Episode 6

The Port of Cardiff, 9.46 a.m.

In an anonymous office amongst the cranes and containers of Cardiff's port facilities, dozens of white-coated technicians working in shifts had been monitoring a bank of display screens for the last two weeks. In a neighbouring warehouse, over the past six months, Dave Probert's brainchild had slowly taken shape. A hand-picked group of researchers in electronics, artificial intelligence, software engineering, and mechanical engineering had assembled his creation according to his brilliant and subtle design specifications. Strict security precautions had ensured that only the prime minister, a few senior cabinet members, top-level government advisers, the military top brass, and Probert's own team knew what Project Précis was designed to achieve.

Project Précis was classified Top Secret, and had been ever since Probert had first mentioned his idea to a colleague a couple of years before. Some months later, the prototype he'd demonstrated to an invited audience in Westminster had convinced the prime minister to fund his R&D proposal.

At every stage of the construction, he had visited the site personally to inspect the progress on Project Précis. The engineering work, requiring tolerances of hundredths of a centimetre, was perfect. All the component parts been tested and double-tested. Each line of the software had been coded, debugged, checked, and refined until every possible bug had been eliminated. Only was Probert was satisfied with the result of everyone's work did he announce his press conference. His academic reputation rested on a successful launch.

From a mezzanine floor overlooking the control room, a post-doctoral researcher named Julie Jones surveyed the technicians. At her workstation, the combined results from each set of monitoring instruments were summarised into one at-a-glance printout. She had been Probert's star pupil from her earliest time at university, and he had immediately recruited her to oversee the day-to-day affairs at Warehouse 17. Julie had supervised the construction work under his watchful eye, and knew every detail of the device. For this reason, Probert had delegated her to look after the initial switch-on of the full-scale model, while he was busy schmoozing with the politicians, businessmen and media down the coast at St Donat's.

Julie felt a pang of anxiety as she examined the latest set of readings feeding back from the device next door. One of the monitors was registering some unanticipated activity. She ran the test program again and got the same result. She caught the eye of one of the senior programmers and signalled down to him. Half a minute later, Mohammed Khan appeared at her side, scanning the printout quickly.

'2011 last night?' he murmured. 'I was here then – nobody noticed anything unusual. I suppose it could have been a faint trace of a solar flare – or just a glitch in the power supply.' He shrugged and gave her a reassuring smile.

'Do you think we should tell Dave?'

'No, I wouldn't worry about it. It's the only blip in the entire fortnight. He'll be in the middle of his presentation, anyway.'

'Yeah, you're right. It can't be anything serious.'

She glanced up at the clock. It was approaching 9.50. She flicked a switch and spoke into a microphone mounted on her desk.

'Ladies and gentlemen, Project Précis will go live in just over ten minutes.' Her voice rang out across the entire office building. 'Please be sure you are at your workstations for the initialization of the device. Thank you.'

Khan winked at her and headed back towards the stairs.

The Vale of Glamorgan, 1.02 p.m.

The police patrol car barrelled along the A48, its lights and sirens scything a clear path through the queue of traffic.

The Doctor was in the passenger seat, using Pam's mobile phone to get regular news updates. It seemed that the mysterious phenomenon was self-propagating – the lunchtime headlines from BBC Wales announced that the effects had spread as far as the Valleys, and almost as far west as Cowbridge. Initial reports were also starting to starting to filter through from the outskirts of Bristol. Occasionally Andy's radio would crackle into life as Gwen relayed the latest information.

'If this carries on, we're going to lose everything,' Andy said.

'Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. I'm sure we can sort this out somehow.'

The Doctor started scrolling idly through the phone's menus.

'Pam, can this get Radio 2?' he asked casually.

Pam, holding onto the back of his seat in fear of her life, squeaked a reply.

'Brilliant – I love Ken Bruce's show! I'll have to get one of these,' he enthused.

A brown signpost at the next junction pointed the way to St Donat's. Andy hurled the car off the dual carriageway and onto a smaller country road. An approaching tractor had to swerve into a hedge to let them shoot past.

'Not far to go now,' he remarked, and Pam breathed a sigh of relief.

'Thank God for that – just let me know when it's safe to open my eyes.'

St Donat's Arts Centre, 9.46 a.m.

'Another dream we were sold in the 1970s was that of the "paperless office",' Probert told his audience. 'Every couple of months Tomorrow's World used to promise us a future in which paper would be a thing of the past. And yet look at the amount of paper we generate these days. Yes, we have "paperless gas bills" and "paperless banking", but in reality the paperless office is just a myth. There's always got to be some sort of hard copy backup somewhere in the system.'

He called up a new slide. This one showed a curve rising slowly at first, but increasing sharply in gradient as it departed from the origin.

'This is an approximate representation of the information content of human society over time, which I've adapted from Georges Anderla's work in the 1970s.'

He indicated the origin of the graph, and Karen grinned. She'd come across Anderla's model of information some years before. She was also aware that almost everyone else in the room was floundering by this point.

'Here, we have the start of the Common Era,' he said. 'In Anderla's model, the sum total of human knowledge can be summarised as one unit of pure information, in the mathematical sense. According to Anderla's hypothesis, two thousand years ago it would have been possible for one single person to know everything that there was to be known. And it took all of fifteen hundred years until the quantity of information doubled.'

He followed the gradually rising curve with his pointer, until he hit a vertical line.

'When that happened, it was the time of Michelangelo, Leonardo, and the Renaissance. It was a major breakthrough, at least in Europe. Human society took a leap forward as the total amount of information doubled. Each increase in information lays the groundwork for the next increase. It's a slow process at first. But as time moves on, the development accelerates.'

He traced the graph with his laser pointer. Karen overheard a couple of sharp-suited media types behind her, wondering what the old man on the podium was talking about.

'It only took about 250 years until the next doubling occurred – and Humankind entered the next step of its intellectual evolution. That was the start of the Industrial Revolution, the Enlightenment, the birth of the scientific method, steam power, the mass-production of consumer goods, and the beginning of the modern era.'

He picked out the next step of the graph, and Karen nodded. Most of the people around her were completely lost. Undeterred, he continued tracing the graph with his pointer.

'We hit eight units of information here – around the year 1900. There were major revolutions in music, art, and literature, the birth of radio, the dawn of the atomic age, the foundations of psychology, and the beginnings of modern medicine. Not even the most polymathic of people could have become au fait with all the developments of human knowledge by this stage.'

He continued to trace the curve upwards and looked out at his largely unappreciative audience.

'And this is the problem we face today. The information content of our society increases exponentially over time. There are more journals and more papers published in more and more specialised fields every week of the year. It's impossible for any researcher to keep abreast of all the developments in even a very narrow academic niche. And every new piece of information needs to be published, catalogued, indexed, cross-referenced, peer-reviewed, cited, and archived for posterity. It's the foundation for the next stage in our evolution as a species, after all.'

Cardiff Bay, 1.17 p.m.

Captain Jack Harkness had made his way back to the Hub and was sitting at his computer screen, trying to analyse the time-line which Gwen and Ianto had emailed to him. After dropping Martha off he had headed straight back to the Bay, figuring that some part of his vast collection of alien technology would prove useful. However, after running every program he could think of, and even after skimming the Torchwood archives back as far as 1879, Jack was still none the wiser. He cast a wistful glance towards Toshiko's absent workstation.

'I could do with your help, Tosh,' he murmured. 'This has got me beat!'

The only reply was a mocking silence.

Jack took another gulp of his coffee and leaned back in his chair. It was up to the Doctor now.

St Donat's Arts Centre, 9.51 a.m.

Dave Probert called up the next slide. Karen recognised this diagram as well – it was the mapping of an iterated periodic function known as a Feigenbaum graph. He pointed out the blurred section at the right-hand side.

'Georges Anderla missed one vital point. He never had to take the effect of the Internet into account. Now we have all manner of charlatans making spurious claims, which are presented as fact. We can't separate the wheat from the chaff. If we do the mathematics, we eventually reach a point where information doubles and doubles and doubles – until the graph becomes chaotic. According to some researchers, we will hit this transition point soon – very very soon, in fact.'

The next slide flicked up onto the screen. It was a satellite picture of Hurricane Katrina, on course to skirt New Orleans entirely, according to the US Weather Bureau.

'The problem with chaotic systems is that we try and use them to make sense of our lives, because we don't understand the true nature of non-linearity. I'm sure we all remember Michael Fish's famous forecast of 1987, when he told us that there wasn't a hurricane on its way. The fact is that the weather forecast can never be accurate, because there are too many variables in the ecosystem for us to make predictions. The best we can hope for is an educated guess based on past experience – or a sound-bite that comes back to haunt the Met Office every time they get it wrong.'

His audience chuckled. He pressed another key on his laptop and the slide changed. It was the Mandelbrot Set, the iconic and instantly recognisable representation of Chaotic Dynamics.

