Torchwood First Born (8 page)

I wander through the office, past the banks of frankly so-obsolete-it's-ha-ha-funny computer terminals. They're still working. Still watching. Still whirring away. Over the years we've brought in new systems, but we've not taken away the old ones.

They're still there.

The thing is... stuff was robust back then. When NASA launched their
Voyager
probes, they were expecting the things to be a joy for a fortnight - but they're still going over thirty years later, still beaming back to us from the fringes of the solar system.

It's like that with these computers. I may own a more intelligent hairdryer, but those beauties belonged to an era where you designed a computer for a single purpose and built it to last. These old girls just sit there, churning away, each one with an elephantine carbon footprint (actually, what is the carbon footprint of elephants?), but still, after thirty years, doing their duty. Sentinels. Keeping watch.

I paused at the door of my office. I'd have loved nothing more than to go down to the hangar that morning. Every morning. The hangar always felt like proper work. Real and genuine 'frontiers-of-science'

stuff. Whereas my office was... oh, if it wasn't emails it was database tables, spreadsheets, forecasts and answering questions I've answered countless times before.

My PC was already on. Sebastian always boots it up for me every morning. He's just being helpful, but it simply means that my inbox is staring at me, waiting. Like a boring, pitiless eye.

And there it was. An email from Jasmine.

I remember my first meeting with her. It's the only time I'd ever actually seen her. She pretty much met me off the plane. Trouser suit. Always a bad sign. Delighted I had come over, lucky to have me, it would be a privilege, she'd be very hands-off but always fight my corner, nod-nod-nod, open smile, warm body language. Clearly, I thought, she's been on a lot of courses.

Mind you, what a poetic name, I thought. Turns out it was the only poetic thing about her. Of course, she was really a corporal or something. So she was actually Corp. J. Bailey. Maybe having such a sweet name is what made her decide to become a trained killing machine. Anyhow, it was a quick meet-and-greet and then she packed us onto the six-hour train journey here, almost before I'd had a chance to take a picture of the London Eye or the Palace or anything much really. Slicing out of London on a giant modern train. Then changing at Wolverhampton (don't ask) onto a smaller and grubbier train that smelt of dog. Then changing again at a place with a name that was mostly 'Ms', Ts and 'DD's onto a couple of damp carriages that took forever to rattle along some breathtakingly grey coast. Wales is so damn beautiful, but I wonder what it would look like if they ever turned on the sun?

By Wolverhampton, Jasmine and I had already run out of things to say to each other. I tried pulling out some of my notes, but she frowned at me.

Clearly, too secret to read on the train, so I thumbed through a battered paperback. Jasmine pecked away at her laptop. How that was somehow less secret, I don't know. But then, that year, spies were always leaving laptops and secrets on trains - maybe it was standard practice for the Brits?

At the end of the line, it was dark and raining.

Jasmine had the keys to an old jeep parked outside the station. We climbed in, and Jasmine bounced me along the dirt tracks to the Monitoring Station.

I'd expected it to be dusty or something, but it was spotless.

That's Sebastian,' she said. 'We couldn't manage without him.'

He met us, courteous and polite and all smiles.

He was wearing a suit, even then.

'Sebastian?' I said, staring at him. He was strikingly handsome. 'I have heard so much about you!' I felt stupid saying that. 'It's... a privilege to meet you,' I gushed. Jeez, button it.

'Pleased to meet you,' he said politely and went to put the kettle on.

Jasmine gave me the tour. The hangar was the most exciting bit, naturally. Even now I can't quite believe it... but no.

Then she checked her watch, frowned slightly and announced Well, it's all yours now. Any questions, you've got my email and my direct line. It's been so good to get you on board. Don't be a stranger.' Then Sebastian drove her back to the station.

I was left alone in the building. Very excited.

Scared witless.

That was the only time I'd ever seen Jasmine. I couldn't even remember what she looked like really.

Doll-like, porcelain pale. But there was nothing fragile about her.

Back to that morning, and the inevitable email from Jasmine. At first it seemed no worse than the others, but it was. It was the start of something dreadful.

