Doctor Who_ Dark Progeny Part 3

'I've been waiting nearly half an hour,' Bains protested, preferring to remain on his feet. He was still bristling with fury at the way he'd been left hanging about.

28.

'Management meetings,' Tyran dismissed, plunging into his own seat at the back of his desk. 'Take forever.'

'Getting to you you takes for-b.l.o.o.d.y-ever. It's taken me three weeks to fight my way through your b.l.o.o.d.y bureaucratic defences.' takes for-b.l.o.o.d.y-ever. It's taken me three weeks to fight my way through your b.l.o.o.d.y bureaucratic defences.'

'Defences?' Tyran was apparently amused. 'We're on a civilian, and civilised civilised, operation here, Mr Bains. This isn't a military stronghold, it's a boardroom.'

'Well it's been like trying to talk to a b.l.o.o.d.y board.'

'But now you're here, Mr Bains. You've fought your bureaucratic battles. And now you have my undivided attention.'

Tyran eased back in his seat and clasped his hands loosely on the desktop.

There was a scintilla of humour in his dark eyes, and the pale blue of the walls became tinged with dusky pink bursts that bloomed and faded like silent little fireworks.

'I know what you're playing at,' Bains informed him, trying to keep his voice level and his anger under control. He was only thankful that the room wasn't keyed into his own emotional centres.

'Playing at?' Sham perplexity now filled Tyran's eyes. He was putting on an act, still playing his stupid little games. Bains supposed it became an occupational diversion when you reached the pinnacle of power that this man enjoyed.

'Prevaricating. Messing me about for weeks on end. D'you know we're less than two days away from Grid 1123?'

'Are we really?' Mocking lines of concern appeared in Tyran's brow. 'No. I wasn't aware of that, as a matter of fact.'

'You're perfectly b.l.o.o.d.y aware!' Bains said, almost yelling but just about managing to keep control. He wanted to grasp Tyran by the scruff of the neck and beat some sense into his smarmy little skull. 'Don't kid me! The most startling archaeological discoveries in centuries and you're going to grind them into dust.'

'That's quite emotive language, Mr Bains.' Tyran fixed him with those immensely dark eyes. For a moment the playful glint was gone and Bains noticed that the walls were briefly spattered with patternless pinp.r.i.c.ks of carmine. His voice hardened slightly and he tensed in his chair. 'Extremely subjective. We've reviewed the data and an executive decision has been taken on the matter.

You'll find a full report logged on our scientific appraisal of your discoveries.'

'I've read your b.l.o.o.d.y so-called full report. It's a load of bull, if you don't mind my saying, Mr Tyran. A load of b.l.o.o.d.y bull.'

29.'You're ent.i.tled to your opinion, of course. However, the evidence has been weighed, and we can see no reason to change our planned course.'

'You think that once it's gone you can cover this up, don't you? Well I'll tell you something, Mr Tyran: you're not going to b.l.o.o.d.y well get away with it. I have friends '

'I think you'll find, Mr Bains, that we all have friends. And, curiously, some of them may well turn out to be mutual acquaintances.'

Tyran touched the desktop and a hologram flared into life in the air above them. Bains was appalled to see that it was his own face, greatly enlarged so that he could see the lines of anxiety etched around his eyes. The hologram coughed and leaned in conspiratorially.

'h.e.l.lo, Jahn. Danyal Bains. I am currently on Ceres Alpha. I have made astounding discoveries here that are about to be deliberately concealed. I fear that WorldCorp, for obvious economic reasons, would prefer that these discoveries had never been made. I believe my position as company archaeologist is a fraudulent sham. They employed me for my reputation in order to allay fears after WorldCorp's suspected involvement in the conspiracies on Reevis. It was hoped that nothing would be found and Ceres Alpha could be acquired without conscience. As it happened, a very many things were were found, but n.o.body here is interested. I'm a virtual prisoner. My permit has been suspended and I'm not allowed off-city. I requested a leave pa.s.s, but it was rejected. They seem determined that nothing of this will get out until it's too late. We're less than a week now from destroying an entire site of invaluable finds. Concrete proof that a previous civilisation flourished on Ceres Alpha. There's so much to learn, but it's all going to be lost. I need you to help me. I want a temporary halt to development in the 1100 sector. I know it's a lot to ask, Jahn, but the rewards could be enormous. The knowledge we can secure from these finds is beyond any economic value. I just can't stress enough how important this is to human understanding. Please do what you can, Jahn. Danyal out.' found, but n.o.body here is interested. I'm a virtual prisoner. My permit has been suspended and I'm not allowed off-city. I requested a leave pa.s.s, but it was rejected. They seem determined that nothing of this will get out until it's too late. We're less than a week now from destroying an entire site of invaluable finds. Concrete proof that a previous civilisation flourished on Ceres Alpha. There's so much to learn, but it's all going to be lost. I need you to help me. I want a temporary halt to development in the 1100 sector. I know it's a lot to ask, Jahn, but the rewards could be enormous. The knowledge we can secure from these finds is beyond any economic value. I just can't stress enough how important this is to human understanding. Please do what you can, Jahn. Danyal out.'

