Risk Assessment (7 page)

She laid a hand on Ianto’s and met his shrinking eye.

‘Do you have feelings for Captain Harkness, Mr Jones?’

‘Yes,’ said Ianto simply.

‘You should be aware. . .’ Agnes coughed. ‘Well, it’s just that I have known several of the Captain’s companions. I’ve even met a fair few of them. My point is that those close to Harkness tend to die. He just isn’t aware that his invulnerability doesn’t extend to those he loves.’

‘I know,’ said Ianto quietly.

Agnes looked at him, hard. ‘Well, I understand. It’s entirely your choice. But I must warn you there’s only one outcome. And I am sorry for you.’

‘I see,’ said Ianto, tightly. ‘Thank you.’

And they sat quietly for a while, while the empty radio hissed away.

SkyPoint had once been the most desired address in Cardiff. That had been before the building had started eating residents. And the recession. Now it was just another nearly vacant tower block in the Bay, glass shining from empty apartment after empty apartment. The Vam couldn’t have hoped for somewhere more secluded. Suzanne’s memories told it that SkyPoint was the least visited property on her books. (What was a book, it wondered. It would like to know at some point.) The Vam rolled gently along the beach towards the nearly abandoned peninsula where the once proud SkyPoint glistened in the morning rain.

At 10 a.m., there were two caretakers, one receptionist, and two dozen residents in SkyPoint. By 11a.m., there was nobody. It was 6 p.m. before any of them were missed.

A computer started to beep, gently. Jack kicked it idly with a toe, and then noticed Agnes watching him.

‘Game’s afoot, Harkness?’ she enquired.

Jack stabbed the computer and it went silent. ‘Not really. Just one of Toshiko’s automatic alarms. Honestly, she set up so many of them, this thing pings at least once a day.’

‘Indeed? And what’s provoked it this time?’ Agnes was interested in the machine.

‘Well,’ said Jack, scanning down the screen. ‘It looks like a tag she placed on one of our previous cases has gone into action.’

‘Unfinished business? How thrilling, Captain. Leaving things half-finished must guarantee you’re always busy.’

Gwen and Ianto wandered over – both of them sensing a fight.

Jack, however, was more absorbed in the screen than in another confrontation with Agnes. ‘Gwen, Ianto – you’re not going to like this. . .’ he said, beckoning them over with his grimmest smile that said, ‘Well, you won’t like it, but anyway. . .’

‘SkyPoint?’ Gwen had seen what was on Jack’s screen. ‘I thought that dump was pretty much abandoned.’

Jack shrugged. ‘Even so, its few remaining residents, the caretakers and the unluckiest estate agent in Cardiff have just been reported missing.’

‘Perhaps they all ran away together?’ suggested Ianto, his smirk dying under the lantern of Agnes’s face.

‘A brief précis, if you please,’ she snapped.

Gwen breathed in. ‘Shiny apartment building. Tenants eaten by alien. It’s been pretty empty since.’

Agnes nodded. ‘I have heard many similar warnings about tenement living. It is only to be expected. But. . . how far is this away from where you collected that coffin?’

Ianto glanced at the map. ‘About a mile. Oh.’ His face fell.

Agnes nodded. ‘So there may be a connection.’

Gwen shuddered, ‘You won’t get me back there in a hurry.’

‘Actually,’ Agnes turned to her and smiled. ‘Can you drive an automobile, Mrs Cooper?’

‘Yes,’ said Gwen, alarmed.

‘Good. Then you can convey me there. If you’re too delicate to venture inside, I shall quite understand. Fear not. I have my police whistle and a Webley.’ She strode off to the invisible lift.

‘Don’t you want me—’ began Jack. The expression on his face was heartbreaking. And funny, decided Gwen. He looked like he’d been left off the school trip to Chessington World of Adventures.

Ianto threw Gwen the keys, and she caught them. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry – it’s a false alarm. And I’ll bring Agnes back in one piece.’

Jack grimaced. ‘I’m not fussy,’ he said.

In the setting sun, Agnes stood outside the lobby of SkyPoint. She looked up. And up, her eyes slowly taking in the sheer tall tallness of the building.

‘So much glass and metal,’ she breathed to Gwen. ‘It’s. . .’ she breathed, ‘
ugly
.’

