Doctor Who_ Ultimate Treasure Part 4

Vorland shrugged almost indifferently. Old Hok? You pulled him in a few times yourself, didn't you?'

Jaharnus stiffened. 'Minor import infringements, selling suspect antiques to tourists, that sort of thing. An old alien who lived close to the edge as best he could. Maybe he stepped over the line a couple of times.' She got up to leave. 'But he never harmed anyone in any way that mattered - and he still didn't deserve to die like that!'

She strode out of Vorland's office, managing to sc.r.a.pe her tail across the door as it closed behind her and hoping it left a mark.

The first thing she found when she got back to her desk was a belated message from traffic control informing her that Alpha's ship had left the city several hours earlier, destination unknown.

Had he run to avoid answering awkward questions, or was there some other reason for his departure? She felt the yoke of depression settle more heavily on her shoulders. By now, Alpha was probably out of their jurisdiction. And if Vorland wouldn't fund a standard surveillance operation, he certainly wouldn't stand for the cost of sending a police interceptor after him. In any case, Alpha probably had a perfectly legitimate reason for his sudden departure all highly polished and ready to wheel out should it be needed.

Still feeling dispirited, she checked on the activities of Peri Brown and the Doctor. At least she had been able to arrange standard monitoring on them without any problems, as they were still the nearest things they had so far to either witnesses or suspects.

A minute later she was frowning over the reports. What had possessed them to make for the Central Archive so suddenly?

Still frowning, she called up the directory for the number of the chief archivist.

The first thing Qwaid noticed as he entered Alpha's stateroom was a gla.s.s and a half-empty decanter on the desk beside the computer screen. Then he realised Alpha's skin seemed a shade darker than usual.

'Here they are, Qwaid,' Alpha said almost mildly, holding out a data chip. 'Final course details. Enter them in the autopilot and confirm our ETA.'

Qwaid accepted the chip mutely, trying to cover his confusion.

He'd never seen Alpha like this before. Even when he'd pulled off some really major filch in the past he'd stayed ice-cold sober and simply started planning the next one. 'What's the matter, Qwaid?'

'Nothing, boss. It's just... well, you never usually... er, celebrate like this.'

'I was merely toasting the memory of a man long dead, Qwaid.

Perhaps a fool, perhaps an adventurer. In either case our unwitting benefactor. To Rovan of Cartovall... '

'Who, boss?'

Alpha blinked, as though reviewing what he had just said.

Then the familiar edge returned to his voice with a snap.

'Don't trouble yourself with it. Leave the thinking to me and concentrate on providing the unskilled help. I'll tell you all you need to know when the time comes.' His eyes burnt coldly, causing Qwaid to flinch. 'Well get on with it!'

Trembling, Qwaid scuttled back out of the door, head hung low.

Outside in the corridor, however, he straightened up again, letting his face show the anger and resentment he would never dare let Alpha see.

The boss shouldn't have spoken to him like that. He wasn't simply some dumb slab of hired muscle. It wasn't right to keep him in the dark about what they were getting into, either. Well he'd show the boss he could think for himself !

He strode resolutely along the corridor to the control cabin.

Gribbs and Drorgon were in the crewroom, so for the moment he had the place to himself. He sat down before the auxiliary systems console and called up the general database history files.

It took a few minutes to sort through the wide parameters he had to set and the phonetic variants of the name Alpha had let slip, but soon his lips were moving as he read the information he was after. The database was basic and the entry was not a long one, but it was enough. Qwaid felt a shiver run up his spine and drew in his breath with a shudder. An emperor's treasury! What he couldn't do with a slice of that!

His reverie was interrupted by Alpha's voice coming out of the intercom. 'Have you entered the new course yet, Qwaid?'

'Just doing it, boss,' he called back guiltily, and rammed the data chip into the slot and started punching b.u.t.tons.

As the autopilot digested the data and projected the new course, he brooded further. He had no idea what they'd meet when they got to wherever it was, but for the biggest s.n.a.t.c.h ever he'd risk anything. Well why not? He'd show the boss. He'd run the job himself given the chance. He didn't need Alpha looking over his shoulder all the time.