'In the same way, the vast increase of information in the collective human consciousness makes it impossible to assimilate everything we read and hear and see. As a society, we're heading for a collective nervous breakdown. We have to address the problem of unmediated information increase now – or risk the imminent collapse of our civilisation altogether.'

University Hospital of Wales, 12.53 p.m.

Martha was addressing a hastily convened emergency conference. Ranged around the table were the top consultants, clinicians, nurse managers, IT experts, administrative chiefs, and Staff Nurse Maria Bowen. Martha had insisted that her old friend should be allowed to sit in on the meeting.

Her extensive experience working with UNIT and Torchwood – not to mention her time spent travelling with the Doctor – had prepared her for pretty much any eventuality, but none of the people around her had ever experienced anything like this. In spite of frequent Major Incident exercises, nothing had prepared the emergency services for the present crisis. Until she'd walked into reception and presented her credentials to a bemused security guard, nobody had had the first idea what to do.

Professor Alan Marsh, one of the most experienced cardiothoracic consultants in Wales, was pressing her for more information as she outlined the situation.

'We saw the wave at first hand, Professor,' she replied. 'We were in the Bay when the effect occurred. It must have spread out from its original source and reached this point soon afterwards. We were just wondering ourselves what was going on when Maria rang me.'

'By "we", I presume you mean Torchwood?' a hard-faced woman at the end of the table demanded.

Maria knew her by sight. Helen Williams was a senior administrator, and was feared throughout the entire NHS Trust for her fierce temper and humourless approach to people.

'Yes, ma'am.' Martha gave her a sweet smile.

For a supposedly Top Secret organisation, Torchwood's activities had made them notorious throughout South Wales. Most high-level people in local government or the public services lived in fear of the day when the black SUV with the tinted windows appeared in their car park.

'But so far you have no idea what's caused this mysterious event, or what we do to stop it?' the same woman added.

'We're working on it, ma'am,' Martha replied. 'My colleagues are doing everything that they can to identify the source and – hopefully – put a stop to whatever's going on.'

'Staff Nurse Bowen,' Helen Williams said in a cold voice, turning to face Martha's old friend. 'I believe you initially decided to involve Torchwood in this.'

'No, ma'am,' she said honestly. 'I just decided to phone Martha – Dr Jones. It was a personal call. We were at the Royal Hope together when ... Well, I'm sure you all remember what happened.'

A low murmur went round the table.

'I thought Martha might have some idea what was going on.'

Helen Williams opened her mouth, but Professor Marsh spoke first.

'Well, it's a good thing you did, Nurse Bowen. I'd rather have Torchwood on our side than working against us.'

Nobody else spoke – Marsh was the most senior person at the meeting, and the others would have to accept his decision. He turned to face Martha again and gave her an encouraging smile.

'So, Dr Jones, what do you need to know?'

St Donat's Arts Centre, 9.55 a.m.

Dave Probert flourished a sheaf of paper, and Karen's ears pricked up.

'Some years ago, I gave this paper on the future of information storage, at a conference in the United States. I stood on a stage like this and addressed the leading minds in the field. I experienced the same reaction then as I'm experiencing now from most of you. Most people's eyes glazed over within the first ten minutes. My work was laughed out of court. I was denounced as a fraud and a dreamer, by the sort of small-minded people who thought that we'd still be using big reels of magnetic tape to programme their computers in the year 2009.'

He was approaching the climax of his presentation, and the excitement in his voice was palpable.

'I've been involved with what we now term "information technology" since its infancy,' he smiled. 'I've also been a fan of science fiction since I was a teenager. People like me have never been afraid to look at what the experts say is possible, and fly in the face of received wisdom. If this is science-fiction, then I'll go and work for Gerry and Sylvia Anderson.'

He rode the wave of laughter, walked off the stage, and wheeled a bulky device about the size of a photocopier back to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to present the future of data storage.” He glanced up the clock. It was nearly 10.00. In just a few minutes his demonstration would begin in earnest.

For no reason that she would ever be able to explain, Karen shivered.

Next episode

St Donat's Arts Centre, 9.33 a.m.

While the Doctor and his friends were recovering from the events of the previous night, and long before they decided that breakfast was called for, the sound of a passenger jet approaching Cardiff-Wales Airport interrupted Professor Dave Probert's speech.

Probert was a small lean man in his seventies; bald, slightly stooped, his hands liver-spotted, his eyes rheumy, but still smartly-suited and clearly-spoken, he exuded a youthful enthusiasm as he spoke. He selected the next slide of his Powerpoint presentation with a decisive stab of his finger, and stepped aside so that his prospective clients could see the projector screen.

An invited audience of the key movers and shapers of the Welsh economy had gathered to witness the unveiling of the latest scientific advance. The theatre of St Donat's Arts Centre, on the Bristol Channel coast, was filled to capacity for the much-heralded announcement. The latest image was a photograph of a metal shelving unit, reaching from floor to ceiling and crammed with dusty box files bursting at the seams with papers.

'Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to say that you're all too young to remember what it was like when I left school.'

Probert picked up the thread of his talk as if the aeroplane had never been there. After many years of working in London, his Welsh accent broke through when he became excited.

'I won't tell you how old I am, but when I started work, it was His Majesty's Stationery Office.'

His audience gave an appreciative laugh. He'd borrowed this witticism from a former colleague, and it never failed to raise a smile. He continued, well into his stride now.

'I remember the days when everything needed to be signed, countersigned, posted, forwarded, stamped, dated, and filed in triplicate. I used to run between offices most of the day with mysterious folders tucked under my arm. As a naïve young man in the War Office, I thought I was going to work with James Bond. Instead, I spent most of my time working with Basildon Bond.'/div>

This also got a laugh. Probert had practised his presentation in front of a mirror over several days, and knew exactly how to deliver his best lines.

'I worked in the Civil Service for twenty years before I moved across to academia. That was almost as bad. I used to lie awake at night, wondering if we were going to bury every trace of our civilisation under a mountain of paper'

The audience chuckled again. He smiled to himself. His talk was going very well.

In the fourth row, Karen Samuels shifted in her seat. When her editor had offered her the position of Technology Correspondent at Wales's newest daily newspaper, she hadn't expected to sit through one man's reminiscences of his life in pen-pushing. Then again, as the only staff reporter with A levels in the sciences, she'd been the sole candidate for the role. She turned the page of her notebook over and wondered idly when the promised refreshments would be served.

Cardiff City Centre, 12.09 p.m.

Ianto swung the black SUV around the tight bend and gunned it into Greyfriars Road, cutting up a delivery van emerging from a private car park. The van driver sounded his horn, and Ianto gave him an apologetic wave as they sped past. Wedged against the nearside rear door, Pam closed her eyes and swore loudly.

On the other side of the vehicle, Gwen was keying a set of commands into a laptop. Between them, Martha was perched on the Doctor's lap. All three were trying to read the laptop screen as it bounced up and down. Even Jack, who had cheated death at least a thousand times, was unusually pale, gripping the sides of the passenger seat as they approached the corner of Park Place.

The SUV shot across the junction just as the lights changed to red. A group of students waiting to cross the road jumped back in alarm, and more horns blared. The lunchtime traffic was backing up from North Road as usual, and the outgoing vehicles were at a standstill. Ianto wound the window down and peered ahead. A silver people-carrier was waiting astride the white lines, effectively blocking both lanes, and he leaned his head out of the window.

'Oh, come on, mun, pull over!' he yelled. “'ou could get a fuckin' bus through there!'

Then he glanced at his terrified passengers in the rear view mirror.

'Sorry – force of habit. My uncle used to be a bus driver up the valleys. I think it rubbed off on me.'

'Did he drive for Shamrock?' Pam asked in a quiet voice.

'Aye, funnily enough he did. Tony Jones, from Porth – do you know him?'

'No, just a lucky guess – owww!'

She was thrown back into the seat as the lights changed and Ianto floored the accelerator again. He wrenched the steering wheel to the right, rocketed along the side of the museum, and brought the SUV to a screeching halt outside the Central Police Station.

'I'm never going to Oakwood Park again,' Gwen shuddered. 'That's enough white-knuckle stuff for one lifetime.'

She spotted Andy Davidson standing among a small group of officers, both uniformed and plain-clothes, milling around outside the main entrance. Crowd control barriers had been erected around the perimeter. Just outside the cordon, film crews from BBC Wales, HTV, S4C and Sky News were setting up their equipment. Gwen recognised one of the BBC journalists, and tried not to catch her eye. It would be impossible to explain the morning's events in terms that a television news audience would understand.

