'A chemical process with menaces,' said one of the men, and nodded. 'Thank you, ah, Mrs Cooper,' he said. 'We don't want the Animal Rights people on our backs.'

'Oh,' said Gwen, surprised. 'I'd genuinely not thought. . . You see, there's every evidence that this creature is a plague. It arrives on planets, and it consumes all life on them. It's here on Earth now. We can't immediately find a way to get rid of it. For the moment, we propose containing it, and harvesting energy from it through managing its size.'

'Quite simply,' said Agnes, folding her hands, 'if we don't do this, it will destroy us all.'

'Tough sell,' muttered one of the men, and another nodded.

'Like all truths, it is not easily palatable,' admitted Agnes. 'But are you familiar with the old medical practice of mummia mummia grinding up Egyptian mummies into a powder to be ingested? A practice which I now believe is deplored as both a desecration of the dead and a waste of valuable archaeological material. Yet what do you do every time you fill up your motor car? Sealed within the Earth's crust is a priceless, limited stock of ageless history and a little more of it gets depleted every time you start your car engine. Why else is it called fossil fuel, hmm?' grinding up Egyptian mummies into a powder to be ingested? A practice which I now believe is deplored as both a desecration of the dead and a waste of valuable archaeological material. Yet what do you do every time you fill up your motor car? Sealed within the Earth's crust is a priceless, limited stock of ageless history and a little more of it gets depleted every time you start your car engine. Why else is it called fossil fuel, hmm?'

'Well,' said the first man, and then petered out.

Agnes pressed on. 'In future years, the practice will seem as quaint as mummia mummia. Instead, you'll be converting all of mankind's waste into food for this creature, in return for which. . . fuel. It is quite the most. . .' A pause. '... the most Green policy anyone could put forward.' She favoured everyone with a smile.

The three men's eyes drifted up to the creature, and then back to Agnes.

She nodded. 'Oh yes, it is ugly but it is the future.'

'You have to see,' ventured the second man, 'that it's a bizarre concept.'

With a cough and a shrug, Gwen caught their attention. 'The biggest producer of greenhouse gases on the planet is the cow. Scientists have been looking at harvesting their expelled methane as a viable energy source. Surely this is a little less strange than cows waddling around fields with bags to catch their farts?'

Agnes clucked with mild disapproval at the phrase.

'What's the next step?' asked the third man.

Ianto, who had arrived silently, read from a clipboard. 'Torchwood are working on some viable solutions for containment. Tests suggest that this creature has grown remarkably.'

'How remarkably?' asked the first man.

'Ah,' said Ianto, flicking over a couple of sheets. 'Probably the size of a pea yesterday.' He gestured with a neat cuff up to the wobbling ma.s.s dominating the skyline. 'And growing. From our point of view, we'd need to keep it to a manageable size.'

'The easiest thing would be to evacuate Wales,' said Agnes.

The third man spluttered with alarm.

'However,' hurried on Ianto, 'bearing in mind the old adage that oil and water do not mix, we're investigating an offsh.o.r.e containment facility. There are a variety of technologies that Torchwood has unique access to that could facilitate this facility.' He smiled weakly at the end of the sentence. 'If you see what I mean.'

The third man looked at him sternly. 'Somewhere like Neath?'

Ianto nodded. 'Not exactly a region of unspoiled beauty as it is, is it?'

'I have a question,' said the first man. 'Where is Jack Harkness? Isn't he normally in charge of Torchwood operations?'

Ianto and Gwen didn't even flinch as Agnes's voice rang out clearly. 'Captain Harkness is exploring other options. In case successful containment of the creature proves impossible, I believe he is preparing to kill it.'

Good luck with that, thought the Vam, amused. thought the Vam, amused.

Jack pulled the test tube from his pocket and placed it on the table.

'That it?' asked Rhys, mildly horrified. He poked the tube with a pencil and it rolled slightly, the black substance inside failing to move.

'Yup,' said Jack. 'A slice of the creature that could eat this planet. Oh, don't worry once you separate a chunk of it from the whole, it stops being alive and just becomes. . . well, crude oil, pretty much.'

