Doctor Who_ Trading Futures Part 3

He handed Anji the detector. She slipped it into her bag. At least it would be at home there with her PDA with its almost flat battery and a mobile phone which she kept on, even though it was ten years away from the nearest person likely to call it.

'I'll have to open it,' the Doctor decided, tapping the case.

'It could be b.o.o.by*trapped.'

The Doctor drummed his lip. 'True. Still think of it as a challenge.'

'Is there anything I can do?' Fitz asked.

The Doctor shook his head.

'Well, seeing as it's a nice day, could I...?' He didn't quite have the nerve to ask.

The Doctor was peering at the case, as if he could open it by staring at it.

'Doctor?' Fitz asked.

'He wants a day off, boss,' Anji prompted.

'Not a day. Just an hour or two, really.'

'Go on, then.'

Fitz was already on his feet. 'Coming, Anji?'

She looked over. 'No. I think I'll help here.'

'Anji, there's a beach, there's the... er... it's the Mediterranean, isn't it?'

'It's the Mediterranean.'

'Thought so. You'd rather be sat there than exploring?'

'You go and enjoy yourself,' Anji a.s.sured him.

'Have a nice time, Fitz,' the Doctor echoed. 'Oh, and watch out for the owners of the case.'

Fitz and Anji looked at him.

'Well, I imagine they want it back, don't you?' The Doctor asked, searching his pockets for something.

'And who are they?'

'The human military of this era.'

'All of them?'

'The British, from what I gathered last night. Or the EZ. It's all much of a muchness now. Special forces, with state of the art equipment and weapons.' He was holding the sonic screwdriver, made a show of adjusting some of the settings.

'Well, I suppose a bunch of blokes in balaclavas will stand out here.'

'I imagine they're skilled in covert operations. The three of them on the hydrofoil saw my face, so they'll be looking for me.'

'Then why are we sat out here in the open?'

'You said it yourself: it's a nice day, it would be a shame to be inside.'

'They won't know me, though? I'll be safe?' Fitz looked over at Anji. 'I mean me and Anji, obviously.'

'They've probably got access to CCTV footage of the three of us together,' the Doctor murmured. 'We were together the whole of yesterday, and at the restaurant and hotel last night. So, enjoy yourself, but '

'Enjoy myself but watch out for the SAS trying to slit my throat?'

The Doctor grinned. 'That's the one.'

Chapter Three.

A Pretty Girl is Like a Malady Fitz left the Doctor and Anji behind, and wandered up to the road, a pedestrianised boardwalk. Most of the people here were middle*aged, but this was a holiday resort, there was bound to be some sort of entertainment. He decided to cross the street to an amus.e.m.e.nt arcade he'd spotted.

Maybe he'd even learn the name of the island at some point. Yeah he'd make that the mission for the morning. He'd been here more than a day now, so he felt a bit embarra.s.sed asking Anji or the Doctor.

The amus.e.m.e.nt arcade was full of noise and light but it was also air*conditioned, so it was an easy decision to go in. There were rows and rows of games, all with a huddle of people around them. Kids mainly everyone was at least half his age, from the look of them. The games were just s.p.a.ce*age fruit machines and pinball, as far as Fitz was concerned. He recognised the intense concentration, the frantic slapping of b.u.t.tons, the lights and sounds.

Right at the back of the place was something more substantial.

RealWar.

There were six booths, taking up most of the back wall. Despite the number of machines, there was a short queue, and it seemed to be attracting an older crowd people in their twenties. There was a man dressed as a soldier standing at the front, acting like an usher, working through the line, checking people's ident.i.ty cards. The screens were vast, letting everyone take a look the quality of the images was completely realistic: a forest in midwinter, from the viewpoint of some vehicle or other. That was it as he watched, Fitz saw that all six pictures were of the same forest, from slightly different angles. The players were all part of some military patrol, on some sort of co*ordinated search. So it was a team game of some kind.

The players didn't seem to be enjoying themselves much, it had to be said. Perhaps this depiction of war was a little too too real a bit too much of the waiting for something to happen, not enough of the action. real a bit too much of the waiting for something to happen, not enough of the action.

Fitz would probably have drifted off to find something else, if he hadn't seen the woman watching the players.