She pushed the door open, tucked the laptop under her arm, and gave Andy a wave. He waved back, and Gwen seized her chance to lose herself in the crowd of her former colleagues. The Doctor, Martha and Pam piled out behind her, and Jack opened his door with an audible sigh of relief. Ianto locked the vehicle and tried to look casual as a couple of traffic policemen looked daggers at him.

One of the plain-clothes officers broke away from the unofficial welcoming committee and strode towards Jack. She was a tall, slim black woman with braided long hair and a steely expression. The sight of the SUV had already ruined her day, and now her least favourite person was walking towards her. Jack smoothed down his coat and tidied his hair before extending a hand towards her.

'Detective Swanson! How lovely to see you again!' he boomed, giving her his most charming smile.

'Captain.'

She tried not to meet his eyes and shook his hand out of courtesy. He looked her up and down for a moment.

'Have you lost weight?'

'Don't start!'

The Doctor came to Jack's side and held out his hand.

'Hello, I'm the Doctor. You must be Kathy – Jack's told me all about you.'

'Oh, bloody marvellous!'

Kathy Swanson looked around at her colleagues, the exasperation in her voice clear.

'Not only do we have to put up with Torchwood – now UNIT are trying to muscle in as well.'

'I'm not with UNIT!' he protested. 'Check with UNIT Payroll if you don't believe me!' He paused for a minute. 'Actually, come to think of it, I've never been paid a penny. Martha, can you mention that to Colonel Mace when you see him?'

'That's right,'Martha chimed in. 'The Doctor just helps us out now and again. He's like – well, like a freelance consultant.'

'I hate freelance consultants,' a low voice growled.

Price stepped forward and glowered at the new arrivals.

Almost as much as I hate so-called "experts".'

'Doctor, Captain, this is Chief Superintendent Vincent Price,' Kathy announced.

Jack, Ianto and Martha chuckled at the mention of his name.

'Nice to meet you, Chief Superintendent. I'm the Doctor – freelance science consultant and alien expert, at your service.'

He winked, and even Kathy managed a reluctant smile.

Price found himself craning his neck to look up at the lanky, athletic man in front of him. He felt even more conscious than usual of his own small stature as they shook hands.

The Doctor leaned down and whispered into Price's ear, 'And don't worry – I hate hostile aliens almost as much as I hate coppers.'

He straightened up and winked at the crowd.

'Why don't we all go inside and see if we can find out what's going on? And maybe we can get some coffee, too – we had to rush off, after all!'

He took Pam's arm, put a brotherly arm around Price's shoulders, and steered them towards the doors. The others followed him without argument, and as they walked into the police station the Doctor leaned down to Pam.

'There you go,' he whispered, 'I spent yesterday in your weird world, now you can spend today in mine.'

'Oh, bloody great!' she groaned.

St Donat's Arts Centre, 9.41 a.m.

Dave Probert was well into his stride.

'We spent a fortune on typewriter ribbons and carbon paper in those days – not to mention all the time we wasted in collating, sorting, indexing, archiving and eventually securely disposing of all those documents. Meanwhile, in the real world, the space race was in full swing. We were supposed to be moving towards a brave new world, one where computers would free our lives from pointless toil and usher in a leisure society. It's only with the benefit of hindsight that we can see how wide of the mark we were.'

He selected the next slide. It showed a faceless office block with a mysterious logo at the entrance.

'This is from a TV programme called UFO,' He smiled. 'I used to watch it with my kids. It was set in the year 1980. Gerry and Sylvia Anderson presumed that by then we'd have a manned base on the Moon, a secret organisation to combat the threat of alien invasion, and the very highest of high-tech equipment, like this—'

He hit the control again. The next image showed a white-suited woman with purple hair and elaborate Cleopatra-style eye makeup, tending a wall-sized computer complete with enormous tape spools, dozens of toggle switches, coloured lights, and tiny displays. This time the laughter was prolonged. He took a step back, allowing everyone to see the full picture.

'Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that's life in the year 1980 – as seen through the very long lens of 1970.'

Karen scribbled a few shorthand symbols in her notebook and sat back again. Maybe, if she sat there long enough, Dave Probert might actually get to the point.

'That's one example of how we can miscalculate when we predict the future,' he said, selecting the next image. 'And yet, at the same time, we got remarkably close.'

His audience were looking at a picture of a uniformed man in a strange angular car, holding a telephone to his ear.

'That's also from UFO. In fact, it's from the very same episode. How is that we were able to foresee the mobile phone – but not the microchip? Why did Gerry Anderson visualise a man in a car, making a phone call, but still had a computer the size of Barry Island on the Moon?'

Karen raised her hand and immediately sensed that everyone else was staring at her. Even though it had been a rhetorical question, Probert felt as though he should acknowledge her response. He gestured to her to stand up, and Karen rose nervously to her feet. He gave her an encouraging smile.

'Karen Samuels, from the South Wales Gazette,' she said. 'Could it be because Harold Wilson had a phone in his car when he was prime minister?'

'Yes – that's exactly it!' he almost shouted.

Karen was taken aback by his reaction. He was practically jumping around on the little stage.

'Because mobile phone technology was already in place – it was just prohibitively expensive, and not freely available. Gerry Anderson wasn't predicting the future – just extrapolating it!'

He stepped into the wings for a moment and returned with a black box, about six inches square and an inch thick.

'Would you mind passing this little baby around? But please be careful – it's quite a collector's item now.'

He handed it down to the man at the end of the front row, who looked bemused. After a few moments' cursory inspection he passed it to the woman next to him. The background conversation increased in volume as the delegates examined the mysterious artefact. The square box was handed along the seats and eventually made it as far as Karen.

'Oh my God!' she exclaimed, turning it over. 'A Sinclair ZX81!'

She ran her fingers over the 'touch-sensitive' keypad, and peered at the sockets where the coax TV line-out cable and 5-pin DIN data feed from a handy cassette player would have connected to the primitive computer.

'I haven't seen one of these since I was a kid! My big brother used to have one of these,' she added, looking straight at Probert.

'Can I just ask you,' he teased, 'how much RAM did your brother have?'

'Only 16K,' Karen responded immediately. 'Our parents weren't millionaires!'

A ripple of laughter spread through the audience. Most of the delegates at the sales conference were in their late twenties or early thirties at the oldest. This piece of ancient technology meant as much to them as their grandparents' reminiscences of crystal sets and 78 rpm records.

'Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Miss Samuels' brother had a huge 16 kilobytes of Random Access Memory,' Probert said, slowly enough that the message sank in. 'And if you – or more likely, your parents – could afford it, you could upgrade it to a massive 64K. Just about as much memory as the lunar module had when humankind first landed on the Moon. Not even enough for a ringtone, in today's terms.'

He paused and called up the next image. It was an advertisement showing a man in an 18th century-style wig, leaning back from his desk with a contended expression on his face.

'This was published in an American magazine called OMNI, in the same year as the archaeological curiosity that you're looking at came onto the market,' he said casually. 'Apple had manufactured one of the very first home computers. The thrust of the marketing campaign was that if Thomas Jefferson had had a personal computer, it wouldn't have taken him six weeks to write the Declaration of Independence. He could have drafted, edited, inserted, amended, deleted, redacted, cut and pasted, revised, and eventually printed the finished version in a fraction of the time.'

He stood back and let his audience read the page laid out on the screen before them. The specifications for the computer, by 21st century standards, were rudimentary to say the least. Yet, nearly thirty years previously, this device had represented the state of the art for the general consumer market.

Karen was making copious notes – she knew instinctively that this was an important moment in history, and she was privileged to be hearing it.

'One thing struck me when I read this advert again, a few days ago. It does not mention the word 'digital' anywhere. It meant nothing to people outside the fields of electronics or computing. The only time people dipped a toe into the digital ocean was when they bought a "digital" watch. Now, even though most people still don't know what the word means in its mathematical sense, nobody is immune to the effects of the digital revolution. We've all got CD players and DVD players and Freeview boxes. We throw the words "digital information" around as casually as any other media mantra – but how many people know what it really involves?'

Immediately most of the delegates realised that their favourite buzz-phrase was little more than that. If they'd been pressed to explain the digital coding of information, the majority of them would have struggled to sketch out the basic theory.

Probert pulled up the still from UFO again. “I look at this prediction of life in 1980 again, and I laugh. Nobody ever had the vision to skip over the existing technology and imagine something completely new. Until now.'

Cardiff Central Police Station, 12.26 p.m.

In the Communications & Despatch Room, Andy, Gwen and Ianto were ploughing through the online log of emergency calls since 9.00 that morning. Kathy Swanson was watching in fascination while they collated statistics and cross-referenced reports. The Doctor and Pam leaned against the wall, aware that they were at best unwelcome guests. The door flew open and Jack burst in with Martha close behind him.

'Gwen, Ianto, are you two okay to stay here?' he demanded.

'Yeah, I suppose so,' she murmured, her eyes riveted to the laptop. 'Why? Where are you going?”