Gwen giggled. ‘Ugly?’

‘Yes,’ said Agnes. ‘I mean, I’m sure it’s all very well for people of your time, but I must admit, I find this kind of building very. . . cheerless. Empty grandeur never really did for the Empire, you know. Shall we?’

The lobby of SkyPoint had changed remarkably since Gwen had last been there. Then it had been a shining marble palace. Now, it was a wreck. She couldn’t quite put her finger on how it was a wreck, exactly. But the empty lobby, so cold, so cheerless, looked and felt wrong somehow. Partly the lack of glowing lights and ice-cool receptionist. But somehow. . . She shuddered.

Agnes looked around her, as though expecting the worst. She nodded grimly. ‘Like the lobby at my bank.’

Something landed on her shoulder, and she gave a slight start, jumping back.

Gwen ran up to her. ‘What was that?’ she asked.

Agnes shrugged, craning round to look at her shoulder. ‘I don’t. . . I think merely a water droplet. No doubt the plumbing is deplorable.’

They both looked up. And stepped back hurriedly.

Where once there had been a chequerboard of ceiling panels, there was now an empty metal skeleton, tiny snotty strands of dissolved plastic trailing down.

‘What?’ gasped Gwen.

‘I don’t know, my dear,’ said Agnes, coldly. Her gun was drawn. ‘I am presuming this is not a usual phenomenon?’ Gwen shook her head. ‘What is supposed to be there?’

‘Polystyrene,’ said Gwen. ‘Polystyrene ceiling panels.’

Agnes looked blank.

‘Er. . . a plastic. . . derived from oil. . . a. . .’

‘Like celluloid, I see.’ Agnes sniffed dismissively. ‘I understand. An artificial material. And it’s been consumed. Fear not. I am familiar with plastic.’

The wall behind her vanished, and she scrambled hurriedly for cover.

She turned rapidly to the worried-looking scientist.

‘Let me see if I understand you correctly, Professor Jenkins,’ she gasped, dragging him through the spinney, aware of the disagreeably autumnal smell of burning privet in the air. ‘This Torchwood training camp is almost entirely composed of—’

A plastic nun swung across their path and Agnes removed its head with a single shot.

‘— entirely composed of plastic mannequins?’

‘Er, yes,’ gasped Jenkins. ‘You’re not supposed to shoot the nuns. Strictly speaking. And these experiments have the approval of Mr Chamberlain.’

Agnes sighed. ‘Someone clearly bullied that out of him. So, these are here for the purposes of training operatives? And something has taken control of them?’

‘Yes,’ wailed Jenkins. ‘They’ve killed everyone!’

They turned a corner and were confronted by a dead end in the maze. Behind them came an ominous stepping noise. They turned, and were confronted by the sight of a plastic milkman staggering towards them, blank eyes searching the air.

‘Dead end!’ cried Jenkins.

She tutted. ‘One does not always play by the rules,’ she said.

The plastic milkman fired at them, but they had ducked. The shot blew a hole in the wall of the maze. They ran for freedom.

Agnes glanced around. ‘Anything else wrong?’

Gwen looked ahead of them. It was dark and she could just hear dripping. ‘No lights. . . not even emergency ones.’ She went over to the receptionist’s desk. All that remained of a computer and monitor were a few electrical components embedded in a plastic toffee.

Agnes leaned over. ‘How efficient,’ she said. ‘Have you a lantern?’ Gwen passed her a torch, and Agnes clicked it on expertly. ‘Fascinating,’ she said. ‘It’s a long time since I studied protein strings and polymers, my dear. And I’m sure at the dawn of Torchwood we were scientific infants compared to you. It’s simple, isn’t it?’

Gwen shrugged, slightly embarrassed. ‘Owen and Tosh did most of the science stuff. I nearly did Biology A level, but Mrs Stringer was a nightmare. So I did French instead.’

Agnes tilted her head. ‘I see. This is a school qualification? Well, you really mustn’t feel embarrassed. You’ve worked for Jack Harkness for over two years and are still alive. A commendable achievement in itself.’ She smiled and gestured with her torch. ‘We have evidence something devoured that computer most efficiently. All that remains could not be digested. Which tells us that metal is thankfully of no interest to it. This plastic. . . is it now of ubiquity?’

