System Shock Part 10

07.

Schedules

Sarah had just about managed to get the hang of turning on the computer on her desk and opening her diary. Now she was not even surprised when, if it was idle for more than a few minutes, the computer decided suddenly to display an impressionist painting rather than what she had been working on. Sarah was becoming adept at typing a pa.s.sword to get her diary back, and she was getting used to seeing various works of the Old Masters displayed on screens around the office.

But despite her proximity to the technology, she was still not used to the idea that a whole computer could be fitted into a small box and put on a desk. She thought they took up whole rooms before they had any real processing power. But that, she had to keep reminding herself, was nearly twenty years ago.

Sarah had suffered several culture shocks. Her first had been the a.s.sumption that everyone would dress smartly. The managers and some of the more fastidious workers did. But most people seemed to get by with slacks and open-neck shirts.

Sarah had spent most of the petty cash she had wheedled out of Gibson on a smart, dark trouser suit. She felt over-dressed.

They had arranged for Sarah to get involved in the day-to-day running of the company, and this seemed to entail going to endless boring meetings in different featureless conference rooms, if the previous afternoon was any indication. The first meeting of today was not until ten o'clock, so she had a while yet. She moved her mouse round aimlessly, then tentatively tapped at the keyboard. Something unexpected happened to one of the meetings in the diary, so she stopped playing and turned her attention to the desk instead.

90.It was plain, wooden, and boring. There was a telephone in the corner, with more b.u.t.tons on it than her computer keyboard. Some of the b.u.t.tons were labelled. There was also a desk lamp and a promotional mug with the I2 logo on it. There was a well-sharpened promotional pencil standing point-up in the promotional mug.

The desk was surrounded by a part.i.tion which was itself a pinboard. There were several papers already attached to the board telephone listings, seating plans, and a vaguely humorous photocopy of a news clipping about the faint chance that an asteroid with an unp.r.o.nounceable name might brush close to earth in about two hundred years. Sarah presumed these were left by the previous occupant of the desk. She had not asked who that was she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

A loud thumping sound from behind her jolted Sarah back to reality. She swivelled round in her chair, to find a young man wielding a large rubber-headed hammer. As she watched, he smashed it down on the floor. The hammer jumped back up, and a tiled section of the floor followed, lifting perceptibly.

The floor tile did not fall completely back into place, and the man pulled at the exposed edge, lifting it clear of the floor.

Below was an open area where cables and wires ran beneath the raised floor.

The man was aware of Sarah's attention, and smiled up at her as he reached down into the floor and scrabbled around for a cable. 'Just setting up a network LAN adapter for you,' he explained.

Sarah nodded as if she understood what he meant, and turned her attention back to the phone. She tried to remember from her training how she could get an outside line. Gibson had warned her not to contact him from the I2 offices, but she was bored, and she was struck with a sudden desire to call her own number and see who answered. She was still not sure how she felt about an older version of herself (greying, mid-forties) wandering around somewhere. Or rather, living a normal humdrum life, going to work, or working from home, or even perhaps (G.o.d help her) bringing up snotty children. 'The public needs to know,' she thought without mirth.

91.Sarah spent the next five minutes trying to decipher the b.u.t.tons on the telephone. During her interminable training session, they had mentioned a guide book. Judging by the session, it was probably about five hundred pages long and omitted the one piece of information she was after. She was just coming to the conclusion that maybe trying to find herself was not such a great idea anyway when there was a sc.r.a.ping noise from the other side of the part.i.tion. Then a face appeared above the pinboard.

The man was dark-haired and probably in his thirties. He grinned down at Sarah. 'What, no journalists?' he asked. Then he disappeared from view again.

A few moments later he appeared in the corridor at the end of the bay where Sarah had her desk. He was still grinning and raised a hand in greeting as he approached. 'Hi there. Just checking you were here. I wanted to say h.e.l.lo.'

'You could have phoned,' Sarah said.

The man shook his head. 'Haven't a clue how the phone works too many d.a.m.n b.u.t.tons for me.'

'You're not joking. I'm not sure I would know how to answer it if it rang. I did the telephone induction training though,' she added.

'Tell me about it,' the man laughed. 'It never explained to me what induced them to buy the wretched system in the first place.'