'I'm going to drop Martha at the hospital,' Jack said flatly. 'They could do with a doctor to oversee the situation. Then I'm going back to the Hub to try and find out what the hell's going on. Give me a call if you need me – this is gonna be good!'

With a dramatic flourish of his long coat he swept out of of the room, leaving everyone breathless in his wake. Jack was like a force of nature when he sensed danger. Kathy breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him, and Gwen smiled to herself. She'd observed Jack and Kathy's love-hate relationship before.

'I think we've got a timeline coming together,' Ianto announced, looking up. 'We recorded a short burst of Rift activity at 2011 last night. Just a tiny blip – not enough to register on our regular equipment. I've had to go down to nano wavelengths for this. The first reports came through about fourteen hours later. If it is the Rift, it's nothing we've ever seen before.'

The Doctor looked embarrassed.

Ah! That was probably me, plugging the TARDIS in.'

Everyone turned to him with accusatory expressions.

'That was about the time you legged it from the pub,' Pam agreed.

'Okay, scrub that!' Ianto shrugged. 'We haven't got Rift activity. Not a sausage.'

'So, whatever's causing this,' Gwen added, 'it's home-grown.'

Pam had her mobile phone in her hand, and was pressing keys rapidly with her thumb.

“Haven't you got better things to do than send a text?” the Doctor asked.

'Well, I can't very well send a fucking postcard, can I? They've all vanished!' she retorted. She handed him the handset with a smug smile. 'Mobile internet. Cardiff University's website. Have a look at this.'

The Doctor peered at the screen for a few moments and laughed out loud.

'Pam, I think you might have just found us our first lead.'

He slipped his arm around her shoulder and led her over to a large laminated map of South Wales on the far wall.

'Fancy playing detective for an hour?'

'Yeah, why not?'

'Andy, how long does it take to get to St Donat's?'

Andy looked at him in bemusement.

'I dunno. Twenty minutes, half an hour, depending on the traffic.'

'We need to speak to this guy – right now!'

He leapt to his feet and pulled Pam across the room, almost knocking Kathy over in his haste to talk to Price.

'Sorry, we need a lift – I hope you don't mind, but my transport's off the road at the moment.'

Price nodded mutely, not sure what he was agreeing to. The Doctor wrenched the door open and placed one hand on the frame, looking back into the room with a huge smile.

'Andy, start the car, we'll meet you out the front. Set the controls for the heart of St Donat's! First person to see the sea gets an choc-ice! Allons-y!'

Next Episode

Episode 4

Monday

Cardiff Bay, 11.03am

Pam had always found Monday mornings a drag.

Monday was pension day, and the cafe was busy with elderly customers in town for their weekly shopping trip and gossip session over elevenses. The old ladies were the worst, she always found. They made a fuss over the exact amount of milk they liked, or complained loudly that their toast was marginally the wrong shade of golden brown. When it was time to pay, they spent ages rummaging for their purses, as if the whole shopping experience was totally new and presented them with a steep learning curve. The old men, by contrast, just sat with their papers, analyzing the sports results. She sometimes wondered whether Harry Enfield and Paul Whitehouse had missed a vital point in their characterization of 'the Old Gits' - it would have been more true to life if they'd portrayed two grumpy old women instead.

Her customary hangover didn't help matters at the best of times, but this morning Pam was in a worse mood than usual. She hadn't been able to get the mysterious stranger from the pub out of her mind.

There had been something fascinating, and even a little frightening, about the tall man in his eccentric clothes. They'd certainly struck up a rapport, and Pam couldn't help feeling that, at long last, she'd met the special person she'd been looking for. Then he'd simply walked out of her life without even saying goodbye. All night she'd wondered if she'd see him again, but eventually she'd decided that it had been a chance meeting that would never be repeated.

During her morning break she decided to tell her colleague Vicky about the events of the previous day. As she related her story, she became increasingly aware that it sounded far-fetched in the extreme. When Pam got to the part about exploring the huge space inside the small blue box, Vicky looked sceptical. At Pam's description of how the same object had disappeared before her eyes, she shook her head in disbelief.

'Are you sure someone didn't spike your drink?' she suggested.

'I wasn't spiked, and I was still fairly sober,' Pam replied, rather offended. 'I'm not making this up, Vic!'

'Yeah, but – come on! Stuff just doesn't vanish into thin air. What was this blue box thing anyway? It sounds like one of those toilets they have on building sites.'

'Search me! The whole thing was weird.'

Pam finished her coffee and put her apron back on.

'I'll tell you one thing though – he was bloody fit! Actually, they were both fit – him and his mate, the Yank.'

'Well, if you see them again, put a word in. I could do with meeting a rich American.'

Pam picked up their empty cups and the two women made their way back to the counter.

A few moments later, the door of the cafe opened. Pam's mouth fell open, and she let go of the cups. The sound of smashing china made everyone turn towards her, but she was frozen to the spot, standing in the midst of a small heap of broken crockery. Vicky rushed over to see what was wrong, but she was just staring across the room in amazement.

'What's the matter?' Vicky asked, but Pam was lost for words.

'It's them' she gasped eventually. 'The people I was telling you about.'

Making themselves comfortable at a table by the window were Pam's mysterious man and his friends.

She took a few nervous steps towards the window, not sure whether her mind was still playing tricks on her. Then she came within earshot of the table, and her remaining doubts evaporated when she heard their conversation.

'Okay, Gwen, I reckon it's your shout.'

The loud American voice rang out across the cafe, followed by a strong objection in a low-pitched Welsh accent.

'I got them in last time, Jack! Martha, it must be your turn.'

'No way!' The girl's voice was pure north London. 'I'm not even on the bloody rota, am I, Ianto?'

'Well, no, I suppose not,' the sharply dressed young man replied. 'Technically you're not staff, you're still on secondment.'

'You are so anal sometimes!' the American countered.

The young man raised his eyebrows and they all laughed.

'Right, that settles it!'

The thin man in the suit took a handful of £10 notes from his pocket and slapped them on the table.

'I'll pick up the tab for this lot.'

Pam approached their table, her order pad in hand, and the Doctor greeted her with an easy smile. Then he looked again, his eyes widened, and he sprang to his feet.

'Pam! Hello! Fantastic!' He took her hand and pumped it vigorously. 'Sorry I had to run off last night, things got a bit – well, weird.'

'You can say that again. It took ages to sort out the mess in the pub.'

'That's what it's like when you get involved with this guy,' Martha smiled. 'One day your life's nice and straightforward – next thing you know, he's left a trail of devastation in his wake and just vanished.'

'Yep, that's me!' He finally let go of Pam's hand and sat back down. 'I'm like Hurricane Katrina, only in humanoid form.'

He looked down at the money on the table as if noticing it for the first time.

'Anyway, yes – coffee! In fact, I'll treat us all to an early lunch. Since I've actually got a few quid on me.'

'That's a bloody first!' Martha gasped. 'It's about time you got them in, mate!'

The others laughed. Most of them had had to sub the him at some point since they'd first met.

'Oh, in that case, I'll have chicken curry with an 'alf an' 'alf,' Gwen said.

The Doctor looked baffled.

'What's a narfanarf? I mean, I've eaten all over the Universe, I've tried some of the strangest things you can imagine, but I've never even heard of a narfanarf.'

'It's a traditional Welsh delicacy.'

Gwen winked Ianto. He caught on immediately and winked back. Jack and Martha suppressed their laughter.

'What – like laverbread?'

'It's much nicer!' Ianto smiled up at Pam. 'I'll have the same, please.'

'Okay, two chicken curries, both with an 'alf an' 'alf.'

Pam wrote the order down and looked back at Ianto.

'Cappuccino and a chocolate muffin for afters?' she teased.

“How do you―?' he began, then broke off. 'Oh God, of course! You said yesterday you knew me!'

'You're in here almost every day. I knew I recognised you.'

'You know what it's like, though, you see someone out of their usual context and you just can't place them. You know them from somewhere, but you don't know where.'

'Happens to me all the time,' the Doctor grinned. 'Mind you, my life's a bit complicated.'

'You can say that again!' Martha laughed.

'Imagine if you were on Facebook,' Jack enthused. 'Your status updates would be amazing: "The Doctor is in the year 1558, trying to sort out the Tudor succession crisis."'

'More to the point – what would your friends list be like?' Ianto mused.

'I shudder to think.' Pam tapped her pen on her pad again. 'Anyway, what can I get the rest of you?'

'I think,' the Doctor said firmly, looking around the table, 'it's going to be chicken curry with a narfanarf all round. Martha? Jack?' The others agreed without hesitation. 'Well, you know – when in Rome, and all that. And I'll have a nice cup of tea.'

'Okay.'

Pam wrote the orders down and headed back to the counter. Vicky was waiting for her, a knowing smile on her face.

