Doctor Who_ Original Sin Part 19

'Scat,' the other one said.

Within seconds, they had vanished into the darkness of the Undertown. She could still picture their faces if she needed to pick them up later. So far, so good.

'Lucky you came along when you did,' the big alien had hissed. 'Thanks.'

The headache had intensified round about then, hadn't it?

'Aliens,' Madillah had said as she unholstered her blaster. 'You're all the same.'

That's where things started getting a little fuzzy. Had she fired her blaster?

She seemed to remember playing the beam over something large and motionless. Well, more or less motionless, especially after a while.

115.She pulled another piece of meat off the carca.s.s and licked the juices from it.

Did it matter what had happened, so long as she was happy?

Beltempest and the Doctor were perched on the edge of the trolley upon which Fazakerli's body lay.

'Very smart, Doctor,' Beltempest said. He held a cup of lapsang souchong in his trunk, which m.u.f.fled his voice slightly. 'Whether or not you're right about the effects of icaron radiation and I'm still reserving judgement on that the probability that all those people were coincidentally in the same small area of Earth within seven days of the outrages they committed is so small that even the computer can't calculate it. What made you think of a time-based a.n.a.lysis rather than a s.p.a.ce-based one?'

'I have a different perspective on these things,' the Doctor murmured, gazing moodily across the room. 'Of course, you realize that this just magnifies the scale of the problem.'

Beltempest contorted his trunk until he could sip from the cup. Thank G.o.d he'd allowed those two Adjudicators to persuade him to keep the Doctor alive. He'd originally thought that the Doctor and Bernice Summerfield were unwitting tools of whoever he was searching for, but it was beginning to look as if the Doctor could be of use after all. 'How so?' he said finally, savouring the oddly tarry taste of the liquid.

'Well, we know where the radiation contamination is occurring, but we still don't know why.'

'Why?'

'Is it an accident, or is there some malign intelligence behind it all?'

Beltempest frowned. 'An accident, surely. How could. I mean, who . . . ?'

'Icaron radiation doesn't come free with packets of cornflakes, you know,'

the Doctor said, still staring at the wall. 'It's produced under very special, very deliberate circ.u.mstances. Most civilized planets ban all research on icarons because of the dangers. No, I suspect that if there is a source on Earth, then it's been put there deliberately.' He sighed. 'Still, there's a lot of work that needs to be done before we ascribe blame to anyone. I could be wrong. It might be accidental. I'm not the cosmos's greatest expert on icarons, after all.

We really need to talk to someone who knows more about them.'

Beltempest thought for a moment. The Doctor, watching him intently, added: 'You know somebody who can help, don't you? That's how you come to know about icarons.'

Beltempest shook his head. He didn't want to think about this. He really didn't.

116.'Yes you do,' the Doctor insisted. 'Who is it?' When Beltempest failed to reply, he added, 'Look, people are dying as you sit there. Tell me the person's name.'

'Pryce,' Beltempest sighed. 'Professor Zebulon Pryce, of the University of Sallas. Famous case, ten years ago or so. He discovered how to produce icarons by smashing beams of blumons and zeccons together, published a number of papers on the basic mathematics, quantum states, and so on. The Landsknechte offered him facilities and a grant to study the weapons applications first hand '

'Weapons applications?' the Doctor said darkly.

'Purely defensive, of course,' Beltempest said dismissively. 'We wanted to know whether icaron beams would be more powerful than the proton beams we're using now. Anyway, Zebulon came here to Purgatory to work. He had his own building, near the s.p.a.ceport, with a cyclotron to produce the icarons.

I was only a trooper at the time, but I remember the case . . . ' He trailed off into silence.

'What happened?' the Doctor prompted.

'He went mad, of course,' Beltempest sighed. 'I suppose it's obvious to you, but we didn't know that icarons could cause people to go psychotic. Pryce was the first human researcher on them, and none of the alien races whose databases we'd examined '

'Ransacked,' the Doctor whispered.

