Slow Decay - By Andy Lane Page 0,29

he was at least twice the weight: his jacket and trousers were straining to contain the flesh inside, and his face ballooned out into a series of curves: cheeks, chin, forehead, all fighting for space on his skull.

‘My mission is to make people thin,’ Scotus said, ‘and my reputation is your guarantee. You’ve seen, from your friend Lucy, that the tablets work.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I couldn’t help but note from her records that the address we have for Miss Sobel is wrong. Do you know if she has moved recently?’

‘She moved in with her boyfriend,’ Rhys replied, ‘but I think she might be moving out soon. Is there a problem?’

‘No problem.’ Scotus smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s part of our regular follow-up process. We wanted to check that she was happy with the weight that she had lost. We do offer a money-back guarantee, you know.’

‘That’s good to know.’

‘Do you have Miss Sobel’s current address?’

‘I’ll get her to get in touch with you,’ Rhys said, cautiously. He thought he’d better check with Lucy first that she was happy with her address being given out.

‘Of course, she works with you, doesn’t she? Which reminds me – I forgot to ask. For the records. Where is it that you work?’

Rhys gave Doctor Scotus the name and address of the transport and shipping company, wondering why he felt faintly uneasy about it. Perhaps it was the eagerness with which Scotus typed the address into his computer, a half-smile on his face. Eventually, the Doctor looked up.

‘Thank you, Mr Williams. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. The tablets are yours – please feel free to call if you have any questions, or need any advice. You can settle up with my receptionist on the way out: we accept all main credit and debit cards. It’s a one-off payment – no ongoing commitment required. And, as I said, we do offer a no-quibble money-back guarantee. So far, nobody has taken advantage of it.’

‘Thanks for your time.’ Rhys reached out to shake Doctor Scotus’s hand.

He could feel Doctor Scotus watching him all the way to the door.

‘All right – what is it?’ Mitch said, weighing the alien technology in his hand.

‘It’s not a gun,’ Gwen said, ‘and it’s got nothing to do with drugs.’ She took a sip from her cappuccino. They were both sitting in a small Italian-run café not too far away from the police station. Mitch had a large mug of milky coffee in front of him. He’d asked for a strong white coffee several times, getting louder and louder, until Gwen translated it into a venti latte with an extra shot. The world was changing in ways that people like Mitch found it difficult to keep up with.

‘I’d already worked both of those out,’ Mitch said. His face still looked naked to Gwen, without that bushy moustache he used to have. ‘The question is: what is it?’

‘Some kind of games platform is the best we can come up with,’ Gwen lied smoothly. ‘We think one of the kids built it himself. You can see the design is completely different from anything Microsoft, Sony or Nintendo are putting out. It’s possible that the fight started over this, but it’s much more likely it started over a girl, or drugs, or something.’

Mitch grunted, still weighing the smooth, lavender-coloured object in his hand. ‘So why are Torchwood hanging on to it?’ he asked eventually.

‘We think it might contain some proprietary software. We need to download what it contains and check who the owner is.’

‘And that’s what Torchwood does?’ Mitch said, his face expressing his disbelief. ‘Investigates copyright theft?’

‘It’s a big problem,’ Gwen said, evading the question. ‘Lots of new software and Internet start-ups in Cardiff.’

‘All right. Keep us informed, luv. Did the video footage from the nightclub make sense?’

‘Just about,’ Gwen said. ‘I could see the device clearly, but not what they did with it or what they were saying. But it’s all grist to the mill. Thanks for making that copy for me.’

Mitch drained his venti latte in one go. ‘Warm milk,’ he complained. ‘They always make it with warm milk, these days. Tastes like something from a kids’ nursery. Look, I’ve got to get back. There’s a briefing on. Keep in touch, and if you ever want to come back…’

‘Thanks, Mitch. I appreciate it.’ She watched him weave through the closely packed tables. He’d been a colleague, and she hated to take advantage of him.

She turned her attention back to the device