Ianto indicated a work bench tucked into an alcove close to the steps leading down to the Autopsy Room. On the bench was a shattered chunk of what looked to have once been a football sized orb of some silvery, iridescent material. The orb fragment, which rippled gently with light, was nestled within a complex cradle of monitoring equipment, not unlike a miniature version of the work station area. Ianto’s attention was snagged by a scrolling bank of data on a monitor screen.

‘These enzyme readings are going through the roof,’ he said.

'Meaning?’

'Meaning that the pod’s rate of regeneration is increasing exponentially.’

Jack arched an eyebrow. He appreciated Ianto’s efforts to step into the considerable breach left by the deaths of Owen and Tosh, but he couldn’t deny that the extra workload his friend and colleague had recently taken on affected his focus on occasion. Even the normally exceptional standard of Ianto’s coffee had slipped a little these past months. Not that Jack would have said anything. Ianto would have been devastated.