' had discovered them either,' Beltempest continued. 'He fooled us all for three years. We thought Landsknechte were deserting into the training environments, living in the jungles and whatever. Turned out he was killing them off, one by one. He'd lurk in the ventilation ducts late at night, and leap out at them. Paralysed them with dermal patches, then took them back, still conscious, to his lab.' Beltempest took a deep breath. 'At the court martial it was said that he'd kept them alive for weeks, gradually dissolving the flesh from their bones with coronic acid but leaving their circulatory systems and their nerves still intact.'

'How was he caught?' The Doctor's voice seemed to be coming from a million miles away.

'Fuse blew on the cyclotron, causing a fire. He wouldn't evacuate the building, so they sent Landsknechte in to get him out. We found we found . . . '

His voice caught, and he stopped for a moment before continuing. 'Some of them were still alive when we broke down the door. Just skeletons wrapped in shreds of tissue. Skeletons with eyes. Staring, staring eyes. I'll never forget it. Never.'

The Doctor laid a hand on Beltempest's arm.

117.'They stopped the research and destroyed the building, of course,' Beltempest said finally in a voice that was just a shade too calm and too controlled, 'but they kept him alive. Justice had to be done. Justice had to be seen to be done. If you want an expert on icarons, Professor Zebulon Pryce is your man.'

'Where is he?' the Doctor asked.

'At the Imperial prison, on the planet Dis. The Landsknechte wanted him executed, but he's got the whole case tied up in knots with appeals and legalese.

Something to do with the fact that although the Landsknechte employed him, he was still on the books of the University of Sallas and therefore under Imperial, rather than Landsknecht, law. It doesn't help that lawyers for both sides keep dying.'

'Will you take me there?'

'No.' Beltempest's eyes were bleak and dry. 'I might just be tempted to blow the planet to smithereens from orbit.'

'I need to see him,' the Doctor insisted, 'and I think you do too.'

'Oh I see him, believe me.' Beltempest turned his bleak gaze upon the Doctor. 'Every night, when I close my eyes, I see him.'

Powerless Friendless followed the smell of roasting fish until he found Olias's place.

He knew he was in the right area when he saw the fishing rods. They jutted from the roof of the ma.s.sive edifice of cracked plasticrete, their lines trailing away into the surrounding waters. He could see shadowy figures behind them: fishermen or guards, n.o.body was sure. Could well be both. Olias's was not only the best, but the safest restaurant in the whole of the s.p.a.ceport Five Undertown. Everybody knew that. Olias had contacts. People up in the Overcity who dealt with her. Drugs, people, cheap technology: Olias could provide it. Olias more or less ran the whole of s.p.a.ceport Five Undertown.

More powerful than the viscount who ran things up top, she was.

Powerless Friendless slid out along the catwalk that led to the building, aware of the eyes watching him from the roof By the time he got to the door, he had been recognized and p.r.o.nounced harmless. If he had looked like trouble, or if Olias had taken a sudden and unprompted dislike to him, he would never have made it.

As the door opened for him, one of the fishing lines nearby jerked and started to move. Powerless Friendless stopped to watch, his mouth already watering. There was a flurry of activity from the roof, and the line pulled taut. The water beneath the catwalk suddenly exploded into life as whatever had taken a fancy to the bait tried to escape. Too late. Whoever was working the line wasn't about to let their catch go. They reeled it in slowly, cautiously, letting the line out if it felt about to snap, but always reeling in more than 118they let out afterwards. Powerless Friendless caught a glimpse of a pale body lined with suckers as it was hoisted up, still jerking, to the roof. Might have been a mutated fish, might just as easily have been an alien underdweller out for a late night swim. Either way, within half an hour the creature would be gracing somebody's plate, roasted in its own juices, blackened with alien spices, served with a chilled Elysian wine.

People came from the Overcity for Olias's food. She was in offworld tourist guides. Bodyguards recommended.