'So Cardiff is about to be eaten by a giant oil slick?'

'Yup. And we need to find a way of destroying the tar baby. It's already eaten SkyPoint, a warehouse full of toys, a lot of decent people, and an estate agent. And I think it's planning its next move and I bet it'll be a big one.'

'OK,' said Rhys, leaning back in his chair slightly. 'And I presume you've looked into the obvious way of destroying it?'

'What?' said Jack. 'Detergents? Yeah, they're slightly effective at containing the spread of it. But. . .'

'No,' sighed Rhys. 'A match.'

Jack blinked.

Rhys smirked.

'Afraid not, Rhys,' sighed Jack. 'It's got some kind of molecular shielding that's annoyingly effective. As I said carve a slice of it off, and it's no longer sentient or shielded and burns quite nicely. But as a single lump it's rather neatly fireproofed probably the same ah, electrical processes that must contain its consciousness also form a neat barrier or dispersal mechanism. I'm not really certain.'

'Right,' said Rhys. 'And you want my help fighting something you're not quite certain about?'

'Oh yes,' said Jack. 'Agnes Havisham has convinced Gwen and Ianto that we can exploit it. She woke up two days ago and already she's trying to solve the world energy crisis. Rubbish in, diesel out. Big whoop.'

'I can see her point,' muttered Rhys, imagining running his fleet on a fuel bill of zero.

'Yeaahhhh,' Jack pulled a face. 'But this is why I've come to you for help. You're an original thinker. . . You know. . .'

'Easily intimidated by your good looks and military bearing?'

Jack nodded. 'Plus you've got a lot of trucks, and we're going to need a lot of trucks.'

Rhys rubbed his hands together, and noticed that his palms were sweating. 'What makes you sure you're right?'

'It has a name,' said Jack. 'It referred to itself, just once, as the Vam.'

'Value Added Material?' laughed Rhys.

'What?' said Jack.

'Oh. It's one of those geek things. Like, you know, the extras you get on DVDs and stuff. Why?'

'It's not that. I've looked it up in all the records that Torchwood has. . . acquired. . . from alien species, there isn't a single mention of the Vam. The creature is not a new thing. Which suggests that, if it is a devourer of worlds, it is spectacularly successful. No one who has ever heard its name has survived.'

'Oh,' said Rhys.

A silence settled between the two of them.

'Or,' shrugged Jack, helping himself to the last digestive biscuit, 'maybe it is the miracle solution to Earth's environmental crisis. What do you think?'

The three men in suits got into their cars and drove away. Ianto neatly packed up the canvas chairs. Agnes turned to Gwen. 'Well, that went reasonably well, all things considered,' she said.

'Uh-huh,' said Gwen.

'Mrs Cooper, we are attempting to sell a whole new paradigm for living to three dull men who hold office. I am optimistic of success, but not one hundred per cent.'

'What else do you suggest?' asked Ianto.

Agnes pointed to the distant cameras that had been churning out increasingly baffling and abstract reports on a possible chemical spill or gas explosion on the Penarth Road. 'We take it into the public arena. We let the people decide.'

'Umm,' said Ianto. 'It's very hard to do good PR for man-eating slime.'

For an instant, it looked like Agnes was about to say something gung-ho, but then her shoulders slumped and she looked up at the giant, wobbling black creature. 'Yes,' she exhaled slowly. 'It is, isn't it? But if we don't try something, it will consume the world.'

Jack marched Rhys across to the water tower. 'I'm taking you in the flashy way,' he said.

'Your flying lift thing?' asked Rhys.

'Yup.'

'Lovely.' Rhys eyed the giant silver fountain. 'And that never fails to impress, does it?'

'Nope.'

They stood on a certain paving slab. Which clicked imperceptibly and then started to slide down into the Hub.

'Thing is, the Missus has already shown me it, mate.'

'Ah,' said Jack.

They started to sink out of view of an unconcerned Bay.

'Actually,' admitted Rhys's voice from the void, 'it's still b.l.o.o.d.y impressive. Does it just have the one speed?'

