Another hum. A slight change in pitch.
Davey took out his flask. ‘How about a cup of tea?’ he asked.
Monday morning, rain-clouds like bruises over the Bay.
Gwen let herself into the Hub via the little information centre on the Quay. She could smell Ianto’s coffee even before the cog-door rolled open.
‘All right?’ Owen asked her. His face had bruised up well since she’d last seen him on Saturday. He had even more of a pouty expression than usual.
‘It looks like you’ve had collagen implants,’ she observed.
‘Thanks for that.’ He paused. ‘How’s the head?’
Gwen shrugged. The weekend had been a serious unwind, though she knew there would be consequences. It was only come Sunday night, when she’d simply crashed, that she’d realised how deeply the effects of primary and secondary contact with the Amok had worked her over. They’d been so bothered at the time by their bruises and cuts and contusions, the physical cost of the operation.
Bruises would fade. Skinned fingers would heal. The mind was where the real harm had been done. It had eased, the tram-tracks of pain snowing over, but she still felt sick from time to time, and she kept getting a stabbing pain behind her left eye. She shuddered to think what they had all been exposed to, shuddered to imagine what it had all been about.
‘My head’s screwed,’ she replied, ‘to be perfectly frank. But it’s getting better. Like an ache that’s going away.’
‘Like the day after the day after a bad hangover,’ Owen agreed, nodding.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Though in your case, it was a bad hangover. You were putting it away, Saturday.’
‘It was a laugh, though,’ said Owen.
She smiled and nodded. ‘It was a laugh,’ she agreed.
It had been a laugh, the four of them at James’s place. A necessary venting, like safety measures at an overcooking reactor. Without downtime like that, the ‘job’ would do them in.
Gwen wondered how long she’d been putting inverted commas around the word job, and how much longer she’d keep doing it.
‘Coffee?’ asked Ianto, appearing like a genie from an expertly rubbed lamp.
‘I love you,’ said Gwen, taking hers.
‘I love you more,’ Owen told Ianto, ‘and I’m prepared to have your babies.’
Ianto smiled patiently.
Owen went back to his work station and sat down. ‘Hey, Ianto?’
Ianto came over.
Owen picked up the side-arm from the clutter on his station. ‘This had better go back into the Armoury. Could you?’
‘Of course.’
Ianto took the weapon and looked at it. ‘It’s mangled,’ he said.
‘I guess I dropped it,’ Owen replied, punching up newsgroups on his screen.
‘From what? Orbit?’
‘No, I just dropped it. Why?’
Ianto shrugged and went off about his business.
‘Jack in his office?’ Gwen asked Toshiko as she came over to the lab space.
‘I guess. I haven’t seen him.’
‘What are you doing?’ Gwen asked. ‘Isn’t that…?’
Toshiko sat back, removed her eye-guards, and took a sip of her coffee.
‘Yes, it is,’ she said. ‘Mmm, I love that man.’
‘It’s me he’s marrying,’ Gwen said. She peered at the pulsing suspension field the containment console was generating.
‘The Amok.’
‘Jack said I could run the numbers on it. Basic probes and diagnostic tests.’
‘I thought you said you hadn’t seen him?’
‘He left me a Post-it. “Tosh — take the Amok and run the numbers on it, please, basic probes and diagnostic tests.”’ She showed Gwen the Post-it, the beautiful copperplate handwriting that nobody did any more.
‘Can you tell what it is yet?’ asked a bad Rolf Harris impression.
James was standing behind them. Gwen tried to act casual, but it was hard not to make the sort of eye contact that would set off sirens.
‘No,’ said Toshiko.
‘OK. Is it safe?’ James asked, peering at the thing suspended in the glowing field.
‘Eight levels of safeguard insulation,’ said Toshiko. ‘Ward screens. Focus blockers. Chastity belt.’
‘Good,’ said James. ‘I don’t want another mind-screw like that.’
‘Yeah, me neither,’ said Toshiko. ‘I’m still not thinking straight. I’ve got what my father used to call “hand-me-down head”. Nasty. Befuddled. How are you?’
‘Fine,’ James said.
‘How’re the ribs?’
‘Fine. No heavy lifting, Owen said.’
‘What?’ Toshiko asked, glancing at Gwen. Gwen had involuntarily sniggered.
‘Nothing.’
‘What?’ Toshiko asked again, eyeing Gwen inquisitively.
Gwen shook her head. A memory, unbidden. James hoisting her up against his fridge-freezer in the small hours of Friday morning. Carrying her weight, lost in passion.
‘Nothing. Well, that thing was a real twenty-seven, wasn’t it?’ Gwen said.
‘Twenty-seven,’ said James.
‘Absolutely,’ said Toshiko. She made to replace her eye-guards. ‘Thanks for Saturday, by the way. I haven’t laughed so much in ages. The Andy stuff was priceless.’
‘My pleasure,’ said James. He and Gwen walked away, leaving Toshiko to her work.
‘You’re never heavy lifting,’ James whispered to her.
‘Stop it!’
‘You left this at my place,’ he added, handing over her MP3 player.
‘Oh, sorry. Thanks.’
‘New listings,’ he said as he walked away.
Gwen put her right earpiece in, and selected menu. Music began. He’d loaded ‘Coming Up For Air’ and eight other tracks by Torn Curtain, his favourite band. ‘Coming Up For Air’ had been playing during the fridge-freezer moment.
‘Heads up.’
Jack appeared on the walkway above the work areas. ‘Morning, all. I trust you’ve had your coffee. Busy week. James, can you get onto your source in the Land Registry and background check that commune in Rhondda? It could be nothing, but I’ve got an itch says it’s a cult, and that web page you found doesn’t fill me with confidence that it’s entirely, you know, terrestrial?’
‘On it,’ James said.
‘Good. Owen?’
Owen swung around on his chair. ‘Still nothing on the missing pets in Cathays. I’m cross-referencing a police report of small bones found in a skip behind a youth club. Weevil-watch is clean for the last week. Oh, and the flying saucer seen over Barry turned out to be an escaped windsock. I’m also keeping tabs on that man in Fairwater who rang the Samaritans and told them a Baycar bus had eaten his wife. I think it’s a Care in the Community issue, but you never know.’
‘You never do,’ Jack agreed. ‘And the Mr and Mrs Peeters thing?’
‘I’m still watching that one,’ Owen said. ‘You’ll know as soon as I do.’
‘If they start hatching, I’ll want to know before you know,’ Jack said. ‘Tosh?’
‘Still busy analysing the Amok,’ Toshiko replied.
‘Yeah, well, skip that for now. I’ve sent a file to your station. Check it out. Either I’m wrong — and please God, I am — or an auto mechanic in Grangetown is blogging on how to make a portable meson gun. In Sumarian.’
‘I’ll look into that.’
‘Would you?’ Jack looked around. ‘Gwen?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Got a minute?’
Gwen walked into his office. Jack had newspapers spread out on his desk.
‘Did we make the front page, then?’ she asked.