'I take it all back. You weren't making it up.'

She glanced over at the group of eccentric friends and raised her eyebrows.

'And you're right – that American guy is hot! Get his bloody number before he goes!'

Cardiff City Centre, 11.33 a.m.

A mile or so to the north, in Cardiff Central Police Station, PC Andy Davidson was standing in a corner of the squad room, surrounded by his colleagues. They had all been called in for an emergency briefing, and Andy had been one of the last to arrive. His fellow officers had already taken every available chair, or squeezed themselves onto desks and filing cabinets, and the stragglers were pressed into the available spaces.

On the walls around them were a series of blank spaces which, the previous day, had formed a gallery of scene-of-crime pictures, photofit sketches, hand-drawn maps, computer printouts, and miscellaneous news cuttings. Now, every square inch of the walls was bare, and the dark patches on the cork noticeboard showed how long some of the posters had been there.

Andy fondly remembered the one above the sink – it was a hangover from the 1970s, warning Watch Out – There's a Thief About.

When the station was redecorated a couple of years before, Chief Superintendent Vincent Price had insisted that they kept the posters, partly for sentimental reasons, and partly as an homage to his fictional hero, DCI Gene Hunt. Price was a copper of the old school – his motto was ''it 'im first, and get a statement afterwards' – and Life On Mars had been nothing short of a nostalgia trip for him.

With his small but powerful build, close-cropped grey hair and cold blue eyes, he looked every inch a nasty piece of work. However, his reputation as a hard man was somewhat undermined by the fact that his parents had inadvertently named him after one of the best-known stars of high-camp, low-budget horror films. Whenever he introduced himself, most people tried not to smile for fear of antagonising him, but rarely succeeded.

Price had summoned the entire day shift on discovering that every single piece of paper in the station was missing. Not only his prized collection of vintage crime prevention campaign material, but every notebook, file, wanted poster, witness statement, custody record, parking ticket, lost property receipt, notebook, duty roster, purchase order, invoice, and petty cash slip had vanished into thin air. He was not amused in the slightest – and was letting people know in no uncertain terms.

Andy had walked in towards the end of a foul-mouthed tirade in which Price had tried to blame his colleagues, his subordinates, the civilian staff, his rivals in the CID, and various ne'er-do-wells whom Price had had the misfortune to encounter over his forty-year career. When he finally stopped for breath, Andy put up his hand.

'Yes?' Price said in a weary tone.

Every head in the room turned to look at Andy, and he reddened visibly.

'I was just thinking, guv. Perhaps Gwen Cooper could shed some light on things.'

Some people raised their eyebrows at the mention of Gwen's name. Most of them remembered Andy's unrequited crush on his former colleague, and were wondering if his suggestion was simply a pretext for looking her up again.

'What makes you think that?' Price's sarcasm was evident. 'She's with Special Ops now, isn't she? I hardly think this sort of thing comes under their remit.'

'The thing is, guv, she's helped us out with some pretty odd stuff in the past. They've got all sorts of gear we don't know anything about. Maybe it would be worth giving her a quick call.'

“All right - if you must …'

Price had little time for Andy's high-tech approach to policing, and nothing but contempt for Gwen's decision to leave the front line and take up her mysterious new job in the Bay.

“Thanks, guv, I'll ring her now and see what she says.”

University Hospital of Wales, 11.52 a.m.

A few miles from the city centre, the University Hospital was in complete turmoil. All admissions had been suspended, every operation had been cancelled at the last minute, and emergency cases were being diverted to hospitals across south Wales.

On the wards, Staff Nurse Maria Bowen had done little all morning except run around looking for missing records. Most patients in her care wouldn't even get their lunches; the checklists on which they'd selected their meals the previous day had vanished. The clipboard at the foot of each bed was empty. The consultants' ward round had been a comedy of errors, as nurses and junior doctors racked their brains to remember individual treatment regimes, medication dosages, and even the names of the more uncommunicative elderly patients. The NHS Trust's intranet had already crashed three times as every single member of staff tried to access data which had been backed up electronically.

Once the ward sister was out of sight, Maria slipped out of the ward in the midst of the chaos, ducked into the staff toilet, and switched her mobile phone on. She knew that it wouldn't interfere with the equipment, in spite of the rules. She scrolled through her contact list and eventually found the number she was looking for.

Maria had been a student nurse at the Royal Hope Hospital when it was torn from its foundations and transported to the Moon. She'd been lucky to survive, and in the following months she'd made friends with a few people who were prepared to talk about that fateful day. One of them was a young final-year medical student who'd been in the thick of the action.

Maria hadn't seen her for ages, but she'd heard on the grapevine that she was currently attached to some sort of high-powered security task force. Maria was fairly sure that, if anyone had any idea what was going on, Dr Martha Jones would be near the top of the list. She hit the 'dial' button and waited for the call to connect.

Cardiff Bay, 11.43 a.m.

Back in the waterfront cafe, the first inkling that anything was wrong came when Pam returned to the Doctor's table with three steaming plates.

'Okay, that's three chicken curries with an 'alf an' 'alf,' she announced, placing the plates on the table.

The Doctor looked down at his lunch, not knowing what to expect, and his eyes widened in surprise. As well as the curry, there was a small helping of boiled rice and some tasty looking chips. There was nothing particularly exotic about it, and he looked disappointed.

'What?' he exclaimed. 'Rice and chips?'

The others burst out laughing, and he looked from one to the other.

'That's a narfanarf,' Gwen spluttered. ''Alf rice an' 'alf chips.'

'Traditional Welsh delicacy!' Ianto added.

'You rotten bastards!' he laughed, and Pam joined in their laughter. 'Narfanarf indeed! No wonder I've never tried it.'

'What's the strangest thing you've ever eaten, Jack?' Martha asked casually.

'You really don't want to know,' he replied, with a wink at the Doctor.

Pam brought the other plates over, and eventually Ianto and Gwen stopped laughing long enough to start eating.

'Now, I'm afraid you'll have to remind me who ordered which coffee? My order pad's completely disappeared.'

Jack repeated their order, and she headed off to the kitchen again.

As they were enjoying their lunches, Gwen's phone rang.

'Bloody typical – Rhys always rings when I'm eating.'

She checked the caller display and, instead of her husband's work number, saw Andy Davidson's name.

'Good God!' She put the phone to her ear and smiled. 'Shwmae, stranger, how's it hangin'?'

Her face fell as she listened intently to the call, and then she spoke quietly.

'Yeah, yeah, I'm with them now. Don't panic – it's probably nothing. We'll finish our lunch and drive straight over. I'll see you in about half an hour.'

'Problem?' Jack asked through a mouthful of curry.

'Could be.' She slipped her phone back into her bag. 'Andy reckons all the paper in the police station's just upped and gone.'

'It's not April the first, is it?' Jack asked with a wry grin.

'You know it isn't – and he sounded pretty fucking serious.'

Pam returned with their drinks, turned to go, and then pointed out of the window.

'Look at that!'

They all followed her finger, and looked across the plaza to an empty shop. The glass was spotless, as if it had recently been cleaned.

'What's wrong with it?' Ianto asked. 'It's nice to see the council have finally got rid of all those old posters at last.'

'It was plastered first thing this morning. And if the council had been working over there, they'd have been in here at least three times for tea and bacon butties!'

'Hang on – Andy said all the paper had gone missing,' Gwen reminded them. 'Not just his own paperwork – everything!' She looked up at Pam. 'And your pad's gone missing.'

At that moment Martha's phone rang. She answered it and listened intently before covering the microphone with her finger.

'Guys, listen,' she gasped. 'This is a friend of mine at the hospital – all the paper's vanished into thin air.' The Doctor and Jack had gone pale. 'Okay, Maria, stay where you are, we're on the case. See you soon.'

She ended the call and looked around at her colleagues.

'Rift activity?' Gwen asked, but Jack shook his head.

'Doesn't sound like it – that's normally stuff coming, rather than going. I think we've got a big problem.'

'You can say that again,' the Doctor frowned. 'Pam, do you fancy an adventure?'

'I could be persuaded,' she said with a smile. 'I've just about finished for the day anyway.'

'How come your money hasn't disappeared?' Jack asked, pointing to the pile of notes on the table.

'It's not really paper,' Gwen explained. 'It's made from cotton rag fibres, not wood pulp. That's why it doesn't glow under UV light.'

'And it's given me an idea,' the Doctor added.

He handed a couple of £20 notes to Pam.

'Keep the change - we'll meet you outside.'

'I thought we were going to have to sub you again,' Jack grinned.

'Useful tip,' Martha added. 'When you're going anywhere with this guy, make sure they take Visa.'

Next Episode

Episode 3

The South Wales Valleys, 7.18 p.m.

