Risk Assessment (18 page)

‘Cowing lush,’ said Rhys.

‘This suit is ruined,’ sighed Ianto.

After about thirty seconds it stopped raining petrol and the air cleared, leaving behind a startling stench.

Jack started yelling at once. ‘Wipe it off your skin! Keep it out of your eyes!’

‘Your concern is noted,’ gasped Agnes, cutting a remarkable figure in oil-soaked crinolines.

Jack turned to Rhys. ‘Thank you, Mr Williams. I suggest you get your people out of here.’

‘Mr Williams?’ Agnes’s attention was roused. ‘Well, how pleasant to meet you.’ They shook filthy hands. ‘You are terribly lucky in your choice of helpmeet,’ continued Agnes. ‘Although I had hoped we would meet looking less like navvies.’

‘Er,’ said Rhys. ‘Charmed.’ And then he curtsied.

Agnes turned to Gwen. ‘Sweet,’ she whispered.

‘Rhys,’ continued Jack, feeling undermined again. ‘Can you get your men out of here? This is going to be the mother of all clean-up operations.’

Rhys saluted. ‘Right-ho, chief. Let me know when you next need your arse saving. Come on, lads.’ He attempted a heroic stride back to his truck, slipped slightly, and covered the last few paces gingerly. He waved jauntily, collected his men, and walked down towards the distant cordons.

‘My husband,’ sighed Gwen.

They all watched him go.

Jack stood there, a grin on his face and an expectant look.

‘Very well, Harkness,’ sighed Agnes. ‘You are dying for us to ask you.’

Jack held up the object he’d used to destroy the Vam.

‘Owen’s alien surgical thingy!’ gasped Gwen, turning to Agnes. ‘I was pregnant once, you see—’

‘Indeed?’ Agnes’s tone was steely.

‘Oh yeah, alien succubus thing. And Owen, our doctor, used it to destroy my alien love child without invasive surgery. You just point it at a body and it. . . ah. . .’

Jack nodded happily. ‘Exactly. The sonic cannons weakened the external bonding shell on that creature. I banked that it would divert energy to its external shielding. And then I just used the famously tricksie Singularity Scalpel on a dangerously wide setting to shatter its innards. It was once evil diesel from outer space – now it’s just an oil slick.’

‘Very good,’ admitted Agnes. ‘Very good.’ And then she went silent, brooding.

Jack missed the signals and boomed on. ‘You see, Aggie, this is how Torchwood Cardiff operates. We’re rough, we’re messy, but we’re brilliant.’

‘Hear! Hear!’ Gwen and Ianto toasted him, and they all giggled.

‘I understand,’ said Agnes tautly. ‘You see me as a foolish anachronism, don’t you?’

‘I’m not putting words in your mouth,’ Jack smiled sweetly. ‘Takes one to know one.’

‘Touché,’ Agnes looked pained. ‘I still think. . . No, never mind.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘If you’ll excuse me.’ Turning her back on him, she started to walk away.

‘No, don’t mention it. All part of the service, ma’am!’ yelled Jack after her.

‘Jack!’ hissed Gwen, furiously. ‘Don’t gloat.’

‘It’s not a particularly good look on you,’ said Ianto quietly.

Jack coughed, embarrassed.

A fleet of helicopters roared overhead and settled behind them on the bypass.

Agnes turned and flashed a thin smile at Jack. ‘No doubt that’ll be the Americans, Harkness. I fear they would be too modern for poor old me. I’ll leave you to deal with them.’ And then, quickly, she turned her head and walked briskly away alone.

Behind them came the sound of forty pairs of army boots hitting the ground, guns being cocked and orders being barked.

‘Oh dear,’ said Ianto. ‘Do you think they’re going to shoot us?’

‘Well, we are standing on a lot of oil,’ sighed Jack. ‘It’s what they normally do.’

Gwen saw Agnes cross the road and gingerly step down the sand dunes towards the beach. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘You deal with Uncle Sam. I’ll go and make sure she’s all right.’

‘Fine,’ groaned Jack. He and Ianto turned round slowly to see the squad running stiffly towards them across the petrol. Jack leaned in to Ianto. ‘So, forty GI Joes and a lot of oil. . . What am I bet?’

‘Ten pounds,’ said Ianto.