He didn't need him.

The thought hung in his mind, a weak and feeble thing at first, but slowly growing in strength as he considered the full implications of the simple statement.

He didn't need Alpha at all.

Suddenly he knew the last twenty years had just been a prelude to this moment. Twenty years before he'd stolen a box of jek fruit from a market stall in Dryden Dome back on Sirius Nine. It had been the initiation test to get into the Burke Cross Gang.

How he'd ducked and dived the length of the market tunnel to get away with it. Still breathless, knees sc.r.a.ped and bleeding, he'd presented his proud trophy to the rest of the gang. They'd eaten all the fruit, leaving none for him. Ten minutes later the stallholder had caught up with him and given him the sort of hiding his father had regularly delivered when he'd still been around.

Well now it was his turn. He could learn from the past as well as the boss. Maybe better.

But how could he do it? Not to his face. He could never defy those eyes for long enough, as Alpha was arrogantly aware. But there were other means. Yes, the method was obvious now he thought of it. The boss had already shown how to deal with somebody who was in your way. Accidents could happen, and s.p.a.ce was awfully unforgiving.

But when?

Right now, before the flush of anger that fuelled his courage died. No time to talk it over with Gribbs and Drorgon. In any case they'd never have the guts. But he had. He'd show them all just what Crelly Qwaid could do.

He took a toolkit from the service locker and went out into the corridor, feeling numb and oddly detached from his actions. He unlatched an inspection panel, exposing a service conduit, and calmly traced cables from the main airlock and Alpha's cabin door. A few snips with the cutters, two cross connections and it was done.

Qwaid returned to the control room, quietly closed its airtight hatch, went over to the engineer's station, and strapped himself into the chair. He opened a cover plate on the panel and pulled out a circuit board, disengaging the secondary safety system.

Then, with a deep breath, he released the cover guard on a sliding toggle and pulled it down to the bottom of its slot.

With a feeling as though the floor had dropped from under his feet, the Falcon Falcon's paragravity faded away.

He swallowed hard to keep his stomach under control, and resolutely started punching b.u.t.tons. Safety doors slid closed, isolating the main corridor and the sleeping compartments.

Alarms sounded and distant thumps came from the crewroom as Gribbs and Drorgon pounded on the hatch. The control-room intercom monitor came to life, showing the image of Alpha floating in his cabin like some misshapen balloon, his face enlarged as he pulled himself towards the console pickup.

'Qwaid!' he bellowed. 'What's happening? Qwaid!'

Qwaid kept his eyes firmly fixed on the controls and hit the last b.u.t.ton.

With a faint whirr both doors of the main airlock opened simultaneously, followed immediately by the hiss and roar of escaping air. The whole ship trembled and the port in the control-room door suddenly clouded with mist. The door of Alpha's stateroom, which normally should have sealed itself at the first sign of pressure loss, slid open smoothly.

Only then, when the irrevocable step had been taken, did Qwaid dare look directly at the monitor.

Alpha's bloated features filled the screen. Frighteningly, even at the last he showed no fear, only overpowering rage, his eyes as baleful as ever. His lips moved, and there came faintly to Qwaid over the roar of escaping air, 'You'll regret this...'

Then he was jerked backward as though by an invisible hand, rebounded from the door frame and spun out into the main corridor. The distorted starscape of hypers.p.a.ce blazed beyond the gaping airlock. With the last gust of escaping air Alpha tumbled through it and into eternity.

CHAPTER 5.

CELEBRATIONS.

The transdimensional portal that opened into the s.p.a.ce-time vortex flew towards the nebula, which still glowed hotly after its ejection from the stellar furnace that gave it birth. A heterogeneous elemental plasma flowed through the portal and into the black marble chamber, held in check by the mental fields of Shalvis and the others of the Seventh Circle. Then the portal was allowed to collapse until it was a microscopic point of warped s.p.a.ce at the core of the softly glowing amorphous form that pulsated before them.

The lights came on, and the Seers sank their heads in exhausted relief.

