘My apologies for keeping you waiting, Trimba.’
    He proffered his hand, his shake strong and purposeful, placing the other on the small of her back to usher her into his office. His hand on her back felt warm, his fingers strong. Dr Ormond felt a kick of desire low in her abdomen that took her quite by surprise. She let herself be guided to a round table, where she was surprised to see another woman, about her own age, already seated at the table. Ormond felt a flash of anger that she hadn’t been the first one to the table and she wasn’t going to have Alan Pride to herself.
    Gracious, she thought, where on earth were these thoughts coming from? She was happily married…
    ‘Dr Ormond,’ said Pride, pulling out a chair for her, ‘this is Dr Olivia Steele, Director of Neuroscience at the Cardiff and Vale Health Board. She’s also an expert on issues of women’s mental health.’
    Dr Ormond shook Dr Steele’s hand, feeling another jolt of desire shoot from her fingers to her toes.
    This morning, she thought, is turning out… interesting.
    ‘I’ve asked you both to join me,’ said Pride, ‘because I’ve received some good news and some disturbing news about the recent wave of mental illness among women in various parts of the world. As you know, Trimba, many of the international health agencies are at a loss for treatment and, honestly, so are we. Olivia, however, has brought me some new information and I thought in light of your position that you should be one of the first to hear it. I must, though, ask for a caveat: I need your signature on an Official Secrets document.’
    As if she’d been waiting for her cue, the minister’s assistant marched through the double doors and set a sheet of paper in front of Ormond.
    ‘It’s standard procedure in such matters,’ Pride went on. ‘Olivia has also signed one. It simply states that anything you are about to hear about this “Masochistic madness”, as the press have labelled it, you may not reveal under any circumstances.’
    ‘And if I did?’ asked Ormond, guiltily realising as she spoke that she was only asking the question because she was annoyed that Dr Steele had signed the papers before her. Ormond’s desire had quickly turned to jealousy and she hated herself – and Dr Steele – for the shift.
    ‘If you did,’ smiled Pride, ‘then I’d have to kill you.’
    He tapped the