The band were taking a well-earned break. The Doctor and Pam were sitting at a table in the bar, a noisy crowd of pool-players behind them. His head was spinning – not from the ear-splitting music, nor from the lager, but from Pam's relentless questioning. She'd been talking non-stop since they'd left the TARDIS, except for a few minutes while she was at the bar.

'Blimey, your parents knew what they were doing,' he gasped when she finally stopped for breath.

'How do you mean?' She looked baffled.

'They called you Pam! It's Welsh for "why" – they must have known what you'd be like when you were older! It's just "why, why, why?" all the time.' He took a sip of his lager and grinned. 'Mind you, it could have been worse – they could have called you Delilah!'

'Cheeky bastard!'

Pam pretended to look hurt, but he smiled again.

'Oh, I'm only kidding. Curiosity's a good thing. It's like that Rudyard Kipling poem:

I keep six honest serving-men,
(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When,
And How and Where and Who.'

He winked at her.

'Could have been written especially for me, that could! Actually, I think it was.'

He swallowed the last of his pint and stood up.

'Same again?'

He headed towards the bar, leaving Pam even more thoroughly bemused than before.

After they'd left the mysterious blue box in the lane, Pam had followed her new friend into the supermarket opposite the pub. On the way, he'd asked her to keep the owner talking while he fiddled with the ATM. A few moments later the Doctor had turned around with a huge smile, shoved a handful of notes into his pocket, and bade the shopkeeper a cheerful 'goodbye' as he dragged Pam back towards the pub.

By now, Pam was convinced that he was a psychiatric patient. Maybe he'd absconded from the hospital in the neighbouring town. It didn't help that her new friend mentioned 'aliens' and 'time travel' as casually as Jeremy Clarkson might refer to engine capacity and fuel consumption.

She finished her drink and leaned back in her chair, watching the Doctor chatting easily to the barmaid. Still, it made a change from getting drunk with the usual Sunday crowd.

Across the bar, Jimmy Davies was embarking on his seventh pint of Export lager. His tattooed arms, as thick as a man's thigh, bulged from the sleeves of his too-tight Motorhead t-shirt. His shaved head reflected the coloured lights behind the stage. He wiped a thin covering of foam from his goatee beard and glared across the bar with thinly-veiled hostility.

Amy, the tiny brunette barmaid, was laughing at something at the tall, eccentrically dressed stranger had said. She thought Jimmy hadn't noticed. She'd spent several weekend shifts trying to persuade him that she wasn't interested in him, but to no avail.

Now it seemed that a potential rival had appeared on the scene, and Jimmy's Alpha Male instincts were kicking in. At first, he had paid no attention, but Amy was obviously interested in the new arrival. As the alcohol level in his blood kept increasing, so did Jimmy's jealousy.

After a promising rugby career had been cut short by a knee injury, he had turned his attention to weight-training and bodybuilding instead. Along with several of his pals, Jimmy was a regular user of the illicit steroids that circulated in the gyms and sports clubs of the valleys. The rest of the pub regulars gave him a wide berth when he was tanked up. He was renowned for his violent outbursts, often with only the slightest provocation.

As he watched Amy leaning towards the man in the smart suit and long coat, an unhealthy cocktail of alcohol, steroids, and his own insecurities was being mixed in Jimmy's mind.

7.27 p.m.

Outside, in the softly-falling rain, Captain Jack Harkness led the way towards the pub.

Ianto, Martha, and former WPC Gwen Cooper were following close behind. Jack held an electronic instrument in his outstretched hand. A green light on its screen was blinking furiously. He paused a few yards away from the knot of smokers milling around outside, and turned to his colleagues.

'Okay, folks, there's a sonic device somewhere in this building – and where there's a sonic device, the Doctor's not far behind.'

He pocketed the gadget and made his way towards the group of people around the entrance.

'Remember, we're not here to bring in a hostile alien – but we might still attract attention. Try to blend in, and just act naturally. With any luck, this should be straightforward enough.'

'I hate that word,' Gwen muttered in a low voice to Martha. 'It's like "foolproof".'

7.28 p.m.

The Doctor returned to Pam's side, whistling happily, unaware that Jimmy's envious glare was trained on him. He picked up his glass and swallowed a mouthful of lager.

'Cheers!' He clinked his glass against Pam's. 'I really should take a wrong turning more often – this is turning into a fun evening!”

At that moment, Jack pushed open the door and strode into the pub. His greatcoat swung like a heavy curtain as Gwen and Ianto flanked him in the doorway. The Doctor leapt out of his chair, beaming from ear to ear.

'Oh, here's trouble!' he cried in delight.

He stepped forward, extended a hand to Jack, and embraced his old friend in full view of the pub. Jack planted a kiss on the Doctor's lips and cuffed him playfully on the shoulder. An uneasy murmur ran through the room at this unashamed display of male affection.

It increased in volume as the punters caught sight of a petite mixed-race girl, wearing a red leather jacket and tight jeans, a huge smile on her face. She threw her arms around the Doctor, and he lifted her off her feet as they kissed. Amy couldn't help but stare as the handsome stranger swung the girl around. Jimmy stared too. His regular Sunday drinking session was turning into a freak show.

'Hey, this is a turn up for the books,' Martha squealed as he put her down. 'We're rescuing you for a change!'

'Well, not exactly rescuing,' he grinned. 'Just giving me a bit of technical support, that's all.'

Martha stepped aside and allowed Gwen and Ianto through the crowd. The Doctor shook Ianto's hand, then Gwen's, beaming all over his face.

'And finally, I get to meet you two in the flesh! I hope you're keeping an eye on him.' He jerked his thumb towards Jack. 'He gets into all sorts of mischief when I'm not around.'

Jack narrowed his eyes and tried unsuccessfully not to smile.

'Yeah, we know. We do our best,' Gwen replied.

Ianto became aware that Pam was staring at him, and the Doctor quickly introduced her to his friends.

'Not being funny, but you look really familiar,' she said as she shook Ianto's hand. 'I'm sure I've seen you somewhere before.'

'I think I've just got one of those faces,' he said with a shrug.

Jack pulled a small plastic box from his pocket and handed it to the Doctor with a wink.

'I hope it works.'

The Doctor turned the object over, watching the light reflect off its multifaceted surface, and a grin spread across his face.

'Oh, Jack, you're a star!'

'It's mostly Toshiko's work. I haven't tested it, but she never let us down. I just had to finish it off, after she …'

'Yeah, I was sorry to hear about her and Owen.'

'Perils of the job. Shit happens.'

Jack shrugged and pulled his wallet out.

'Right – drinks! Gwen and Martha – lager? Ianto, Coke?'

The others nodded their agreement. Jack made his way to the bar. The Doctor was still examining the device, and Pam nudged his shoulder.

'What's that for, then?'

'It's an emergency power pack.' He held it up so she could see it more clearly. 'You know, like one of those battery chargers you can get for a mobile phone. Gives you enough juice to last until you get chance to recharge properly.'

'Speaking of mobile phones,' Martha interrupted, 'why did you ring me from a payphone? What happened to my old phone?'

'Ah!' He looked embarrassed, and Martha gave him a stern look. 'Right. Your old phone.' He pulled a face. 'Well, you remember when every telephone exchange on earth dialled me simultaneously?'

'Yeah?' she said slowly, raising one eyebrow.

'It kind of … well, melted.'

'That was a two hundred quid phone!'

'Yeah, but you must admit the ringtones were rubbish …'

Jack returned from the bar, handed Martha her drink and smiled.

'Never takes long for you two to start arguing, does it?'

Pam glared at Martha for a moment.

'Hang on, are you two―?'

'No!' they shouted together.

'It's really complicated,' she added. 'Just forget about it.'

Jack sank his substantial frame into a low armchair and raised his glass.

'Just what I needed – a quiet drink with some old friends.'

In the big room, the band were getting ready for their second set of the night. Over the next few minutes, most of the punters filed through the doorway into the lounge. Ianto and Gwen followed them out of curiosity. A couple of minutes later, the opening bars of one of Bryan Adams' big hits rang out, and a few people in the audience cheered.

'Oh, "Summer of '69",' Pam shouted over the sound of the band. 'Great song!'

'I dunno about that,' the Doctor said, a petulant note in his voice. 'I mean, in July 1969, a human being set foot on another world for the first time. The pinnacle of your civilisation, the culmination of millions of years of evolution – and all it means to him is buying a guitar and snogging a girl. Talk about missing the point!'

'Okay then, what were you doing in the summer of '69?' Martha teased.

'Me?' He swigged his lager and leant back against the quiz machine. 'I was in UNIT HQ, watching the moon landing on TV with the Brigadier, and laughing my socks off! Blimey, how you lot ever got that thing off the ground …' He shook his head and grinned.

'What about you, Jack?'