Pangs of pain shot through his mouth as his glands went into overdrive. He hadn't eaten properly since since he couldn't remember when.

Inside, Olias's restaurant was a huge, barnlike building of bars, winding stairways and tables tucked away in corners. Simcords of various planetary landscapes were scattered across the walls. Powerless Friendless recognised the ice forests of Zobeide and the towering fern-cities of Baucis, although he couldn't recall visiting the planets themselves. He felt faint at the smell of the food. His five linked stomachs were tying themselves in knots, and his mouth was so full of saliva that he had to keep swallowing to stop it from dribbling off his mouth-cilia and down his body. Retracting his pseudo-limbs to stop himself from inadvertently picking up food from people's plates, he slithered his way between the tables.

Dantalion was at the bar. He was smaller and fatter than Powerless Friendless remembered, and his skin was deeply furrowed, the Birastrop sign of old age. Something about his eye his real eye said that he hadn't got long to live, and he knew it. His other eye the metal orb reflected Powerless Friendless's face back at him.

He gazed blearily at Powerless Friendless over a frothing gla.s.s held in one of his lower limbs. 'Yes?' he said, thumping the gla.s.s down. It continued to froth, and something moved inside it.

'You you don't remember me?' Powerless Friendless asked.

'People provide me with financial recompense in return for two services,'

Dantalion said, and wiped the back of his hand across his upper lip. His voice had the careful precision of the very drunk. 'They pay me to stop them remembering something, and they pay me so that I don't remember who they are afterwards.'

'I think I remember you.'

'Then, my friend, you didn't pay enough.' Dantalion burped. 'Drink?' he asked.

'No. I . . . ' Powerless Friendless couldn't force the words out.

'You want your memory back,' Dantalion said softly.

Powerless Friendless nodded.

'When did I excise the unwelcome remembrances?' Dantalion asked.

119.Powerless Friendless shook his head. 'I don't know. Perhaps a few years ago.'

'I was good then.' The Birastrop smiled mirthlessly. 'Better than I am now, at any rate. Have you been getting any breakthroughs? Any memories from your previous life?'

Powerless Friendless nodded. 'Some,' he admitted. 'Flashes. Faces and names. How did you know?'

Dantalion looked away, across the restaurant. Powerless Friendless waited, wondering whether the being had heard the question. Eventually Dantalion picked up his gla.s.s and sloshed the contents around for a moment.

'Long and painful experience,' he said finally. 'People come to me, and ask me to remove selected memories as if I were pulling a rotting tooth. Painful love affairs. Secrets. Tortures. Sometimes a few moments, sometimes a few years. They pay me, and I do my best. And then, years later, they find me again. "Give them back," they cry. "I'm incomplete! I can't live without them!" And I tell them what I'll tell you.' He took a swig from the gla.s.s, and Powerless Friendless could hear him gulp as he swallowed whatever had been swimming in the drink. 'I don't remove memories,' he said. 'I just hide them.

I put them in places your mind won't think to look for them. Sometimes it rediscovers them by accident. Sometimes it searches so hard it finds them despite my best efforts.' He smiled. 'Sometimes they come crawling back into the light and announce their presence anyway.' He banged the gla.s.s down and signalled to the barman. 'What I am trying, in my long and roundabout way, to impart to you is that some memories I can get back for you, but others will have been recycled for dreams or overwritten by other experiences. It's a hit-and-miss affair. Are you still interested in taking advantage of my meagre skills?'

Powerless Friendless nodded.

Something sloshed against the side of Dantalion's gla.s.s, rocking it slightly on the table.

'Why do you drink that stuff?' Powerless Friendless asked, wincing.

'There are some things that even I don't want to remember,' Dantalion answered as the barman placed another inhabited drink before him 'And, as I wouldn't let anybody like me anywhere near my mind, this is the next best solution.'

'Mom!'

'Christopher?'

The small woman in the doorway stared up at Cwej in astonishment. The smells of breakfast irradiated animeat flesh drifted out behind her.