'We have done well,' Shalvis said softly. 'It is stabilised for as long as we require. Now we can only wait.'

Arnella Rosscarrino sprawled on the narrow bunk in her cabin on the Newton Newton. Resting before her was a portable reader screen displaying a copy of the text contained within the data capsule her uncle and Thorrin had bought on Astroville. She ran it through for what must have been the twentieth time, though she practically knew it word for word now. It held a terrible fascination, yet she also thought she hated it. In the fruitless quest for a doc.u.ment such as this, her father had dissipated the family fortune and broken his heart.

Her uncle, now the only other surviving member of her family, had been infected with the same pa.s.sion. Since he had become her guardian she had seen him consume his own wealth in the same futile quest; houses, servants and possessions had been stripped away until they had nothing but a name and honour left. Then, with bitter irony, when they no longer had the means, the word came to them that an obscure trader on Astroville Seven was offering what they had been looking for. Cautiously, her uncle had moved outside his normal circles to find the backer they needed. And he had found Alex Thorrin, one of that rare breed of financially successful and acute scientist-inventors.

He had piqued his curiosity about the underlying reasons for Rovan's disappearance almost as much as with the promise of raw wealth, and soon had a convert and partner almost as fervent as himself. Thorrin agreed to support them until a division of the spoils could be arranged.

Rosscarrinos living on charity! The thought sickened her. And all for what? Simply an extract translated from a s.p.a.cecraft log written almost five thousand standard years before. Its author could hardly have imagined that one day it might change the course of history.

He had been the master of a vessel crewed by Ymerl, a race of methane-breathers who lived at supercold temperatures. The account told of how their hyperdrive motors had developed a fault, forcing them to drop back into normal interstellar s.p.a.ce.

While there they had encountered another s.p.a.cecraft drifting past them at extreme detector range. Curious as to what a vessel would be doing in interstellar s.p.a.ce and getting no response to their hails, they pursued and boarded it. They found it was quite empty of both people and artefacts. However, from the description of its markings, it could only have been Rovan's yacht. There was no clue as to why it had been abandoned, but the evacuation appeared to have been orderly and there was no sign of any damage. Only one lifeboat was missing. As the ship was designed for the use of warm-blooded oxygen-breathers it was of no use to the Ymerl, so they left it to go on its way, merely noting its current course and speed.

In those few figures rested the hopes and dreams of the House of Rosscarrino.

Because the Ymerl had little contact with the rest of the galactic community of the time, they had no idea of the significance of their find. It took many years for this information to filter through to other races, by which time the Cartovallian empire had already begun to disintegrate. And so for thousands of years the curious discovery had been ignored, until somebody came across it who recognised its potential value. Because, converting from the Ymerl's reference system and allowing for stellar drift over time, it was possible to project the yacht's course backwards to its point of origin. But this was not the system where Rovan had abandoned his crew, so presumably it was the point at which he had emptied the ship of its treasure.

This innocent doc.u.ment might be the clue to almost unimaginable wealth - and perhaps something more.

She flicked a key to replace the text with an even more familiar image, one that she had known since she was a small girl. It was a scarred and much-reproduced picture of an ancient book, a ma.s.sive folio bound with golden strapwork and studded with rare gemstones. And once more the unworthy thought rose within her that she never dared admit to her uncle. Had it all been worthwhile?

'There's... there's something we've forgotten...' Gribbs said blearily to Qwaid, who was cradling his head on his hands in an attempt to keep it firmly fixed to his shoulders. Drorgon was slumped in his oversize chair in one corner. His snores made the forest of bottles on the crewroom table rattle. The drinking session had now lasted three days. Fortunately the Falcon's Falcon's autopilot was steering the ship. autopilot was steering the ship.

They were drunk on what had been the select contents of Alpha's cabinet. For Gribbs and Drorgon it had been to steady their nerves after the shock of Alpha's demise. For Qwaid it had been an attempt to blot out the memory of Alpha's eyes staring out of the monitor in those final seconds. Gradually it had turned into a shared celebration of a sort of new-found freedom. Then they had continued because, though they would not admit it, they were all frightened of waking up sober in a world that no longer contained Alpha. He may have ruled them partly through fear, but at least he'd always known what to do next. Now all the decisions were up to them, or rather, as Gribbs and Drorgon realised, up to Qwaid. For the moment they were in awe of him.

