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

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. .h.i.tting the ground, guns being c.o.c.ked 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 'h.e.l.lo?'

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 s.p.a.ceship.

XIV.

A CASTLE.

IN THE AIR.

In which two days have pa.s.sed, 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. 'G.o.d 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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. b.l.o.o.d.y phones.'

'b.l.o.o.d.y 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 a.s.sured him sweetly. 'I realise that two whole days have pa.s.sed since her sudden disappearance, but we must never say die.' She swept past him to her to his his office. 'And how goes the clear-up operation?' 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 a.s.sessments.'

'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 ash.o.r.e, 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 s.p.a.ce 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 b.u.t.ter.

'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.

'Would you like me to issue you with a periodical? I have a Christmas issue of The Strand The Strand that I believe you haven't yet perused. It contains a highly amusing acrostic.' that I believe you haven't yet perused. It contains a highly amusing acrostic.'

'No, thank you,' said Gwen, getting out of the leather chair and crossing over to the porthole. 'I'm quite happy looking at the view for the moment. My husband will be round in a few minutes.'

Gwen tried ringing again. Still nothing, no signal.

'May I remind you, ma'am, that we are travelling too fast for your telephone to establish a stable transponder signal.'

'Yeah yeah yeah,' snapped Gwen. 'Can't we slow down?'

'Negative, ma'am.' The voice was unflappable. 'I regret that our orbit is several thousand miles an hour too fast. Even then, there are issues of distance above the mast and of connecting with your registered telephony provider.'

'I'm not going to stop trying,' vowed Gwen.

'I realise that, ma'am,' the voice continued smoothly, 'and I applaud your determination. I only regret that I am forbidden from a.s.sisting.'

'Great,' sighed Gwen. 'My husband is going to be worried frantic.'

'Indeed. I've taken the liberty of putting the kettle on. Another pot of tea will relax you and promote a tranquil nature.'

'b.l.o.o.d.y marvellous,' said Gwen. 'Thanks to you, I'm spending most of my time in s.p.a.ce on the loo.'

The voice was silent.

Agnes stood on the quiet sh.o.r.e. The sea washed up and down as the crew dragged and stacked the coffins into neat rows. The beach stank of diesel and salt.w.a.ter, and the mists rolled across the coffins like a graveyard scene. Jack stood next to her, watching as Ianto ticked off coffins against a list on one of his many clipboards.

'Hard work is taking our minds off things, isn't it?' said Agnes.

She marched towards the first row of coffins, running a hand slowly across it. 'Your long journey is ended, n.o.ble soldier,' she said softly. 'Welcome to your final resting place.'

Jack stood by her. 'I've seen enough of this kind of thing,' he said. 'El Alamein, Ypres, Kandahar. . .'

'It's not a compet.i.tion,' said Agnes, gently.

'Who were they?' Jack mused.

'We may never know,' said Ianto. 'I suppose the least we can do is honour them.'

'Yes, Mr Jones,' said Agnes. 'Is this the last of them?'

'Nearly,' said Ianto. 'There's another boatload, and then that's it. All of them ash.o.r.e. And no sign of any more coming through.'

'Good,' sighed Agnes. 'Then perhaps their dreadful conflict is at an end. Maybe they won. I hope so.'

'Do you think they were fighting against that creature?' asked Ianto.

Jack shook his head. 'That thing didn't leave bodies. There wouldn't be anything to bury. These are the victims of a completely different atrocity.'

'Well,' said Agnes, 'let's honour them.'

The boat headed out to fetch the last of the coffins, the mist rolling over it.

Rhys got home. He stripped off his oil-covered uniform, dropping it into a thick black sack with a Torchwood logo on it, then turned the shower on. These days there was always enough hot water. He looked around the flat, picking up a couple of cereal-encrusted bowls and carrying them sadly to the sink. He opened the fridge and grabbed at a beer and wandered back to the bathroom. Banana Boat said they'd be having drinks at Buffalo, but he didn't fancy it. He couldn't quite face lying about where Gwen was. He couldn't quite face that she might not come back.