120.Forrester turned to Bernice. 'Why did I let myself get talked into this?' she muttered, and gazed past Bernice, along the hallway. n.o.body was around, but she still felt she was being watched.

'What's the matter?' Bernice asked.

'This just feels like a bad move.' Forrester let her gaze linger at each of the doorways along the hall. Unlike her level, where the entrances to the individual apartments were grey and anonymous, the ones down here on Level Fifty-three were brightly coloured, ever-changing rectangular kaleidoscopes with the names of the families, and in some cases, their smiling simcord images, appearing out of the coloured patterns.

'Christopher! It can't be you!' the woman exclaimed, clapping her hands to her cheeks. 'Oh, let me look at you! We were so worried! We thought you might have been caught up in the riots!'

Riots? Forrester thought as Cwej grinned down at his mother. We've only been gone a few days. What's been happening?

'Mom, I brought some friends.'

'Any friends of yours are welcome,' she said, peering round him and gazing at Bernice and Forrester with warm curiosity. 'Come in, come in. You should have told me you were coming The irradiator's playing up. I think the techbrain's gone again, but the cost of replacements these days . . . '

She ushered them all into a large room filled with furniture and decorated with simcord images of family and friends. A tall, elderly man who had been sitting watching a hand-held centcomp reader sprang to his feet, grinning Forrester, uncomfortable at such effusive hospitality, studied the images intently as an alternative to joining in with the exclamations and introductions behind her. A large number of them seemed to be of Cwej: Cwej as a child, wide-eyed and two-headed; Cwej as a teenager, gangling and awkward, holding a small reptilian pet; Cwej looking uncomfortable in badly fitting Adjudicator's squire's robes; Cwej, bursting with pride at his graduation ceremony on Ponten IV. Forrester found it strange, seeing Cwej without his fur and his bearlike snout. He was so good-looking that he was almost a caricature.

'We were so proud of him,' a voice said from beside her. She turned. The elderly man was standing beside her. His face was deeply lined, and close up she could see that most of the left side of his face was artificial, but his eyes were as bright and as blue as Cwej's. 'I'm Christopher's father,' he added. 'His mother and I were there when he graduated. Pleased as punch. Pleased as punch. First time I'd been back to Ponten for seventy years, of course. Old place hadn't changed much. Reminded me of my own graduation, back in oh-five. I swear some of the lecturers were the same.'

'Roz Forrester,' she said, still ill at ease. 'You were an Adjudicator too?'

121.'Proud to meet you,' he said. 'Any partner of our son is a friend of ours. Yes, I was an Adjudicator, up till four years ago. It's a family tradition.'

Now that she knew, she could see it in his eyes: that searching, questioning, devil-may-care expression that could all too easily turn into world-weariness.

As hers had.

'My father, and his father before him,' Cwej senior added. 'Back as far as we care to look. There was a Cwej on the founding panel of Adjudicators, back when they were more like galactic sheriffs. Forrester. Now there's a familiar name. Could I have served with your dad?'

She shook her head.

'My father didn't well, let's say I don't think you'd have met him.'

'No, I remember what it was,' he said, grinning. 'You were squired to Fenn Martle, weren't you?'

A fist tightened around Forrester's heart.

'Yes,' Cwej's father continued, oblivious to her expression, 'he squired me for his first few years on the job. Good lad. Very promising. Whatever happened to him?'

Forrester bit her lip to stop herself saying something she might regret. This was going to be a long day.

The rising sun shone through the window of the darkened office, casting the shadow of the figure across the translucent desk. Information flickered in the depths of the desk financial, economic, military but the figure did not react.

Like a spider, the figure waited patiently for those faint, tell-tale vibrations of the web.

As the sun rose, its rosy glow slowly edged across the desk and onto the carpet, casting light into the shadowed recesses of the room. As the figure waited, the sunlight crept, inch by patient inch, further across the office, until it lapped against the foot of a large box.

A large, blue box.

The splash of bright colour attracted the figure's attention.