Hey,

Thanks for the report! Looks great at first glance.

99% there for me first time, so hooray!

There's a few tiny things that just aren't working
for
me,
though, sorry. Maybe I'm just being slow,
but there appears to be no progress on the issues we
discussed last time. Should we not try and get them
dealt with in the next work cycle? I've had a brief look
in the shared folder, but there doesn't seem to be any
info there. Am I looking in the wrong place?!? If you
could perhaps ping over some data asap on those two
topics that are outstanding, then I know that everyone
here would be really thrilled.

Hope that's not bombarding you! Let me know if
it's getting too much for you, won't you?'

xx Jas x

I stared at the email. Then at two buff folders on my desk. I kept a lot of stuff as hard copy only. After a few early incidents, I knew better than to leave files lying around on the server. Jasmine had a habit of seizing on raw data and twisting it to suit her purposes.

That's why I liked those decades-old computers that lined the corridor. They did their job marvellously and just couldn't be linked up to a network. They wouldn't understand what the internet was. They just did their job and issued their reports, burning the information onto ancient sheetfold paper with a reassuring rasp.

I stared again at the two cardboard folders. 'Mind control', said one. 'Aggression', said the other.

I stood up. Jasmine could wait. I was going to the hangar.

I made it as far as the corridor. Sebastian was collecting printouts, folding them neatly and immaculately tearing off the serrated edges. He would do this for most of the morning, then go and spend an hour checking on the flowers that grew around the village.

Tom slouched into the corridor and stood at my elbow, humming and harring, hovering like a fart in a bath. He clearly wanted to say something. I folded away the printout and looked at him.

'Seriously, boss,' he said. 'Can I have a word?'

He'd pocketed his phone. Clearly he was giving me his undivided attention.

I nodded. Sometimes you have to accept fate. Fate did not want me to go to the hangar today.

'What is it?' I tried to be businesslike.

'Right,' he began, stumbling a little. 'That family that have turned up in the village?'

'The Williamses?' I nodded. 'Has there been any progress?'

'Progress!' He was angry. 'Tony Brown bloody attacked one of them.'

'What? The policeman?'

'Sexually...' Tom paused. 'Er... Like a sex-starved rabbit.'

I felt a strange, chilly sensation. 'Jeez,' I said.

'The kids picked up on it somehow and stopped it.

But it was a close call.'

'Oh my,' I said. 'That's dreadful.'

'I had Megan Harries round demanding something was done,' Tom thundered. He raised an eyebrow.

'It's a real problem, isn't it, boss?'

'The Williamses,' I groaned. 'And that's why we introduced the policy of managed isolation.' I drummed my fingers on a computer casing turned grey with age. 'Rawbone has been gradually closed off from the outside world. I knew that having strangers appear would interfere with the data set.'

'Data set?' Tom was shouting. 'They're people!

The poor woman was bloody traumatised. She was nearly raped.'

Oh my gosh. 'Yeah.' I held up a hand. 'Yeah,' I repeated. Ts she OK?'

'Kind of,' said Tom. 'I dragged Josh round there last night so I could check on her. Hence the hangover.'

'And the baby?' I felt a knot of tension in my stomach.

'Oh, the child is fine as well. It could have been a lot worse.'

Sebastian spoke up. 'The Scions stopped it going too far.' He looked up from reloading a printer. They have followed your standing protocols. A further incident was prevented last night.'

'A further incident?' Tom was alarmed.

Sebastian flicked through a printout, 'The husband went round to the policeman's house.'

'Oh my god,' Tom growled. 'But... when I left them...'

Sebastian passed me the printout. The incident was contained... without further harm,' he said.

'By who?' asked Tom.

I leafed through the sheets of green-and-white striped paper. 'Jenny.'

'Hmm,' said Tom.

I knew what he meant. There was something atypical about that girl. Ah well. She was growing up.

'Right then,' I said, sensing any plans I'd had for the day slipping away. Tom, can you make sure the Williamses are watched like a hawk? We want them to be OK.'