'I can't tell you exactly where I was. Classified.' He sipped his mineral water and winked at her. 'Let's just say the summer of '69 lived up to its name.'

Trying not to blush, Pam grabbed the Doctor's hand and dragged him towards the doorway.

'Come on,' she cried, 'let's go and dance.'

He vanished into the crowd with a backwards pleading glance at Martha and Jack.

'If you can't beat 'em, join 'em,' he chuckled. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and they made their way into the lounge.

Gwen and Ianto were throwing shapes in front of the stage, along with about a dozen other people. The Doctor and Pam were bouncing around energetically some distance away, and here and there lights flashed as camera phones snapped souvenir pictures of the mismatched couple.

'Well, I did tell them to try and blend in,' Jack said in a low voice.

Jimmy watched with cold resentment as the regular routine of a Sunday afternoon slipped rapidly away. He'd temporarily forgotten about Amy. Instead, his gaze was fixed on Gwen. The little brunette seemed to be the only normal one in the group of strangers. His sozzled brain couldn't figure out why she'd be hanging around with the rest of her friends.

As the song came to an end, Gwen and Ianto emerged from the press of dancing bodies. She made their way over to Jack and Martha and gulped her drink. It seemed that the Doctor had been well and truly captured. Pam was showing him off to some of her pals.

'See, Ianto, I told you it wouldn't be as bad as you thought,' Jack smiled.

The younger man shrugged and sipped his Coke.

The band played another couple of rock standards, accompanied by some vigorous dancing at the front of the stage, before launching into another pub favourite – the Kaiser Chiefs' rousing hit 'I Predict a Riot'.

Gwen pulled a face.

'Oh, no!' The others looked at her in surprise. 'Sorry – there's something about this song. When Andy and I were on patrol, if we heard this song three times in one night there'd be trouble.'

'Don't be so daft! It's just coincidence.' Martha laughed and put her glass on a nearby table.

She pushed her way through the crowd and began bouncing around opposite a fair-haired man in a Sex Pistols t-shirt. Pam squeezed through the crowd on her way to the ladies', and the Doctor threw himself into a frenzied pogo along with Martha and the young chap.

Amy was in the middle of a conversation with one of her friends when Jack pricked up his ears.

'Anyway,' she said loudly, 'I thought he'd died. But it turns out he's living in Aberystwyth.'

'Excuse me, ladies,' Jack said, leaning across the bar. 'Speaking as someone who's done both, let me tell you there's not a lot of difference. In fact, if I had to make the choice between dying again, or living in Aberystwyth again – I'd rather die!'

Amy and her friend burst out laughing. Before Jack could continue, he felt a heavy hand on his arm. He turned to see Jimmy looming over his shoulder. His jealousy had finally got the better of him. Jimmy caught hold of Jack's lapels and swung him around, so they were standing face to face.

'Who the fuck are you?' he slurred.

Jack flashed his assailant a dazzling smile and extended his right hand.

'Captain Jack Harkness.' He inclined his head for a moment and smiled again. 'Nice ear-rings, by the way! Now, I'm guessing you're the kinda guy who likes to work out―'

Jimmy wasn't so stupid that he failed to recognise a chat-up line when he heard one. Immediately his massive fist slammed into Jack's face. Jack staggered back against the bar, scattering a row of empty glasses and sending a handful of customers reeling into the nearby tables. A woman screamed as Jack stood up. There was a smear of blood across his mouth, and he shook his head sharply to clear it.

'My turn!'

He walloped Jimmy in the stomach, then raised his leg as Jimmy doubled up. Jimmy's nose crumpled as it collided with Jack's kneecap, and he howled in pain.

Ianto and Gwen were already moving to help their colleague, while Martha was trying to pull the Doctor towards the doorway. Some of Jimmy's pals were homing in to lend their support. Ianto took his stun gun from his pocket; one of the bruisers fell to the floor without a sound. Gwen pulled out her warrant card and waved it vainly in the air.

'Hold it! Police!' she yelled, but nobody was paying her any attention.

On the stage, the band played on with renewed energy. They'd never seen a slam-dance like this before.

As they went into the second chorus, Pam opened the door from the ladies'. She peered out at the chaos around her and closed it hurriedly again, just before a pint glass smashed against the timber frame.

In the midst of the confusion, Martha managed to steer the Doctor through the doorway and into the bar.

'Do something!' she screamed.

He took his sonic screwdriver from his pocket and held it aloft.

'Sorry, boys, but you're a bit too loud for a Sunday evening.'

The device whistled, and one of the amplifiers exploded in a shower of sparks. The music died instantly, leaving only the sound of the brawl in the lounge. The lights went out at the same moment, plunging the whole pub into near-darkness. In the ensuing panic, Martha pushed the Doctor outside and onto the pavement. A small crowd of passers-by had gathered to witness the excitement, and it was fairly certain that the police weren't far behind.

'Have you got that piece of kit?' she yelled.

'Yeah, it's here.' He patted his pocket.

'Right – go! We'll meet you at the Rift.'

Without waiting to be told twice, he sprinted off towards the back lane.

Martha fought her way back inside and screamed at her colleagues. Ianto was first to break from the scrum. He shouldered his way towards her, his jacket covered in beer and spots of blood.

'What the hell happened?'

'Jack happened!'

She caught her breath and stood with her palms on her knees.

'"Just act naturally, try to blend in",' he said. Since then does that involve trying to get off with the local steroid monster?' She grimaced, then forced a faint smile. 'Actually, this is Jack we're talking about.'

'Yeah. It happens quite a lot,' he said ruefully.

Gwen and Jack had somehow managed to escape from the fracas inside. The four friends ran through the double doors and raced up the street towards the lane, not daring to look back.

When it seemed that the noise had died down, Pam emerged cautiously from the ladies'.

Her new friends were nowhere to be seen. Jimmy and his mates were unconscious in a heap by the bar. In a corner, a couple of women were crying. Several people had their phones out, taking photos of the scene. The musicians were clustered around their lifeless equipment, trying to figure out what had happened. Amy was trying to gather up shards of glass from the floor while shouting at nobody in particular.

Without pausing to look around, she hurried from the pub. As she hurried towards the lane, a black Land Rover with tinted windows shot out of a side street and sped off down the main road.

She arrived in the lane just in time to see the outline of the blue box fade and vanish before her eyes. A strange groaning sound rang in her ears before it too faded slowly, leaving just a rush of air in its wake. Pam rubbed her eyes, shook her head, and decided that next time she went out for the weekend, she'd definitely be staying sober.

Next Episode

Episode 2

Cardiff City Centre, 6.42 p.m.

Martha Jones checked the display of her phone and raised her eyebrows. She didn't recognize the caller's number, but she still smiled in relief. At least it wasn't her sister ringing with some silly gossip. She shot an apologetic glance at her fiancé and stood up from the table. The pub was full of football fans, watching the game on the big screen, and she leaned close to his ear.

'Sorry, Tom, I'd better take it – I think it might be work.'

She pushed through the crowded doorway and walked around the corner into St Mary Street, hitting the answer key as she went.

Tom Milligan nodded moodily and swallowed a mouthful of his beer. He was getting used to these frequent interruptions. Martha's work was classified Top Secret, and she often had to head away at short notice. However, this was the first weekend for months that Tom hadn't been on call at the hospital. He'd been hoping for a few beers while watching the football, a meal, a few more beers, and a late night for once. Now it seemed he'd be going home on his own again – as usual.

In the doorway of the amusement arcade next to the pub, Martha was in the middle of an excited phone conversation.

'Yeah, but where are you?'

'That's the million dollar question, Martha,' came the reply. 'And even though I've been everywhere, and seen everything – and of course I'm naturally quite brilliant – I'm not entirely sure where I am. I was heading for Cardiff, but I've ended up … Well, I don't know … I'm in a pub – but it's weird. Something isn't right. Just listen to that music, for starters―'

In the background, Martha could hear the distorted sounds of vintage heavy rock booming out from a powerful PA system.

'It might be a parallel universe, one where punk never happened,' she suggested with a grin. She heard the Doctor's laughter echoing down the line.

'Ooh, nightmare! Deep Purple reforming was bad enough – imagine a universe where they'd never split up! The problem is, I'm stuck here – the TARDIS isn't going anywhere. I could be here all night.'

Martha's tone changed to one of mock-sympathy.

'Oh, poor you. Stuck in a pub until chucking-out time. It's all right for some!'

She spotted Tom peering at her through the window, and gave him a cheerful wave.

'I've got the weekend off too, you know,' she protested. 'I'm out with Tom, we're supposed to be going to a pub quiz tonight.'

'You hate pub quizzes!' he exclaimed. 'Even your mother says that! Anyway, how often do I ask you for help?'