But could he really take the boss's place?

Qwaid attempted to focus on Gribbs. It wasn't easy, as there seemed to be two of him. 'What've we forgotten then?'

Gribbs frowned with the mental effort. 'Inna hold... Alpha's strongbox...'

The strongbox was the size of a large wardrobe, and Alpha took it with him on every journey. Privately they guessed it contained a.s.sorted gems and precious metals, plus a few select items from Alpha's collection, stored ready should he ever have had to leave Astroville in a hurry. Through the alcoholic mists, Qwaid recalled that Alpha had gone to the hold an hour or so after they had left port, just after he had made his initial course calculations. Was there a connection? Perhaps the strongbox also held files Alpha had not wanted to commit to his shipboard desk computer, maybe information about wherever it was they were going.

Whatever it was, didn't it all belong to him now, as Alpha's successor?

Qwaid struggled to his feet. 'Cmon.' he said to Gribbs, get your toolkit' He stumbled across the room and kicked Drorgon into wakefulness. 'We're going to have a look inside old Alpha's box.'

Five minutes later they stood, rather unsteadily, in the hold before the strongbox. It stood upright and as tall as Drorgon, secured to a bulkhead by bolted f.l.a.n.g.es. It was made of some dull grey synthetic material, no doubt specially formulated to be resistant to drill bits, thermal cutters, and corrosives. The close-fitting lid was featureless, save for a single black disc in its very centre.

Gribbs blinked at it through bloodshot eyes and tried to a.s.sess it professionally. 'Yeah, well it's a Brody and Yang Executive Model 18,' he announced, clicking his tongue. 'Obdurite body, tuned molecular pattern lock. It's going to take some cracking.'

He opened his specialised toolkit, flexed his fingers to loosen them, then began taking out small sensor receptor units and placing them carefully around the lock and rim of the lid. Despite his inebriation, his hands moved swiftly and surely. Once the sensors were in place he put on a pair of slim headphones and began delicately adjusting the controls built into his toolkit lid.

Then he stiffened, the colour draining from his face. 'What?'

Qwaid demanded.

Gribbs's eyes had widened and he suddenly looked uncomfortably sober. Very carefully he took off his headset.

'Something inside there is in the middle of a countdown sequence. It sounds like... like the timer circuit for a bomb.'

'How big?' Drorgon demanded, also apparently sobering rapidly. 'Just enough to take out the box... or the ship?'

'How should I know!' Gribbs snapped back.

'Well how long's it got left to run?' Qwaid asked.

'I don't know!' Gribbs shouted wretchedly, clutching his aching head. 'Probably something he had to keep resetting. It could blow any time! Krek it, Qwaid! Why did you have to get rid of the boss while we were out here?'

For a moment Qwaid looked at them blankly, and Alpha's last words echoed mockingly through his confusion. Then his brain seemed to jerk into life. 'Find the cutters and get it loose - tear out the hull plates if you have to. When it's free we'll cut the hold gray field and blow it out the cargo lock. Move!'

It was twelve heartstopping, sweat-filled minutes before the Falcon's Falcon's cargo hatch swung open. In a billow of air and crystallising water vapour, the grey strongbox tumbled away - cargo hatch swung open. In a billow of air and crystallising water vapour, the grey strongbox tumbled away - following its former owner into the void.

Qwaid watched it go on the external monitor with a sigh of relief. Then he took a deep breath and turned to the others. 'OK, so we lost Alpha's stash. But we're still on to something better - remember that. We'll be there in a couple of days and we'll need to be sharp, so go and sleep it off, and no more juice from now on, understand? This is going to be the big one!'

'I propose a toast,' said the Marquis, smiling at Arnella, then at the others seated round the dining table in the Newton's Newton's lounge. lounge.

They raised their gla.s.ses.

'In a few hours we shall reach our destination,' he continued.