Peter Anghelides - Pack Animals

‘No, worse than that,’ said Ianto. He emphasised his point with urgent hand gestures above the conference table. The writing pad slipped from his lap, but he no longer cared. ‘Gareth isn’t controlling that thing any more. He thinks he is, but it’s using him. Those flowers you found at the mall, Tosh? They were here too, in the corridor. Alien flora. It’s like the device is trying to create the ideal environment for the creatures it brings through.’

‘Oh boy,’ murmured Jack. ‘Terraforming. Or whatever the Vandrogonite word for it is. Creating an alien world right here in Cardiff.’

‘There’s something else,’ said the other son, Matt. Gwen couldn’t decide whether he sounded more worried or ashamed than his brother. The big man was shuffling in his seat, almost absurdly. He reminded her of a naughty toddler caught out in a lie. ‘The transmission frequency.’

Gwen looked blank. ‘The what?’

‘That Visualiser thing,’ said Matt, ‘has an affinity for other devices that transmit visuals. You know, CCTV, video phones that kind of thing. If the conditions are just right, the creatures can be transmitted to another receiving device.’

‘That makes sense,’ piped up Toshiko from the video wall.

Everyone in the room stared at her image. Toshiko blinked back at them worriedly.

‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ cried Gwen, exasperated. ‘There are no Rift creatures in here at the moment.’ She chewed her lip worriedly. ‘Are there?’

‘You’re missing the point,’ Jack told her. ‘You said it yourself, Gwen: Torchwood can control small groups of scavengers for day trips to Cardiff. Even Achenbrite can stop some of those.’ If he could see the dirty looks that the Portland family were giving him, he just ignored it. ‘But use this Visualiser near any passing camera phone, and Gareth’s got something that’ll give numberless creatures a season ticket to anywhere on Earth. We gotta find him!’ He must have noticed that Toshiko was doing her ‘aha’ face again, because he turned to her and asked: ‘Got something?’

Toshiko rattled some more commands on her keyboard. Part of the wall display changed into the interface of an audio player. The sound of a radio interview began to play through the conference room speakers. Gwen saw from Toshiko’s smile that she was enjoying making a point: she had not only regained control of the Torchwood computer, but she was now able to manipulate the Achenbrite systems remotely.

David Brigstocke’s voice filled the room. Jack rolled his eyes, but Toshiko made a shushing gesture and indicated that they should listen.

Brigstocke was concluding a live radio link from the centre of Cardiff. He was interviewing celebrity shopper Martina Baldachi. From the edge to his voice it was clear he thought the assignment below his dignity. The Italian supermodel was in town because her husband, Jakob, was playing in the international between AC Liguria and Cardiff United. She’d taken their son, Galileo, to Wendleby’s toy store. Brigstocke prompted her to say some platitudes about the terrible traffic accident just outside the store, and Martina turned the interview into a bit of a car crash by explaining that they’d missed the whole thing because their chauffeur-driven limousine had taken them to privileged access at the rear of the store.

Was there a note of smug satisfaction in Brigstocke’s voice? ‘Looks like Galileo has a memento of his trip today. You bought him a pack of cards instead of a toy telescope.’

‘Oh no,’ purred Martina. ‘He has heard all about these MonstaQuest cards. He is so pleased to meet the man who invented them. Thank you so much, Gareth.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said a young man’s voice.

‘Gareth!’ breathed his mother as she listened to him over the conference room speakers.

Brigstocke was explaining to radio listeners now that Gareth was wearing his Cardiff United shirt, but had just accepted a couple of VIP tickets for the match from the captain of the rival team. Jack was evidently too busy to enjoy the humour of this, because he was watching Toshiko’s agitated reaction to some other data that she’d received.

‘Electromagnetic spectrum analysis,’ Toshiko explained. She muted the audio, and displayed a schematic of Cardiff.

Slap bang in the city centre was Wendleby’s department store. And all around that, the Rift energy was going off the scale.

Ianto Jones hated waiting. He stared out between the front seats of the Achenbrite van and tried to stay calm.

Chris Portland fidgeted in the driver’s seat, his mother next to him. Beside Ianto in the rear, Matt Portland stared fixedly at a scanner. The back of the vehicle had barely enough room for one person, crammed as it was with badly wired equipment and alien tech. If he didn’t die from an electrical shock, Ianto reckoned he might keel over from asphyxiation.

‘Chris, have you farted?’ grumbled Matt.

Matt snorted. ‘Why you asking me instead of that Torchwood tosser?’

‘Don’t be rude about our guest,’ said Jennifer. She had been agitated throughout the journey, and now drummed her manicured nails in a staccato rhythm on the dash in front of her.

They were parked at the ideal spot – close to a local electricity substation, and within sight of the nearest mobile phone relay. They were ready to kill the cellular network by disabling the base transceiver station. And, if necessary, they could cut off power to the Wendleby’s store through remote access to its systems and the local grid.

The Achenbrite team made it clear they thought they were in charge. Ianto was happy to let them think that.

The cadence of Jennifer’s tapping faltered. ‘Oh, I can’t wait around here any longer,’ she sighed. ‘Not while Gareth is in trouble.’ Before anyone could stop her, she had slipped out through the passenger door and slammed it shut behind her.

Ianto reached up to tap his earcomm into action. In a blur of speed, Matt Portland’s hand seized Ianto’s arm. ‘Radio silence.’

‘Why, who do you think is listening in?’ Ianto used his free hand to pinch the nerve points on the other man’s wrist and pulled it away.

He peered through the front windscreen, and could just make out Jennifer’s red hair as the woman disappeared into the shopping crowds.

Ianto activated his earcomms. ‘Mrs Portland is moving. She’s on her way into Wendleby’s.’

Martina Baldachi hated the general public. She was desperate to get out of Wendleby’s.

The photo op had finished. Martina and her entourage were making their way down the emergency stairs at the rear of the store. The limo would be waiting for them, engine running, in the loading area at the rear of the store. Her bodyguard, Carlo, led the way, which frustrated the store manager who was trying to chaperone his VIP guests. The manager was a fussy man in a cheap suit, and Martina wouldn’t be sorry if she never saw him again. She’d already forgotten his name.

Martina was furious with her personal assistant, Andrea. Where was the TV coverage? Why was there only a handful of Press photographers? Didn’t they know who she was? Hadn’t she brought Galileo with her? The store manager was apologising about some bus that had crashed at the front of the store, because it had drawn most of the Press away. Andrea was concentrating on helping Galileo negotiate the stairs, and said nothing.

Carlo had stopped on the stair landing, confronted by two strangers. Martina’s first instinct, as usual, was that she was about to be kidnapped. Sensing her fear, Galileo shrank back too. He anxiously sought out Andrea’s hand, not his mother’s.

The first stranger was a pale-faced man with bad hair and a cruel mouth. The other one was a dark-haired woman, who obviously had more style. They identified themselves.