'Oh, let me think,' she teased. She began counting them off on her fingers: 'I helped you catch the Plasmavore the day we went to the Moon; I gave William Shakespeare the words of power to defeat the Carrionites; I looked after you for two months in 1913, when you were the most useless human ever; I saved the entire world from the Master―'

'All right, all right,' he conceded. 'I owe you a couple of favours … But is there any chance you could pick me up?'

'Oh, I'd love to, Doctor – trouble is, I'm halfway through my fourth pint.'

'Quite right, don't drink and drive, very sensible – hang on! You drink pints?'

'Don't sound so surprised! I did five years in med school – of course I drink pints,' she retorted. 'I could drink you under the table, mate!'

There was nothing she enjoyed more than winding up her time-travelling friend.

'What about Torchwood, then?' A note of desperation had entered his voice. 'They're just down the road, after all – maybe they could give me a tow or something.'

'Okay, I’ll give Jack a ring. Just sit tight and we'll see what we can do. Don’t go anywhere – and don't get into any trouble.'

'Who? Me?' She laughed at his feigned innocence. 'What are you talking about?'

'See you later, Doctor.'

Martha grinned. She ended the call and immediately hit the speed-dial. Watching her through the window, Tom shrugged, finished his pint and made his way to the bar. It was going to be one of those weekends.

The South Wales Valleys, 6.53 p.m.

Pam Griffiths had regained consciousness and was gazing at her surroundings in sheer disbelief. She'd often woken up in strange places after a weekend on the razz with her friends, but nothing had ever come close to this.

It looked like a 1960s vision of a futuristic home, brought to life by someone with an extravagant imagination and a budget to match. The walls were made of bronze panels and punctuated with glass portholes; the artificial lighting was mellow and pleasant; the furniture was definitely not from IKEA – but at least the bed was comfortable. Pam lay for a few moments with her eyes closed, trying to reconstruct events after she'd left with the strange man. She vaguely remembered following him up the lane and kissing him in a doorway, and then – nothing.

'Oh God,' she muttered under her breath. 'It's New Year's Eve all over again!'

Pam sat up and swung her feet onto the wire mesh floor, rubbing her aching forehead. Her mouth was dry, and she felt faintly nauseous. The door was only a few hesitant steps away. She emerged into a long corridor, decorated in the same outlandish style as the bedroom.

'Hello?' she called.

Her voice echoed down the corridor and died away. There was almost total silence, except for a rhythmic droning sound. It sounded like some sort of machinery throbbing deep beneath the floor – or the breathing of some huge creature. More doors led off the corridor. Pam opened the first one quietly, almost afraid to breathe.

The room was full of books, stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling, piled up on the floor, and crammed into boxes. She pulled some of the volumes out of one box, shaking her head in wonderment. There was no obvious sequence to the contents – battered pamphlets of poetry sat alongside expensive scientific textbooks, and the latest bestsellers were buried under novels by long-forgotten authors. The books smelt of bygone ages and faraway places, and Pam became more intrigued than ever.

She closed the door and opened the next one. This room was little more than a giant walk-in wardrobe, crammed with clothes and shoes representing a huge variety of styles and periods. Totally mystified, she made her way along the row of doors, peering through each one until she found a small bathroom. She ran some cold water into the basin and splashed it over her face, before filling a glass and swallowing it in one gulp.

'Bloody 'ell, I needed that!' she gasped.

She refilled the glass and carried it outside, continuing to explore her bizarre surroundings. Eventually the corridor opened out into a large square space, lit in the same subdued fashion as the rest of the rooms, but with an enormous metal and glass structure in the middle. A central glass column reached to the ceiling, giving off a dull white glow, and around it was an array of electronic gadgetry arranged on six triangular panels. Heavy cables hung from the ceiling, and an open toolbox lay underneath one panel.

Pam gulped back the rest of the water and ran her fingers over the rows of switches and dials. To her amazement, a monitor lit up for a moment and died again. She gave an involuntary shudder. The whole place seemed to be responding to her presence in the room. For the first time in her adult life, she felt frightened of the unknown.

As she pondered the control panel, the door swung open and her mysterious new friend strode into the room, grinning from ear to ear. He unplugged a couple of wires from a wall socket, shoved a small plastic box into his pocket, and only then noticed Pam standing at the central console.

'Right then, problem sorted, molto bene!' he announced, clapping his hands in glee. 'I should have a rescue party on the way within the hour. We might as well go back to the pub and wait for them. We're missing a terrific band – they were playing 'Comfortably Numb' when I walked past. I love that song!'

Without waiting for an answer he grabbed Pam's arm and led her outside, pulling the door shut behind them. She glanced backwards without thinking, and realised that they had just stepped out of the door behind her.

'Hang on!' She stopped in her tracks and pulled away from him. 'Where I was just now – that was huge! And that's a little blue box – made of wood!”

'Are you quite sure?'

The Doctor raised his eyebrows and looked worried. He walked slowly around the TARDIS, pretending to scrutinise it carefully from all angles, and returned to her side. With a solemn expression he handed Pam a key.

'Have another look.'

Pam unlocked the door and peered inside before slamming it shut again. Keeping one hand on the exterior, she walked right around the TARDIS, an incredulous smile spreading across her face as she went.

'No way! How do you do that?'

The Doctor grinned, pocketed the key again, and became serious for a moment.

'It's a special case of the Casimir Effect in four spatial dimensions. Exotic Matter. Easy when you know how.' He smiled again and set off along the lane at a trot. 'Come on, it's your shout.'

'You're bloody mad, you are,' she gasped, jogging to keep up with him.

'Yeah, probably,' he agreed, 'but it's fun, isn't it?'

Cardiff Bay, 6.46 p.m.

Deep below the leisure complex that had been built to replace Cardiff’s once-thriving docks, Ianto Jones put the crossword down and answered the phone to a familiar voice.

'Hi, Ianto, it's Martha – is Jack around?'

'And a very good evening to you too, Dr Jones.'

Ianto's laconic Welsh tones always made Martha chuckle.

'Sorry to call on a Sunday, Ianto. I need some help.'

'That’s why we're here.'

He slid the phone across the table and mouthed the word, 'Martha.'

Captain Jack Harkness switched the phone to speaker mode, leaned back, and beamed.

'Martha Jones, the voice of a nightingale, and a body to die for. Again. How can the humble Torchwood help the mighty UNIT this week?'

'It's nice to hear your voice too, you old fraud!' Martha retorted.

She and Jack had been exchanging friendly banter since they’d first met, a hundred trillion years in the future, and it showed no sign of letting up in the year 2009.

'Relax, it's not UNIT that needs you – it's the Doctor.'

Jack's eyes lit up at the mention of his old friend. The renegade Time Agent fancied anything with a pulse – or indeed, anything with DNA – and he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to see the Doctor again. As Martha outlined the Doctor's predicament, he winked at Ianto. He could sense an adventure coming on.

'Well, let's see what we can do.'

Jack typed a few commands into his computer terminal.

'I'll just do a quick scan for alien tech.

A satellite display of the Earth appeared on a large plasma screen on the far wall. He and Ianto watched as the viewpoint zoomed in, a little point of light indicating the position of the TARDIS. Jack pulled a face as the image resolved to street level. He walked over to the big screen, trying to identify the place where the TARDIS had landed.

'What the hell's he doing all the way up there?'

'It's a long story,' Martha muttered. 'Can we get up there and give him a hand?'

'It's double time on a Sunday, mind.' Ianto's sarcasm wasn't lost on Martha, and she laughed. 'And if it's all the same to you, I think I'll sit here and mind the shop.'

'Come on, Ianto,' she urged. 'A little run into the countryside will do you good.'

'Last time I went to the countryside I nearly got killed,' he grumbled. 'Anyway, I've been to that place once. It's not exactly the countryside. We played rugby there when I was in college. I ended up with three broken ribs, a fractured wrist and two black eyes.'

'Musta been a hard game,' Jack observed.

'That was in the pub afterwards. They found out one of the boys was a Swansea fan.' Ianto pulled a face and Jack laughed.

'Okay, Martha, we'll see what we can do for the old man. I'll ring Gwen and call you back. We'll pick you up on the way.'

'Thanks, guys. See you later.' The line went dead.

Jack pulled on his coat, rummaged in the pocket, and threw a bunch of keys to his colleague.

'Ianto, you're driving. I'll meet you up top. Give me a minute, I just need to get my jump leads.'

He crossed the room, pulled open a heavy steel cabinet, and reached inside.

'Secure archives, Jack?' The surprise in Ianto's voice was evident.

'Yeah. I've got just the right piece of kit in here. It took us months to build it – I've been waiting to try it out. Now we'll see if it works or not!'

Ianto was already halfway out of the door, and he looked back to see Jack pocketing his revolver.

'See you in Hell – or Aberdare!'

'Same difference,' he replied with a worried frown.

Next Episode