Doctor Who_ Dark Progeny Part 17

'Ah. This is Dr Peron in Medicare Central. My comp just crashed. Can you get somebody down here p.r.o.nto?'

The man paused and looked away, presumably checking schedules.

'I can have somebody there in just under ten minutes, if that's OK?'

'That's fine. Ten minutes. It's Dr Peron. Just ask anybody when you get here and they'll point you in the direction of my office.'

The man smiled but his face filled with shadows for an instant before Peron cut the call.

Dr Domecq was in high spirits as Foley marched him to his meeting with Tyran.

He chatted cheerfully about the city-machine and the work on Ceres Alpha.

118.Foley managed to keep her responses to single-syllable sentences as far as possible, but that didn't seem to dent his exuberance at all.

As they entered the elevator and she allowed Domecq to program their destination, she kept the rifle conspicuously angled for use. Domecq, apparently didn't even notice she was wielding it.

'Terrible weather we're having lately,' he announced, folding his arms and regarding her with something akin to amus.e.m.e.nt.

Foley couldn't stop herself from grinning. This man had been through h.e.l.l and back, gone strolling off in a squall without storm gear, spent, according to the day shift, all day working intensely in Pryce's office, managed to slip out from under their noses for the last couple of hours until Peron had arrived on duty, and now, after all that, he was full of energy and chatting casually about the weather.

'Do you ever ever stop talking?' she asked him bluntly. stop talking?' she asked him bluntly.

'If I'm drinking, yes. Even then I can sometimes manage a soliloquy or two.

I spent some time with Edgar Bergen in the sixties.'

'Edgar Bergen?'

' The Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy Show The Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy Show,' he intoned jovially fanning his fingers before wrapping them back into his folded arms. 'Featuring Mortimer Snerd and Effie Klinker.'

Foley looked blankly at him.

'Ventriloquist.'

She shook her head.

'Of course, it's probably a forgotten art form now,' he said without moving his lips.

They arrived on the top floor and the door swept open to reveal Tyran's vast reception area. The place was brightly lit, with a noticeable absence of the pipe and wiring conduits that snaked across the walls in all other areas of the city.

Up here the dampers were exceptionally sensitive and you could easily forget that you were enduring a helter-skelter ride a kilometre or so below.

As they made their way towards Tyran's suite, the Doctor stopped to gaze into one of the enormous pictures that adorned the walls of Reception. They were holograms, stretching off into an indeterminate distance, breathtaking vistas of rolling landscapes with huge mountains and pale-blue skies. She awarded herself the temporary luxury of sharing his wonder at the view.

'It's hard to believe, isn't it,' she commented, 'that all of Earth looked like that once?'

'Careful,' Domecq cautioned. 'You're letting your sensitivity show.'

119.

Regarding him with surprise, Foley found his diamond-clear eyes penetrating her soul. For several seconds she was speechless, until she remembered the multiphase rifle cradled in her arms.

'You don't have to be a robot to make a career in Military One,' she told him.

'Come on. We've got an appointment to keep.'

His eyes remained on her, making her vaguely uncomfortable, until she jerked the rifle and he finally let go of the moment, allowing her to march him towards Tyran's office.

The place had been completely repaired and cleaned since Foley's spectacular, unannounced entrance earlier. The vast arched ceiling had been restored, and Tyran lounged in his seat at the far end of the huge desk. There were other people present, all men: Zach, whom Foley recognised instantly, three men in full-armament Earth Central military gear whom Foley didn't recognise at all, plus another man with long blond hair. Zach and the militaries stood to attention around the edge of the room, while the blond man sat on one of the conference seats at the side of the desk. Foley took an instant dislike to him.

He was too smug and far too pompous even before he opened his fat mouth.

And she had a keen sense of these things.

Standing and waving them in, Tyran smiled amicably at Domecq, offering him a seat.

'Doctor, please come in. Sit down.'

Domecq took the offered seat, throwing himself into it with gusto, while Foley tried to catch Tyran's eye for a signal of dismissal. Tyran noticed she was hovering uncertainly, and smiled in her direction.

'Please stay, Captain Foley,' he said. 'I'm sure we'll have use for your talents.'

She stood to attention, lowering the rifle, and glanced across at the other three troops who she realised were observing her as if they were a.s.sessing her fitness. There was something not quite right about the situation. Something false about Tyran's manner. Either Domecq had failed to notice it, or he was simply playing along.

'Now, Doctor,' Tyran said, 'I trust you had a very. . . constructive day?'

'Very much so, yes, thank you,' Domecq said.

'And you found the information you wanted on our comp system?'

'Yes,' said Domecq. 'I've been looking at the developmental histories of the. . .

the creatures. I think I found some interesting data, but it'll probably take me a short while to interpret it.'

'Interesting data?' probed Tyran.

Domecq simply nodded, refusing to elaborate.

120.'I understand from Dr Peron that you deliberately concealed a large part of your audit trail for this afternoon.'

From where she stood, Foley could view only a section of the Doctor's face.

