Risk Assessment Part 4

And it waited for the carrion feeders.

By the time it made it off the beach, the Vam had learned a lot about this world. It had also grown pleasingly. Now the size of a deflated football, the sticky black ma.s.s rolled and crawled its way up the beach. Now it was mobile, it was easily able to locate tiny moving insects. Some of them were even blown onto it by the breeze. Breeze, it thought. It would be nice to eat something that couldn't fly. It had pretty much had its fill. It would like something more intelligent. Something from which it could learn. The Vam enjoyed learning almost as much as it enjoyed eating.

The Vam reached the top of an incline and extruded a basic visual sensor. Hmm, interesting. Much of what was around it was artificial in construction. Promising. Still, in the distance, beyond all the regularity, was a certain amount of natural life. Tasty. The Vam let itself look forward to eating all this new knowledge. Hey!

It recoiled, much to its surprise, as a moving box slid past it. Ahhh. A craft. It had been a while since the Vam had seen a craft, and then it had been something far more complex and deadly, a battle cruiser throwing itself at the Vam in a futile suicide run.

The Vam was transfixed both by the motion and the occupant of the vehicle. It would, it decided, very much like one of them. Another craft slid past, and the Vam wondered how to get inside one. It posited that they probably stopped somewhere to unseal their precious cargo. Ah well. The Vam rolled down the road in steady pursuit of the. . . Fiat Punto.

An hour later, the Vam had feasted on its first human victim. Engorged at such wonders, the Vam paused in its consumption, just long enough to learn the victim's name (Suzanne), all about the profession of estate agency, that it was squatting on what remained of her face in a car park, that she really wished that she owned a more reliable car, some worries about being late for work, an unresolved romantic attachment to a man called Brian and, while it was at it, all of her knowledge. Goodness, thought the Vam, what a meal, what a civilisation.

It drew itself up slightly and looked around. It was un.o.bserved. Which was good, as it was still vulnerable. But still, it had to be said. 'Fear me, humanity, for I am the Vam!' it whispered, trying out a human language for the first time. It remains to be known whether the National a.s.sembly would have been proud that the Vam's first words were in Welsh. But there we go.

And then the Vam looked at the remains of Suzanne. And decided the best thing to do would be to make sure that no trace remained. For the moment, it must remain unknown. It looked down at the beach and thought, 'h.e.l.lo beach! h.e.l.lo birds! h.e.l.lo sky!' etc. And then it looked at the small cl.u.s.ter of 'buildings' and laughed. 'h.e.l.lo Penarth.'

And then the Vam had a very clever idea.

VII.

THE PROGRESS.

OF AN EPIDEMIC.

In which Captain Harkness makes a rash promise, and Miss Havisham visits the luxurious dwellings of the urban poor When Agnes and Jack got back from the graveyard, Ianto and Gwen were waiting for them in the harbour. Agnes was all silence. She stepped neatly out of the new Torchwood speedboat, the Sea Queen II Sea Queen II, and strode away from the jetty without a word.

Ianto tied the boat up with an efficient knot. 'I think,' he said, 'she's very cross.'

'Yes,' said Gwen, helping Jack out of the boat.

'Hmmm,' sighed Jack. 'And she may even be right. I hate it when she's right. It's not just my pride at stake, although that's obviously enormously important.'

'Obviously,' said Ianto.

'No,' continued Jack. 'It's that when she's right, lots of people die.'

The artillery sh.e.l.l fell too close to the window, blowing gla.s.s against the hastily drawn curtains, slicing jagged tears in the cheery floral pattern. Plaster dust filled the room.

Jack pulled himself up off the ground, trying not to choke, and noticed Agnes already stood at the window, firing her gun at their attackers.

Jack turned to the survivors all sixteen of them, huddled in a grimy corner of the room. They looked at him, desperately.

'Don't worry,' he said, 'We're going to get you out of here.'

And without looking round from the window, Agnes spoke. 'Captain Harkness,' she said coldly, 'should not promise what he cannot deliver.'

Finally, Ianto was alone. The Hub ticked away to itself, like an intricate clockwork masterpiece slowly, steadily unwinding. Ianto cleared away some stray mugs, and closed down a couple of abandoned computer terminals, straightening up leftover paperwork and tidying away pencils and pens into appropriate slots. Hmm, a slight smear on Gwen's monitor. Probably brown sauce. He'd give that a wipe down in a bit.

He breathed out, relaxing quietly at the thought of another day over. The world still here. Good.

'Mr Jones, a word if you please.' Agnes's voice rang through the Hub, and Ianto let out a little yelp of surprise.

He wheeled round to Jack's old office. The lights were off, but he could just see Agnes sat there in the darkness.

'Miss Havisham?' he said.