The image froze and Tyran allowed Bains's silence to stretch. When Bains spoke again, his voice was subdued, mellowed by the implications of the play-back. If every single one of Bains's personal coms was being subjected to such close examination and decryption, then he'd gravely underestimated the security of his confinement.

'You've accessed my personal codes,' Bains said quietly.

'No,' Tyran admitted. 'Your message was extremely cleverly hidden. Encoded into a subroutine of an equipment order, triggered for separate release when the order was processed by Earth Central. Very cunning. I'm extremely im-30pressed. I'd hate to play you at chess, Mr Bains.'

'But how '

'As I said, Mr Bains, some of our friends are mutual. Jahn Morgan did receive your message. I believe he was quite moved by your plea, in fact. But money, Mr Bains, moved him more.'

'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

Tyran didn't react to the word. The walls remained predominantly pale blue, with hints of pink and only spa.r.s.e suggestions of the carmine. He was a man of impressive self control. When he spoke his voice was calm and matter of fact.

'Contacting Earth Central about affairs here is no go. Do you understand, Mr Bains? The decisions about what happens on Ceres Alpha are made by me.

n.o.body else. This world is my responsibility. It's my domain '

'You planted your personal flag here, did you?'

'I planted billions of my personal fortune here, Mr Bains.'

'You can't buy the right to destroy the past '

'I think you'll find, Mr Bains, that if you've got enough money you can buy anything,' Tyran glanced at the frozen image of Bains's face suspended over the desk. Absolutely anything at all.'

'Not anything,' Bains told him flatly.

'You would have been well advised to accept our remuneration package and leave Ceres Alpha while you had the chance.'

'There are more important things than money.'

'And there are more important things than relics, Mr Bains.'

'They're a window on vast new knowledge. You're forced to conduct archaeological surveys on all worlds you consider for d.a.m.n good reasons. Past experience shows how valuable these discoveries can be. When Earth Central learn that WorldCorp destroyed evidence of an extinct alien civilisation there'll be repercussions. You can't flout the law, however much you, or the human race, need Ceres Alpha.'

'The wheels of industry, Mr Bains, are an unstoppable force to be reckoned with.'

'You're planting human roots in unknown soil. There was a civilisation here before. Not too long ago in ecological terms. Aren't you interested to know what happened to it?'

'All I'm interested to know is when we can get people moved out here.'

'Blinkered greed and glory. . . '

'Pragmatism.'

'Pragmatism weighs the facts. . . '

31.'The facts are clear in this case. Ceres Alpha is the closest planet we've ever found to Earth conditions. My G.o.d, we can even breathe the atmosphere. What that says to me is that those poor souls back on Earth need not spend their days in incarcerated squalor. We can give our children more than a box in which to live out their lives. We can breathe real air and see blue horizons. We could even have birds back in our skies again. Those are the facts facts, Mr Bains.'

'The race for s.p.a.ce! A boom in room! You forgot the mantras, Mr Tyran.

Don't forget the WorldCorp mantras.'

'Truths. WorldCorp truths.'

'The truth is that you don't know what the h.e.l.l you're doing here.'

'We're building a bright new future for the human race.'

'Good G.o.d! D'you spout that stuff in your sleep?'

'Mr Bains!' The walls flared angry crimson for a wild split second. Tyran had to physically get a grip on himself before he continued. 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this meeting short. I'm finding this exchange unconstructive and your att.i.tude frankly unhelpful.'

'When am I going to get my permit back?'

'I thought it would be obvious by now that it is unlikely that you would recover your archaeological permit before our work in this sector is complete.

There are certain procedures '

'Procedures! You put my dig off-limits, put armed guards on the entrance to the find, you bring me here and imprison me in my quarters '

'You are not a prisoner, Mr Bains. You are at liberty to move freely about the city. There are no restrictions on your activity whatsoever.'

'Don't make me laugh! I'm not allowed to go to the only place I want to be.'

'It's for your own safety '

'Safety '

'There were seismic disturbances. I can't risk the safety of my staff.'

'I'm perfectly responsible for my own b.l.o.o.d.y safety, thank you very much.

Seismic disturbances? You recorded mantle tremors caused by your own b.l.o.o.d.y city-machines. You're talking out your b.l.o.o.d.y '

'Mr Bains! Your permit is under review. When our people are certain there is no further danger, it will be returned to you and you can continue your work.

If you wish to leave Ceres Alpha, you are perfectly at liberty to do so.'

'I don't want to leave Ceres Alpha. It'll take me two months to get back to Earth. A further two months to get back here. In four months' time there's not going to be much of Ceres Alpha b.l.o.o.d.y well left.'

32.

'You wish to remain on Ceres Alpha, fine. You wish to continue your work on the surface, no problem. The moment your permit is returned, you can do so.

I think we've covered everything we needed to. This debate is at an end. Good night, Mr Bains.'