She could see, however, enough of a profile to know that he was grinning.

'Did I? Perhaps it was a comp glitch. They can be very temperamental sometimes, I understand.'

'Oh, you understand a very great deal about comp systems, Doctor,' Tyran told him.

'I know you need to back up regularly,' Domecq said. 'And it's a good idea to keep your diskettes away from household items that generate electromagnetic fields.'

'Don't play games with me, Doctor,' Tyran warned, suddenly deadly serious.

'Why not?' Domecq responded as if this were some whimsical banter. 'You're playing games with me.'

'Yes,' said Tyran. 'But this time I'm the one with the guns.'

'So I noticed.' Domecq glanced around the room at the armed presence.

'They do seem to be very much in evidence today.'

Pushing himself back in his seat, Tyran watched Domecq with a dark scowl.

If he'd expected Domecq to start squirming at this point, he was going to be disappointed. Domecq crossed his legs and appeared completely relaxed and at home.

'Who are you?' Tyran asked.

'We've already been introduced.'

'Then perhaps I should introduce you,' Tyran suggested gravely, indicating the blond man sitting opposite Domecq, 'to the real real Dr Domecq. . . ' Dr Domecq. . . '

Jorgan was a grizzly bear of a man with an ugly face and an even uglier att.i.tude. His broad, squashed face was rimmed with frizzy hair and a beard, and his hands were as wide as Fitz's shoulders. Or, at least, that was how he appeared to Fitz when he was thrown to his knees in front of the man-mountain.

'Found him sneaking about outside,' grunted the Neanderthal who had grasped Fitz by the collar and lifted him bodily off his feet to whisk him into the meeting hall.

Jorgan smiled and his face grew uglier still, if that was possible.

'Too ill to talk, eh?' he scoffed.

Ayla shot Fitz a fierce look.

'He should be in sickbay. He's not well enough to be off the med unit.'

'Looks all right to me.'

121.

'He's still under my supervision.'

'Looks like he just signed himself out.'

'Look at the state of him,' Ayla argued. 'He's not fit to be wandering about.'

Fitz glanced from one to the other as if he were at a tennis match, before finally raising his hands.

'Hey, if you two want to argue it out, I'll just get myself back off to bed, shall I?'

Clicking his fingers decisively at the Neanderthal, Jorgan pointed to a nearby chair. Fitz was abruptly airborne again and landed on the seat, which was a metal thing that Fitz met with a thud. The tight grasp at the back of his neck didn't loosen while Jorgan paced about on the stage. He was six foot four, Fitz estimated, and nearly as wide as he was tall. If things were going to get physical, Fitz had about as much chance as the proverbial cat in h.e.l.l.

'What were you doing out in the field?' Jorgan demanded.

'We crash-landed.'

'We?'

'Three of us. Me, the Doctor and Anji.'

Jorgan appeared suspicious at this admission, but Fitz saw Ayla's face brighten at the news.

'Where are the others?' Jorgan demanded.

Fitz shrugged. 'They were heading for the city.'

'The city?' Ayla asked, suddenly urgent.

'Anji was ill. The Doctor was taking her to the city to get help.'

Ayla grinned triumphantly at Jorgan.

'There,' she said. 'I think we ought to put a call in, don't you?'

Jorgan appeared more than a little disappointed, but he conceded grudgingly. By the time he'd reached into his pocket for his communicator, Ayla had put in the call and an animated holographic logo materialised in front of them that showed a blue sunny sky with a flock of birds in the approximate shape of an elongated W W.

'Can I help?' the logo asked, while the birds wheeled about in their virtual sky.

'Ayla Damsk. Fieldbase Gamma Twelve. I need to talk to someone about new arrivals.'

'Hold, please.'

While they waited, Fitz gazed round at the gathered vultures. They were a mean-looking crew, like characters out of an old pirate film. He could just imagine them with wooden legs and hooks for hands. They all wore the same 122grimy orange overalls with the WorldCorp insignia, and they all wore the same fatigued and fed-up expressions.

The holographic logo fizzled a few times before a woman's head appeared in its place. The head looked about as unfriendly as any that Fitz had come across today, although it didn't appear as uncultured as the mob around him now. She had short-cropped dark hair and a thick jaw that reminded Fitz of a man's. Her eyes were dark stones, and she regarded Ayla impatiently.

'You were asking about new arrivals?' Peron asked.

'Yes,' said Ayla Damsk.

'Why?'

'We found a man this morning. Badly injured out in the field. He claims he had companions heading for the city last night.'

'He's conscious now?'

'Yes.'

'Put him on.'

There was a short bout of static and motion while Damsk clipped her com to the man's lapel. The com took a split second to reorientate itself, and finally a scruffy, wide-eyed head appeared in the air above Peron's seat. He was a youngish man, slim with slightly crooked features that suggested he had no money for enhancements, which suggested to Peron that he had no right being able to afford to travel to Ceres Alpha legitimately. There was a good chance that they might be able to get some information out of this one.