Gwen was still looking at the computer. ‘Er. . . well, yeah. Kind of. I mean it’s everywhere.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Agnes, looking smugly pleased. ‘Then Harkness has got himself into a pickle. He’s allowed a plastic-eater loose into the world. Let’s hope it’s not like an airborne bacterium. If it has a physical form, if it has to do work to find its prey, then humanity still has a chance.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Gwen.

Agnes swung the torch around so that it was shining into Gwen’s face. ‘It has a varied diet, my dear. Along with some ceiling panels and a microcomputer, over a dozen people have been reported missing. If it is an airborne flesh-eater, then it is already too late for us. But we both appear intact. I suggest we look around this towering abomination and then head back to the Hub.’ She swung away, taking the torch with her.

‘Great,’ thought Gwen. Immediately, her skin began to prickle, and she became convinced her flesh was dissolving. The sun had set and she was back in SkyPoint and she was about to be eaten alive. Again.

They made their way around the lobby, aware of the growing volume of dripping and creaking noises. Gwen pointed out a mostly digested electrical socket. ‘It’s been eating the wiring.’

‘Ah,’ Agnes nodded gravely. ‘Domestic electricity. I’ve never really had a chance to examine the proliferation of electricity mains in the home environment. In my day it was still something of a novelty. Is there a socket in every room?’

‘Several,’ said Gwen seriously. ‘It’s throughout the building. Each wire is insulated with a plastic sheath – and it’s been eaten away, blowing every fuse in the building. It explains why the lighting isn’t working. . .’

‘Ah, and accounts for that faintly sulphurous smell of conflagration. I suspect we’ll find a small fire somewhere in the building.’ Agnes looked alarmed for an instant.

‘Yeah, well,’ said Gwen. ‘I still think we should have a quick look around, eh? Just a brief look on an upper level.’

They crossed to the elevator – not only was it not working, but there weren’t even any buttons left to call it. So they crossed to the fire stairs and made their way up.

‘If only my parents could see me!’ laughed Agnes as she led the way. ‘I don’t know if they’d be more horrified that someone of my upbringing fought monsters or used the back stairs. Ah well.’

The first floor was creepy in the extreme, like walking through a collapsing bouncy castle. The noises were building around them, and their feet stuck with every step. Agnes glared down. ‘You use plastic in your carpeting?’ she asked, quietly amazed. ‘One would have thought that nothing could surpass wool, but clearly you have. I fear you may have become over-reliant on a single material.’ And she tutted her displeasure.

Gwen raised an eyebrow. Truth to tell, she was getting a bit tired of this. Stuck in a dark, dissolving tower block, at imminent danger from flesh-eating bugs or of being patronised to death. ‘Pity a smug-eating alien didn’t land in the Victorian era,’ she muttered.

Agnes barked a short laugh. ‘You think me a little harsh? Well, perhaps. Every era gets the monsters it deserves. I merely observe that you have a superfluity of the material – which would make you tempting for something that preyed on it. Sadly, Wedgwood china never had the same appeal for an alien predator.’ She spread out a mollifying grin. ‘Bear in mind, a few weeks ago Queen Victoria was on the throne, Gilbert and Sullivan were still the toast of the town, and the biggest threat to civilisation was a revival of
The Importance of Being Earnest
. It’s been quite a time, I can tell you. Really, Mrs Cooper, you must tell me when I’m being unduly cruel. Unless it’s about Captain Harkness.’

‘What is it about you two?’ asked Gwen, intrigued.

For a moment it looked as though Agnes was about to tell her, and then she shook her head. ‘He deserves that, at least,’ she muttered to herself, and stepped down the corridor. ‘Let’s inspect one of these slum dwellings,’ she muttered.

Gwen’s phone beeped, and she pulled it out of her pocket. A text from Rhys.

Agnes glanced over. ‘Your mobile device is made out of plastic?’ she asked, intrigued. ‘As is this torch. . . and neither has been consumed. Finally, something promising. I am beginning to hope that the threat has moved on.’ She strode off, trying the door to one of the apartments. ‘Should your device start to rot, or the light go in either of these torches, then at least we’ll know that we are in serious trouble.’ Agnes sounded pleased.