They both laughed. 'Anyway,' he continued, gesturing at the part.i.tion at the back of Sarah's desk, 'I work just through there.

So I thought I'd better introduce myself.' He reached into his jacket pocket. 'Nearly forgot, I brought you a present too.'

'Really? We only just met.'

'Oh don't get too excited, it's only this.' He handed Sarah a stainless steel ball-point pen. She was not surprised to see it had the eye-in-a-box logo embossed on it. 'Mr Stabfield asked me to pa.s.s it over. I think he was hoping to see you himself, but there's some sort of flap on. Always is.'

Sarah thanked him and turned the pen over in her hand. It was well-made, and it was heavy. At the top on one side was a small transparent window, within which the time was displayed. She watched the colon between hours and minutes 92 as it flashed the seconds away, and her mind strayed back to her thoughts about her alter ego. Best to let it be; best not to know, she decided.

'I suppose he thought that since you're a journalist, you'd need a pen,' the man said after a few moments. 'Though I expect you all use laptops anyway.'

Sarah laughed. She hadn't a clue what he was talking about.

'Oh yes,' she said. 'Of course.'

'See you then. Enjoy the pen. I should keep it handy in case Stabbers sees you and wants to know if you liked it.' He half waved goodbye and started back towards the corridor.

'Hang on,' Sarah called after him as she tucked the pen into the top pocket of her suit jacket. 'I thought you came to introduce yourself.'

The man paused, and turned back to her. He frowned, then his face cleared. 'Oh yes sorry. Martin. Martin Carlson.'

Both Johanna and Lewis had advocated killing the woman.

But Stabfield had several arguments against this. He went through them in turn on the board using a grid of ones and zeros to show pros and cons. At the end he totalled them up to show he was right (which of course he was) and talked about 'net outcome' and the 'bottom line'.

'Miss Smith will not be declared surplus at this stage. But we will keep her under close scrutiny. Her termination at this stage would bring unwanted attention on the company and its activities. It would appear that already someone is taking an unhealthy interest in our affairs,' Stabfield reminded his two deputies. And with Miss Smith alive, they had the advantage over whoever had sent her, and a useful potential hostage.

Johanna agreed with Stabfield's logic; Lewis agreed with reluctance. But both ways, Stabfield's arguments won through.

Carlson and Johanna would between them keep a close watch on the journalist. She could be bugged, like her predecessor Sutcliffe, so they would know where she was at all times.

'Meanwhile,' Stabfield said, 'the main operation proceeds as planned. Except for one slight modification in view of the exceptional conditions we have outstanding.' He leaned forward, hands clasped over his desk, and looked closely at 93 Lewis and Johanna. 'I am less concerned about the infiltrator, and indeed about the intruder I found in your office, Marc.' He called Lewis by his adopted Christian name to emphasize that there was no lingering recrimination. 'No, what concerns me most is the activation of the Voractyll CD.' Stabfield paused long enough for the other two to nod their agreement. 'That is why I am bringing the final phase forward three days.'

Stabfield held up his hand to quell arguments, although neither of the others had actually said anything. 'We are in a no-risk scenario. This is a one-shot shop, and we can't afford for Voractyll to activate ahead of link-up, nor for any decryption activity pertaining to the CD. Marc, you will use your agent to leverage the authorities and bring forward the opening. You, Johanna, will liaise with Carlson and organize observation scheduling for Miss Smith.'

'And what will you be doing?' asked Johanna.

Stabfield jangled a set of keys from his pocket, and unlocked a drawer of his desk. He slid it open, reached inside, and took out an automatic pistol. 'I shall deal with this Doctor Smith a common nom d'espionage nom d'espionage, it seems.'

Harry was barely through the front door when Gibson found him. 'Thank G.o.d you're back, sir.'

'Why, what's the panic?'

'They're going berserk on the fifth floor, and out at HQ.

Acting Director has been throwing his toys about, albeit in a restrained sort of way.'

'Why does this affect me?' asked Harry. An unpleasant thought struck him. 'It's nothing to do with the Doctor, is it?'

'What?' Gibson seemed surprised at the suggestion. 'No. No it's not.' He handed Harry a manila folder stuffed with papers.

'Chemical works went up in Docklands first thing this morning.'