She was Chinese, and the only person his age in the place well, the only good*looking woman, which was the same thing. She was short, dressed in tight black leather trousers and a college sweatshirt. She smiled back at him, briefly, which was more than enough for Fitz to file her under 'Possible'.

Fitz could speak Chinese a long story and wondered if a quick ni bao ni bao would impress her. He decided against it. would impress her. He decided against it.

'Not playing?'

She shook her head. 'Spotting talent.'

An American accent not just the sort she'd have picked up from watching Hollywood movies, either. Fitz was useless at pinning down exactly which part of America accents were from. A shame really, because a quick 'so, you're from Philadelphia', or whatever, would have come in handy to get the conversation going.

He tried to think of something.

'You're American?'

She was still staring over at the screens, she'd not looked at him. 'Well done. You're from the land of Sherlock Holmes after all. What gave it away? The accent, the Berkeley T-shirt, or just the fact everyone here is staring at me like I'm about to break the ceasefire?'

'Mainly it was the accent,' Fitz deadpanned. 'Calm down, we're all on the same side.'

She chuckled at that, and looked at him properly for the first time. 'Very good.'

The soldier tapped him on the shoulder.

'Are you Sutcliffe, J?'

'No.'

'You know him?'

'No.'

'You're an EZ citizen?'

'Er... what's aneasy?'

'Where are you from?'

'London. Originally.'

'Then you're drafted. Sutcliffe hasn't shown up.'

Fitz glanced over at the Chinese girl. 'Time to do my bit for Queen and Country.'

He stepped up to the control panel. It seemed straightforward enough.

'You've driven a cla.s.s two before?'

'Oh yes,' Fitz bluffed, grabbing the control stick and placing his hands resolutely on the control panel. 'So, where's this set?'

'The disputed Siberian territories.'

'And who am I shooting?'

'Whoever the computer tells you to.'

'Gotcha. And do I pay you now, or...'

'You get your pay in twenty minutes.'

'Oh. Right.' He must have misheard.

The soldier handed Fitz some goggles. Putting them on was like wearing a pair of gla.s.ses someone had scribbled on with a felt tip. All sorts of information ran past, flashed up or moved around the screen. What with the movement of the tank, it made him a bit travel sick. The one constant was a countdown in the lower right hand side currently at 19:40. That, he presumed from the 'twenty minutes' comment, was the game time remaining.

'Sutcliffe, you with us?' a voice from somewhere in his goggles asked.

'It's not Sutcliffe, it's '

'You're with us?'

'Yes.'

'Yes, sir sir.'

'Yes, sir.'

'You're left flank. Keep an eye out for drilling operations.'

'Sir.'

'Got them!' another voice cried out. 'Tracked vehicle, one point four kilometres away.'

'I got the logo it's Exxon. They lodged an exploitation claim with the last but one regional government.'

Exxon, Fitz tutted, was a silly science*fiction baddy name. Too many Xs, and ending with *on to make them sound like robots, or something. It took him right out of the reality of the game, and reminded him of the B-movies.

'Alter course.'

Fitz glanced over to the bloke in the next cubicle, and copied what he did, shifting the control stick to the right.

Something streaked across the screen. There was an explosion quite a way behind him.

'Seekers,' someone called out.

A light was flashing on the control panel. Fitz pressed it. A message flashed up telling him countermeasures were online. He understood the word 'were'.

There was a gun emplacement right in front of him, a machine gun nest, surrounded by a bank of snow. He hadn't seen it until it had started firing.

He realised he didn't know how to fire his own guns back at it. Or even if he had any guns.

The machine gun was turning automatically to face him. It stood out against the snow, it was black, on a tripod. He could hear the bullets clattering against the armour of his tank. He shifted the steering column, and found himself moving towards the nest. He pushed the stick forward, and found himself accelerating. Part of the display started flashing with the message that his main and secondary guns were malfunctioning due to enemy fire.

His tank continued towards the nest. Whatever he did with the stick didn't seem to make any difference.

'What are you doing, Sutcliffe?'

'I'm I'm doing all I can, sir.'

The tank hit the machine gun nest, and tipped over. Fitz wasn't sure which exploded first, the tank or the gun, but whichever it was, one completely destroyed the other.

The screen went dead, the only thing remaining on the display on the goggles was the clock showing 19:10.