'You can't '

' Good night Good night, Mr Bains!'

Pa.s.sing his hand over the desk, Tyran pushed himself back in his seat as the door swished open to admit one of his a.s.sistants. He was a thickset man with a face hacked out of granite. His eyes were like oily small stones, and at his side he wore a firearm.

'Please show Mr Bains out, will you Zach?'

Bains stood up to leave, but as he headed for the door he turned back to the dark shape in the centre of the web.

'I'm sure we'll continue our conversation very soon,' Bains told him in a tight voice.

Tyran grinned, apparently delighted.

The walls swirled with blue-pink clouds. 'I'd like that very much, Mr Bains. I do enjoy lively conversation. Thank you.'

Zach stood in the open doorway, and Bains allowed himself to be ushered through. Out in the corridor he called the lift and began to head for his apartment, but changed his mind halfway there and instead decided he needed a good strong drink. Over the last forty years, he'd grown out of the custom of being social, preferring to be alone with his work. Now it had become a deeply entrenched habit to shun any contact with others, but he headed nevertheless for the bar at For'ard Obs.

The apartment was a tip. It had been subjected to two months of neglect, and now it was getting hard to even sit down amid the piles of litter and heaps of unwashed plates. They didn't have the s.p.a.ce to let detritus pile up like this.

Josef Manni picked his way through the mess in their living area to the door that led to their sleeping quarters. The lights were on all through the place, but their bedroom was empty except for more piles of dirty clothes and linen.

There was a faint smell of sweat and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. He was sure that if he hadn't been out at work all day he wouldn't have noticed it.

As he cleared enough s.p.a.ce down his side of the bed to clamber out of his clothes and into his bedshirt, he felt the resentment spreading again inside him. And close on its heels came the guilt the shame that he could resent her 33.dereliction. He crossed to the bathroom and regarded his face in the mirror gloomily.

He'd aged twenty years in the last two months. They both had. The loss of the baby had taken a tremendous toll. So many unmanageable feelings ravaged them through wake and sleep. At least he had his work to throw himself into.

Veta had only her grief.

The face in the mirror was almost unrecognisable these days. He had eyes that belonged to a much older man, dark with sorrow and glazed with fatigue.

His hair hung limp and his cheeks were pale and sunken. He hadn't even had a workout for nearly five months. His body chemistry was probably saturated with oxidants. He was completely worn out, yet he wasn't sleeping at all.

After splashing water briefly across his face, he dried and returned to the bedroom, where he threw back the sheets and slumped with his head in his hands on the edge of the bed. For long moments he listened to the thud of his own heart and wondered how much more of this torment it could thunder through. For months his face hadn't entertained even the slightest inkling of a smile. He had become grey and insipid. There seemed no purpose to his existence any more. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to drive him forward through the day.

Only his work. And even that had become a thankless drudge lately, starting early and working late in the intensifying battle against comp breakdowns.

There used to be a time when he enjoyed his job. It represented such an unfath-omable challenge some days that it would exercise his technical abilities as well as his imaginative skills to the point of defeat. Systems a.n.a.lyst was a career on a par with human a.n.a.lyst. He'd often compared himself to a brain surgeon being paid to remove single rogue worries from somebody's head. Subroutines within subroutines frequently pathed through bioconstructed subliminal gates.

Reprogramming by means of intuition, it had been called. Comp systems infinitely more complex than the human brain, and programs that had evolved over hundreds of years, reconfiguring themselves to meet the new challenges constantly thrown at them by human beings.

A timeless debate raged about AI. Did systems have souls? Over the years, Josef had grown to believe that they did. He'd seen comps suffer all manner of breakdowns and quirks of personality, some so subtle that there was no traceable programming reason for them. Now he wasn't so sure. He'd never seen a comp suffer the pain of personal loss. Comps didn't have children. No.

They didn't have souls.

Deciding it was long past time for bed, Josef stomped down the corridor 34to find Veta. She'd become ever more distant over the past eight weeks. He expected little from her by way of response, but he felt it was still his duty to go through the motions of getting her safely into bed at night. What happened in her dreams was out of his control, but at least he could still hold her in his arms.

Extinguishing the light in the living area, he headed for the room at the end of the short corridor opposite their bedroom. The light in there was subdued, as it always was. A pale orange glow, soothing, sleep-inducing, warm and cosy. He peered around the edge of the door to see Veta slumped at the comp, fingers flitting over the key panel, entirely lost in whatever she was doing. He briefly witnessed a monitor teeming with code, long strands of data scrolling faster than Veta could possibly read. But abruptly the screen went black, and he realised that she'd sensed his presence and cancelled the call.

'What you doing, love?' he asked.

She gazed at him from the other side of the room, haunted and pale, a ghost of the woman he knew.

'Nothing.'

He glanced around. Nothing had changed. Nothing ever changed in this room. The small lamp with its lamb-shaped cutouts, the cloudy-sky walls, and the little white crib in the corner. The empty crib.