Jack looked hurt. ‘Fifty, surely. For the whole lot.’

Ianto raised an eyebrow. ‘I know you too well. Twenty’s as high as I’ll go.’ He reached for his stopwatch.

‘Done,’ sighed Jack, and turned back to the troops, his grin full blast. ‘Fellas! Hiiiiiii. . .’

Gwen made her way down onto the beach. The light was fading and a cold wind was getting up, which made the smell of diesel worse. To top it all, a smoky mist was rolling over the beach, making it hard to pick her way through the dunes and across the pebbles.

‘Agnes!’ she called out, but there was no answer, only the dismal whistling of wind through scrubland.

She forced her way round another headland, looking in vain for a trace of Agnes. She could hear the sea breaking against the beach, rushing in and then rolling out in rocky gurgles across the pebbles. She stepped carefully across it, calling out Agnes’s name again. She looked around her, but couldn’t see much more than the mist. She realised that she wasn’t even that sure what direction the sea or the road was in. It got colder, and Gwen suddenly felt a shiver of fear. She checked in her pocket for her mobile, and squeezed it with relief. She was utterly alone.

In the distance she thought she heard voices, but she wasn’t sure – it was like the fierce whispering of ghosts through the dunes.

She walked on, balancing awkwardly on the rocks. The mist cleared ahead of her, and she saw something remarkable.

Resting on the beach was what looked like a large metal egg, about two metres high. As she got near it, the sound of the sea got louder and louder. She stared at the egg. Close up it was a bronze colour, banded by neat rows of rivets. She started to walk around it. She stopped calling out Agnes’s name, and instead tried calling out a tentative ‘Hello?’

She stepped closer to the egg, reaching into her pocket to phone Jack.

It was at that point that someone knocked her unconscious.

All things considered, Gwen was quite surprised to wake up on a spaceship.

XIV

A CASTLE

IN THE AIR

In which two days have passed, and there is much discussion of the disappearance of Mrs Cooper, while Miss Havisham arranges a most unusual funeral

Rhys:

Rhys stared glumly at the pint.

Jack reached across the pub table. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, squeezing Rhys’s hand. ‘There’s still no sign of her.’

‘Burrr’ muttered Rhys, vacantly. ‘She’ll turn up. She has to.’

‘Honestly,’ said Jack. ‘We’ve combed the entire beach. We’ve found nothing. I mean. . . There was a lot of mist. Visibility was very poor and. . . Well, the pebbles were slippery with oil.’

Rhys looked up, his eyes saggy with exhaustion. ‘What are you saying?’ His voice cracked bitterly. ‘She fell into the sea? Is that what you’re thinking?’

‘No! No,’ hurried Jack. ‘God no. Rhys, honestly. We’re still hopeful. But it’s been two days. There’s just been no trace of her. It’s a possibility. I just can’t see it being a reality. Can you?’

‘No,’ growled Rhys. ‘My wife is still alive.’

‘I know, I know, I know,’ said Jack. ‘I will find her for you.’

‘Two bloody days,’ sighed Rhys, sipping absently at his pint. ‘Not a single word.’

‘Agnes is distraught,’ said Jack. ‘We all are. It’s like Gwen vanished into thin air.’

‘Is it your Rift thing?’ Rhys’s tone was dangerous.

Jack help up a placating hand. ‘We’ve swept the area. Not a whisper of Rift energy. Honestly, relax. She’s not going to suddenly turn up having been in an alien prison for forty years.’

‘Yeah,’ murmured Rhys. ‘But if she had, you’d say exactly that and keep her locked up in your secret facility.’

Jack shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t. I couldn’t, Rhys. I know how much she means to you.’

They sat there, looking out at shoppers skimming past in the rain.

Rhys’s phone bleeped and he pulled it frantically out of his pocket.

‘Nothing,’ he cursed. ‘It’s the battery playing up or something. Keeps doing that. Bloody phones.’

‘Bloody phones,’ agreed Jack, the word sounding odd on his lips.

Agnes:

Jack strode back into the Hub. It looked oddly deserted now. Suzie, Tosh, Owen, now Gwen. The only trace of his leadership of Torchwood was Ianto pottering around in a corner. The last remainder. He looked exhausted.