Her silhouette moved, an arm beckoning. The motion triggered some lights into action, flickering across her face, which was smiling at him kindly.

'Mr Jones. . . Ianto. . . Come through, come through,' she said, patting a chair. She leaned over Jack's desk, plucking a boiled sweet out of a jar, carefully unwrapping it, sucking on it thoughtfully while she neatly and precisely folded away the wrapper.

Ianto sat down opposite her.

'You're working late,' he said. 'Well, you're sitting in the dark. Which is freaky.'

Agnes smiled pleasantly. 'Actually, I was listening to the wireless,' she said. She indicated an ancient valve radio, which was hissing quietly. She shrugged. 'Nothing on.'

Ianto leaned forward. 'I can retune it. . . Red Dragon is. . .'

She waved him away. 'It's on the correct channel. Please leave it be.'

And so they sat, awkwardly, listening to static.

'So,' said Agnes.

'Yes,' said Ianto.

'Have you worked here long?' asked Agnes.

Ianto immediately realised she knew the answer. She was the kind of woman who would have memorised his entire personnel file, even the awkward or curious bits that Jack had never bothered to write down. She was smiling at him with the pleasant complacency of someone who knew everything about him. Dangerous.

'I worked at Torchwood One,' he said.

She nodded. 'A fine place, which by all accounts came to a lamentable end.' The smile widened, and she adopted a carefully confidential air. 'I must admit that, at this precise moment, the Torchwood project looks like a n.o.ble failure. I feel that my role is almost redundant.'

'Why didn't you wake up when Torchwood One fell?' Ianto asked. The wrong question.

Agnes's face thinned. 'I can only suspect a catastrophic systems failure. I fear there's only a point in awakening the a.s.sessor when there is still a Torchwood branch to save. Why, when Torchwood Four went missing, all there was was. . .'

Ianto leant forward, interested.

Agnes waved a hand, dismissively. '... an awful mess that we won't go into here. But I'm sorry for Torchwood One. I must admit, I find the entire situation a bit of a shock. Imagine. The last time I go to sleep it's the 1970s and, aside from some quite startling hairstyles, everything is in order. And then I wake up and find. . . well, it's like discovering the loss of the Empire. When I first went to sleep most of the map was painted a bold red, Victoria was Empress of India, and Torchwood were busily plundering the Raj. First time I wake up, I glance at a copy of The Times The Times, and I think, Oh dear Oh dear.' She leaned back. 'It's curious, flickering through history like slides on a magic lantern. I wonder if I've seen all I'm supposed to see, and feel almost cheated that I can't pop back and have a peep at some of the bits I've missed out on.'

'Well, there's always the internet,' said Ianto.

'Really?' said Agnes. 'And what is an internet?'

'Oh,' said Ianto. 'Well. . . um. . . a few years ago there was a project that linked up every single computer in the world to form one enormous datas.p.a.ce of information.'

Agnes nodded. 'And it became sentient and tried to destroy the world?'

Ianto shook his head. 'Actually, mostly just shopping, dating and cats. But there's also an online encyclopaedia that's quite useful. And there's a lot of video clips. Again, mostly cats. But also some history.'

Agnes shrugged. 'Perhaps you'll be kind enough to show me this internet later. It sounds like a fascinating bagatelle. In the meantime, I was wondering if we could have a word.'

'Oh,' said Ianto, suddenly fearful again. 'Is it about the tea? I've been wondering if I should switch brands. . .'

'No no,' said Agnes, waving a hand. 'I can only imagine the trouble you must have with that bagged tea. No. I wished to have a word with you. . . about Jack. About. . . you and Jack.'

Ianto made a tiny, awkward noise.

Agnes leant forward, smiling. 'Am I correct in understanding that there is an intimacy between the two of you?'

Ianto nodded, looking as if he'd like to hide under a rock.

'No doubt one initiated by Harkness,' said Agnes soothingly. 'There is nothing to blame yourself for. You certainly wouldn't be the first member of Torchwood to be corrupted by the Captain's reprehensible morals. Sometimes I wonder if that man is incapable of forming a platonic friends.h.i.+p. He has all the swordsmans.h.i.+p of a Frenchie. It's common knowledge that the men of that country would seduce a table with an attractively turned leg. I rather fear the furniture of Torchwood is similarly prey to that man's depravities. But no matter. I do not concern myself with the despoiling of desking. As far as I'm concerned, he can slake his l.u.s.ts on all manner of inanimate objects. No, rather it's perishable goods. . . it is you I am worried about.'

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, gla.s.s s.h.i.+ning 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 n.o.body. 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 Tos.h.i.+ko'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 precis, if you please,' she snapped.

Gwen breathed in. 's.h.i.+ny 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 gla.s.s 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 s.h.i.+ning 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.