They had reached the lifts. Gibson pressed the call b.u.t.ton before continuing. 'Initial a.n.a.lysis suggests it could be the Brothers' work. Sort of revenge for the Pullen Tower thing.'

The lift arrived and they stepped inside. It was otherwise empty.

94.'And what do you think?' Harry asked Gibson as the doors closed on them.

'I think we should look very carefully at it.'

They stood in silence while the lift ascended. After a short while, it slowed to a halt and the doors slid open and Gibson let Harry out first. 'The source of the problem seems to have been the main computer system.' Gibson leaned slightly closer to Harry as they walked down the corridor. 'There was a memory problem a few hours before the explosion. The maintenance company carried out some work on the hardware systems,' he said. 'And do you know who owns the company the maintenance was outsourced to?'

Harry stopped outside his office, feeling in his blazer for the key. 'No,' he replied. 'But I could have a jolly good guess.'

Stabfield made his way through the main office. He nodded polite greetings to the employees he pa.s.sed along the way. The Voracians in particular nodded back respectfully. The humans were less deferential, but nonetheless polite to their director.

Stabfield held the main door open for a human male struggling to juggle two mugs of coffee and a pack of sandwiches.

'Breakfast,' the human explained somewhat redundantly as he backed through the door. The styrofoam coffee mugs were covered with plastic lids to keep in the heat and the liquid.

Even so, Stabfield caught a hint of the rich dark aroma as the man pa.s.sed. He pulled back in disgust and tried to keep himself from gagging. He had drunk nothing since the previous morning, and would have to take in liquid soon. The very thought made him feel ill. He shook his head, a single staccato gesture, and started down the stairs towards the ground floor storeroom.

The Doctor was sitting cross-legged on the floor going through his pockets. He could still see nothing, but he could tell from the shape and texture what most of the things in his pockets were. He was feeling around for his bag of jelly babies when the light came on.

'Aha now we're getting somewhere,' he said to himself, and began stuffing things back into his pockets. When the door 95 swung open a few seconds later, he was standing idly in the far corner of the room playing with his favourite yo-yo.

Stabfield was standing in the doorway. He stepped into the room, pulling the door almost shut behind him. He was holding a small gun fitted with a silencer that seemed to dwarf the barrel. 'Now then,' he said, 'if you've calmed down a little, perhaps you'd like to present your plan.'

'Well,' the Doctor was still concentrating on his yo-yo, 'basically my plan is to perfect the triple loop.' He demonstrated, swinging the yo-yo with a flick of his wrist. It looped twice, then clattered to the floor. 'But I haven't quite got it yet.' He picked up the toy and began to wind the string back round it. 'Of course,' he admonished, 'if you'd left the lights on I might have had a better chance of seeing where it was going wrong. Still, we can't have everything.'

Stabfield ignored most of this. 'Who sent you here?' he asked sharply.

The Doctor stopped dead still for a moment. 'Well you did,'

he said in mock surprise. 'Remember, it was last night. I was minding my own business in some office or other and you came in with a gun.'

Stabfield took a step towards the Doctor, raising his pistol and jabbing it towards him.

The Doctor, however, was undeterred. 'You were holding it like well, rather like that.' The Doctor gestured towards Stabfield's gun hand. Stabfield hissed in annoyance, a sharp outflow of breath between his teeth. He pointed the gun stiffly at the Doctor's head.

'Yes,' the Doctor was delighted. 'Exactly like that, in fact.

You see, it was you!'

Stabfield was breathing heavily now. 'You know what I mean,' he snarled. 'Now, answer the question.'

The Doctor grinned widely. He executed a couple of trial loops with his yo-yo. 'What was the question again?'

'Who sent you? Who are you working for?'

'Well, strictly speaking that's two questions.'

Stabfield took another step towards the Doctor. He was close enough almost to strike him with the gun, and for a moment 96 the Doctor thought he was going to. But his hand steadied, and he settled for glaring at the Doctor.

'Luckily,' the Doctor said, 'there's only one answer. n.o.body sent me. I'm working strictly for myself.'

Stabfield considered this, as the Doctor returned his attention to his yo-yoing. 'I would like to believe you, Doctor,'

he said.

'Thank you.'

'It does after all make things rather easier.'

'Oh?'