Indefatigable as ever, Agnes strode across the Hub towards him, a neat, business-as-usual smile on her tidy face. ‘Captain,’ she said smoothly. ‘And how is Mr Williams?’

‘As well as could be,’ said Jack, sour in the knowledge that he hadn’t told Agnes where he was going. ‘I needed to make sure he was holding up. Is that acceptable?’

‘Oh, of course!’ Agnes assured him sweetly. ‘I realise that two whole days have passed since her sudden disappearance, but we must never say die.’ She swept past him to her – to
his
– office. ‘And how goes the clear-up operation?’

‘We’ve got contractors nearly finished at reopening the Penarth Road. Rhys is coordinating – you know, just in case. The problem is those beaches. That diesel is tricky stuff to shift and we’ve got environmental groups holding us up there while they carry out assessments.’

‘Another irony!’ exclaimed Agnes. ‘We try to save the planet, and now we’re poisoning the fish.’ She turned to him in the doorway and smiled, ever so, ever so sweetly. ‘We really must get a move on with that. We’ve saved a lot of lives, but we don’t want this regrettable incident lingering in the memory. However, I have decided we should exploit this delay. Our top priority—’

‘Is to get Gwen back.’

‘Oh absolutely,’ Agnes enthused. ‘But I was thinking about those coffins. Now is a time for sober reflection. I think we need to bring the coffins ashore, scan them for traces of that creature, and then begin work on giving those poor souls inside proper burials. It is our Christian Duty.’

‘Bu—’ began Jack.

‘Well?’ said Agnes. ‘The eyes of the world’s media have shifted somewhat away from Cardiff.’

‘True,’ said Ianto, materialising neatly beside them. ‘Scrubbing doesn’t make for good coverage. Fortunately Cardiff Bay is lacking in diesel-soaked penguins.’

‘Exactly,’ trilled Agnes. ‘And we should capitalise on this hiatus to do something about those coffins. We can’t leave them at sea reminding us of mortality. I will not have it.’

Ianto:

Ianto was making tea in his butler’s pantry. He boiled the kettle, swilled the pot and then started dropping in teabags ready for the morning meeting.

‘Oh no!’ exclaimed Agnes from nearby. ‘You’ve got it wrong.’

‘Have I?’ Ianto was, truth to tell, still uncertain about tea.

‘One for me, thee, Jack and one for the pot. You’ve put in too many bags.’

‘I put in one for Gwen,’ he said.

Jack:

Jack went and stood on a roof, watching Cardiff Bay. He was still wearing the overalls he’d used to help in the clear-up. It felt good, just once, to get his hands actually dirty, and it took his mind off everything. He sensed the end of an era. Once Agnes left, that would be it. Just him and Ianto. He was fairly certain that, with a bit of charm from him, she wouldn’t use her Cowper Key, and they could continue their work. If they wanted to. And he just didn’t know. The cost was getting so high.

So Captain Jack Harkness looked out at the traffic’s orange shimmer across the roads and the glowing lights of the Bay, and then he looked up at the sky.

Gwen:

Gwen looked down at the surface of planet Earth turning far beneath her and poured out another cup of tea.

‘How is the blend this morning, ma’am?’ asked a voice.

‘Oh, it’s fine thanks,’ said Gwen, absently. She watched Africa bend slowly over the horizon.

‘Not too strong?’ continued the voice. ‘I am afraid that the conditions in space for tea-making are not optimal. I have tried my best, ma’am, but unfortunately there are physical restraints which one cannot defy.’

‘No, one cannot,’ said Gwen, stifling a yawn.

‘Toast-making is similarly deplorable, as I am regrettably convinced I have already informed you.’

‘Yes,’ breathed Gwen, spreading some butter.

‘Pleasingly, however, the marmalade and other preserves are still of excellent quality.’

‘Honestly,’ protested Gwen. ‘These are the best in-flight meals I’ve ever had. You’re a brilliant cook!’

‘Oh, you are too kind, ma’am,’ purred the voice. It was rich and plummy and completely artificial, oozing from a nearby speaker. ‘Kedgeree?’

‘I’m utterly stuffed,’ said Gwen. ‘Let’s save it for lunch.’

There was a tiny electronic tut at the impropriety of suggesting kedgeree for lunch.