There was the tiniest of pauses. And a click.

'Wheeeeeee!'

Deep in the Torchwood Hub were many things hidden away for the good of humanity. There were cells, there were vaults, and then there were storehouses. There were bunkers, there were chambers, and then there were the Schrodinger Cubes. And, finally, there was a very tightly locked door labelled Weapons Weapons.

'Right,' said Rhys as Jack spun a submarine-style wheel and tapped away at a keypad. 'What's that?'

'Entry coder,' sighed Jack. 'Not even Ianto has the algorithm to this. This stuff is verboten verboten.'

'Enormous stash of ray guns? Can't think why,' muttered Rhys.

'Exactly,' said Jack. 'Now, Old Torchwood, they loved a death beam. There was talk of trying to win the First World War with one. Can you imagine that? Cybernetically enhanced soldiers striding through the trenches, blasting the enemy away into thin air? The death toll might not actually have gone up all that much, but it would have done wonders for the stench. And the vermin.' Jack shut his eyes while he tapped in the last few digits.

'You talk about it as though you were. . .'

'There?' Jack nodded. 'I'm very well preserved. Sometimes it's a bit of a curse. Handy on the dating scene, rubbish on the battlefield. Nice thing about not sleeping much is the lack of nightmares.'

He swung the door open. A rush of cold, damp air washed over them, and they stepped into a room as old fluorescent lamps blinked lazily into action. It was a large warehouse. Rack after rack of curiously shaped objects stretched before them. Some needed to be carried by ten men, and others would have fitted snugly in the palm of a baby's hand. Most of them had one thing in common a sharply pointed business end.

'Cool,' said Rhys.

'Oh yeah,' agreed Jack. 'Every Boy Toy you could imagine is in here. And I try and ignore every single one of them on a daily basis.'

'But you're willing to make the odd exception-' Rhys reached out a hand for something small and blue on a nearby shelf that looked like a teddy bear. 'Aww. . .'

Jack slapped his hand away. 'Really, don't.'

Rhys chuckled. 'Rookie mistake?'

'Oh yeah. Just be glad you've still got the bones in your arm. Now, what we're looking for is alien and green.'

The two of them paused and looked around them. And looked. And looked.

The Vam lifted and surged, beginning a slow slide away from the gutted foundations of the toy shop. It was moving with deliberate slowness, generating a false impression of its abilities. It had spent the day expecting some gloriously futile military response. Instead. . . this. It rarely paid attention to individual members of a species but it decided that those three people down there. . . something about them.

It watched the fire crews run ahead of it, trying to impede its progress by spraying the road with chemicals. It allowed itself to be slowed down.

Gwen snapped her phone shut.

'Well?' asked Ianto.

'I've had better days,' said Gwen. She nodded to where Agnes stood, looking quietly at the creature. 'There's a lot of people demanding some kind of say.'

Agnes waved a hand without turning around. 'I know, I know. But I've placed the situation in the hands of the Government. And until they answer, we are deliciously unable to parley with other parties.'

'It's on the move,' muttered Ianto, watching the bulk start to slide like a cross between an avalanche and a jelly.

'Great,' said Gwen. 'I'd better try and shut off some more roads.' She snapped her phone open again.

Rhys stood uncertainly on an ancient wooden stepladder trying to hook an arm round a dusty wooden box.

'Remind me,' he sighed, feeling his tendons stretch as he brushed against the near edge of the box without falling off. 'Why's it me up here?'

'Cos I love the view,' came Jack's voice from the bottom of the stepladder.

'Cheeky. Wait till I tell the wife,' Rhys shouted back, inching the box a trifle closer. 'What would happen if I dropped this box on your head?'

'Well, there'd be a big bang, they'd have to redraw the maps of the Bay, and I'd get a large bruise.'

Rhys brought the box a little closer and, gingerly clutching it to his chest, began to wobble down the ladder. 'Got them, I think.' He skipped the last few rungs and slid to the ground next to Jack. 'There!' he beamed, handing the box over. 'Are these grenades?'

'Nope.' Jack shook his head and opened the box.

They both looked inside.