'Indeed. A dead agent would attract attention we can do without. But a lone intruder found dead in an alley, especially one with your less than obvious talents, would attract very little interest at all, I'm pleased to say.' One half of Stabfield's mouth twisted into a smile, and his finger tightened on the trigger.

The Doctor seemed nonplussed. The yo-yo moved evenly between his hand and the floor, dipping and spinning in an easy, lazy motion. He looked up from the yo-yo and grinned at Stabfield, the yo-yo continued without his attention, round in a loop.

Then suddenly the plastic disc hurtled out towards Stabfield.

He stepped back, but too late. The yo-yo wrapped itself like a grappling hook round the joint between gun-barrel and silencer, and the pistol clattered across the floor as the Doctor wrenched hard on the string.

Stabfield snarled in anger, a thin strand of spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth. Then he hurled himself at the Doctor. He was thin and wiry, but immensely strong. The Doctor was knocked across the room and crashed into the pile of boxes in the corner. Stabfield was on him at once, his fingers reaching for a grip on the Doctor's throat. The Doctor grabbed for Stabfield's hands, and managed to push him away.

He pulled himself half to his feet and crawled back through the pile of boxes, pulling them down around him so that the contents spilled out on to the floor.

Stabfield came after him, kicking binders and files and pads of paper out of the way. Before long, the Doctor was backed 97 against the wall of the small room, and Stabfield was again reaching out for him.

The Doctor grabbed the nearest thing. A clipboard. As Stabfield's hands closed over his throat, the Doctor swung the clipboard at him. It connected with Stabfield's head, but the grip on the Doctor's throat did not loosen. He swung the clipboard again, edge-on this time, and was rewarded with a loud hiss from his attacker.

Stabfield was still squeezing the Doctor's throat, both his hands now pressing into the windpipe. The Doctor was not worried about asphyxiation, but the way things were going he would have a broken neck into the bargain. As he drew back the clipboard for a third desperate time, the Doctor saw that his previous effort had torn the skin.

Through Stabfield's wounded cheek dark liquid was starting to ooze. The Doctor could see the torn edge of the mask covering his face, and a small section of scaly green glistening beneath. He reached up, grabbed the flapping leaf of artificial skin, and pulled.

A line of flesh-toned material tore off like a strip of bandage, revealing the alien face underneath. The Doctor took in the closely scaled features of the left side of Stabfield's face at a glance. But the right side .... The reptilian snake's mouth curled into an artificial mechanism halfway along, and the Doctor could see his own face reflected in the polished metal of Stabfield's cheek. Almost the whole of the right side of the head was synthetic a complex mechanism of metal and plastic jointed with tiny gears and wheels. An incongruously organic eye swivelled damply within the metal socket as the Doctor took advantage of Stabfield's surprise, broke the hold on his neck and rolled out of reach across the floor.

Shocked though he was, the Doctor was on his feet in an instant and sprinting across the room for the door. He gave Stabfield's pistol a kick as he pa.s.sed, sending it spinning into a pile of three-ring binders.

Behind the Doctor, the alien sprang to its feet. It leaped after the Doctor. But the Doctor was already at the door, and he wrenched it open before the alien could stop him. He fell into the corridor, kicking the door shut behind him as he fell.

98.As he ran, the Doctor could still see the image of the door closing, as if in slow motion. In the gap between door and frame he could see the alien leaping towards him, a thin tongue flicking out of the organic side of its mouth, the light catching the moisture on its scales on one side and reflecting off the metal surfaces on the other. He could almost hear the hissing as the door slammed shut, though he still could not be sure if it was from within the mouth or from the gears and servos which drove it.

Sarah was attending what was deceptively called a Phase Phase Review Review. But it seemed to have nothing to do with phases, and they had not yet reviewed anything. She had learned from her previous couple of meetings to make sure she got a seat by the window, and spent as much time as possible looking out of it.

As the meeting moved on to considering whether to grant permission for various employees to travel to various parts of the world for various reasons at the company's expense, Sarah reflected that the whole thing was rather like still being at school. You had to attend, although the whole thing seemed completely pointless. And you had to take at least some notice of the proceedings, however boring they might be, in case somebody asked you a direct question.

Not that any of the direct questions so far asked had received a direct answer. Sarah was taking notes, and keeping score.