'Yay,' said Tom, clapping his hands together like a flamenco dancer. 'More boozing it is.'

'And Sebastian, can you bring me any relevant information on these incidents? Sounds like an interesting near miss. I can actually work all this up into a report for Jasmine the Terrible. We have a perfect set of data here on their containment of aggressive action. That should keep her off our backs for months.'

'Really?' said Tom, his mouth twisted with slight distaste. I knew how bad it sounded. But it could be a lot worse.

'I hope so.' I felt weary, so weary. 'I really hope so.'

G w e n

The dreams got odder. Like I was falling into a
strange world where everything was broken. Where
the streets of Cardiff were almost empty. First there d
been the strange shadow that had spread over the
land, wiping out whoever it touched. Then, not even
a year later, one of the Welsh nuclear power stations
had blown up. No one had been there to stop it. That
had taken out a lot more people.

Those that were left lived out strange lives that got
even stranger when something dreadful happened to
the Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland. While
back in Cardiff reports spread of terrible things
occurring - of cannibal cults marching towards the
city, of fearsome beasts emerging from the sewers to
hunt down the survivors.

Frankly, it was a bit of a mercy when those aliens
turned up offering to take our children away. We
wanted them to have a better life somewhere else.

Because this planet was finished. Without
Torchwood.

I woke up in a lot of pain. OK, a true fact about being an Earth Mother is that it's bloody painful. Gaia - if it's not agony, you're doing it wrong. Breastfeeding is one of those things. I mean, clearly, boys, if you're reading this, you've crossed your legs and your testicles have crawled back inside your pelvis, but breasts are not just jolly fun bags. They have a purpose.

It is to make my life hell.

I used to have an alarm clock. I don't bother any more. When my breasts are full, I wake up.

It's not that 'Ooh, quite fancy a pee' thing you get in the middle of the night. No. It's a John-Hurt-In-Alien sensation. Good morning world, my boobs are exploding.

I staggered into the living room, a breast pad stuck to my cheek (one always gets there in the middle of the night, dunno how, but I hope Rhys likes his wife smelling a tiny bit like a cheese slice).

In the old days, before AD (Anwen Domini), I often used to find Rhys asleep on the sofa, half a bottle of warm beer still held in his hands. Now he's clutching a baby bottle.

Anwen, of course, was in full-on angelic mode, just starting to stir. I picked her up, plugged her in to feed. Her eyes fixed on mine for an instant, then rolled up into her head. She looked truly, blissfully happy.

Once she was back in her cot, I popped the kettle on. Sod what the paper says this week, I'd have coffee. I'd gotten used to having instant again.

Shame. I missed proper coffee. More, I massed those days when someone made it for me. No matter how hung over, tired, or attacked by monsters, there'd always be a lovely cup waiting for me. Odd what you take for granted.

I stood there. Life was all back to normal. I had managed not to think about bloody Tony Brown.

About the weird kids in the village. It's one of the advantages of your brain turning to post-baby mush.

Some days I can't even really remember my own name.

On cue, Rhys woke up as the kettle boiled and I handed him a mug. He was about to ask me to put some toast on, but I already had. For I am woman, and multitasking is my superpower. It also took my mind off how sore my nipples were, but let's not go there. They say geranium leaves are brilliant for it, but you tell me where I'm supposed to get a geranium leaf in a caravan park in North Wales and I will give you a shiny silver dollar.

Rhys looked a bit rumpled. 'You OK?' I asked him.

'How about you?' he countered.

I just nodded.

He nodded back, a bit shifty and buttered his toast. I'd find out later.

There was a knock at the door, and I opened it instinctively. Foolish, rookie error - forgetting the danger in the village, the men hunting me. I was just too stupidly tired. I wasn't even thinking about the infant clasped to my breast. Standing there was a girl, holding out a newspaper. Early teenage years, but really neatly turned out. Dark hair in no need of straighteners, school uniform worn like no one ever wears school uniform, skin perfect in the way that no 15-year-old has. Right, one of the Scions. I'd met her yesterday, at Mrs Harries's house.

'Jenny?' said Rhys.