System Shock Part 16

141.

'I'm sorry, young man?'

He grinned, knowing how young he really was. 'Well the staff don't exactly seem thrilled with the grub.'

He was right. As she put down her plate and gla.s.s (after one more small sip) and dabbed her lips on a napkin she could see that the waiters and waitresses nearest them seemed to be holding the plates of food at arm's length and doing their best not to look at them. Odd.

'Anderson. Call me Greg.'

'What? Oh yes, of course er, Greg.' The d.u.c.h.ess composed herself for the shot, annoyed to find Peterson suddenly latching on to her arm and trying to look as if he was in control. The d.u.c.h.ess reached across Peterson to shake Anderson's hand. 'Angela Ridpath. But Angela will do.'

The flash went off, catching a beautiful shot of the d.u.c.h.ess and the Amba.s.sador shaking hands. Their arms obscured Peterson's face completely, and the photographer decided to quit while he was ahead.

'Angela, meet Colin Hunter, my attache.' Anderson introduced them.

'Attache as in case?' the d.u.c.h.ess asked, and they all laughed.

Peterson strayed away, leaving them to their fun.

Sarah was serving drinks under the ever-watchful gaze of Carlson. She tried to make it look unplanned as she went up to Peterson as he meandered away from the main group of celebrities.

'Another drink, sir?' she asked loudly.

Peterson took a gla.s.s. He made no effort to thank her, or even acknowledge her presence.

'We need to talk,' Sarah whispered as loud as she dared, hoping Carlson was not too close.

But as she spoke a roar of laughter echoed round the room drowning out her voice completely. The tall red-haired director of Hubway was having a good time. He and the American Amba.s.sador were both almost doubled up from something the d.u.c.h.ess had said. The Amba.s.sador's aide was smiling politely to show he too had appreciated the comment.

142.

Sarah tried again. But just as she summoned the courage and opened her mouth, Peterson turned abruptly away from her. A young woman with long striking red hair who seemed to have been squeezed into a short green velvet dress, then inflated in strategic places, took Peterson's arm and led him away. As they turned, the woman glared for a second at Sarah. Had she heard? And if so, why was she glaring?

'What are you waiting for?' Carlson's voice was close to her ear.

'Because I'm a waitress.' Sarah spun round. The champagne angled in the gla.s.ses, but did not quite spill out. The tray came close to Carlson's face and he stepped back suddenly as if he had caught a whiff of ammonia.

He recovered quickly and pointed to a small group of half a dozen men and women. The men looked uncomfortable in their suits and the women were being extra careful to keep food and drink from spilling on their clothing. Sarah guessed they were the few technicians lucky enough to be invited to the opening.

'Offer them drinks,' Carlson said. The last word was an effort to force out. He seemed almost to spit it at her.

The Doctor was impressed with his programming. He rubbed his hands together, glad that the code had actually worked. When he examined the results he was a little less impressed.

It seemed likely from the readings that the creature was designed to be introduced into a complex digital system. And while the code had been running, the Doctor had taken the opportunity to enumerate the systems of sufficient complexity to merit the use of such a means to infiltrate them. On Earth in this time zone he could actually think of only one. And he was connected to it.

He could not be sure, of course, but he reckoned there was a strong probability that the CD had been intended to penetrate the global superhighway. And the main European node through which it would be logical to introduce the software was Hubway itself The main questions now were when? How? when? How?

Why? And And by whom? by whom?

143.

'Not a happy situation,' the Doctor said to the screen. 'We're dicing with death on the information superhighway to h.e.l.l.'

Somehow, when said out loud in his deep sonorous voice, echoing round the small attic room, the words did not sound as funny as he had antic.i.p.ated.

The two Voracian waitresses in the new block had dismantled the systems controlling the surveillance cameras.

Lattimer and Simpson were slumped over the front desk.

Simpson was snoring, Lattimer's face was pressed into the cover of his book. The tray of drugged champagne lay where it had fallen on the floor amongst the shards of gla.s.s and spilled liquid.

'Why not just kill them?' the blonde Voracian had asked.

'Stabfield wants them alive,' her colleague replied. 'We may need them to explain procedure. And more hostages add a marginal utility.'

'There comes a point of diminishing returns,' the alien disguised as a blonde waitress said as she wired a new integrated circuit into the surveillance systems.

Carlson led Sarah back to the kitchen. Their trays were empty now, so they were getting fresh supplies.

Stabfield was sitting at his laptop still. He looked up as they came in. 'Ah,' he said. 'Just in time for phase Seven B Seven B.'

'Doesn't that machine ever get tired of you hammering away at it?' Sarah asked.

Stabfield snapped the lid shut. 'It does what it does most efficiently. As should we all.' He stood and came over to them.

'No more trays. They've had enough. It's time on the agenda for a change of tempo.'

Behind her Sarah heard a staccato double-click. She turned to see Johanna standing in the door from the bake-house corridor. She was holding a sub-machinegun, having readied it.

Stabfield held up his hand, and caught the gun cleanly, checking it before slinging it over his shoulder. Johanna and Carlson went out to the bake-house again.

144.

Stabfield levelled the gun at Sarah. 'Remember, Miss Smith,'

he said quietly, his head swaying in time to his words, 'the angels had keyboards before they had wings.'

He headed for the door, pulling off his chef's hat as he went.

'I think we can abandon the cranial accessories at this stage.'

Johanna and Carlson reappeared. They each carried a crate, and each had a machinegun over their shoulder.

'Time to open the kimono,' said Stabfield, and ushered Sarah out of the kitchen.

'Oh well,' the Doctor said, 'let's see what happens if we run it locally.'

He loaded the file, and a window sprang open, filling most of the monitor screen. The Doctor checked his fingers were crossed and put his hat on. Then he took it off again and stuffed it into his pocket.

An image formed in the window. A three-dimensional shape, jointed, segmented. It looked like an armoured snake made of highly polished metal, light sources reflecting off the scales as its head reared up and swung round towards the Doctor. He leaned back in the chair as the pixelated eyes stared at him.

'This is silly,' the Doctor said out loud. 'After all, you can't possibly be aware of me.'

'I am Voractyll,' the snake hissed. It's voice was sibilant and aggressive, vibrating through the PC's stereo speakers. 'Who are you?'

'There again,' the Doctor murmured, 'I could be wrong about that.'

'What's going on, do you reckon?' Hunter asked Anderson.

Two of the waiters had drawn back the curtains at the far end of the hall to reveal a large projector screen.

'Slide show?' Anderson suggested. 'I dunno.'

As he finished speaking the screen was lit up from behind, and a slide projected. It said:Everyone Please Stay CalmDo Not Move 145.

The Not Not was in red, the rest in blue. was in red, the rest in blue.

'What the h.e.l.l?' Hunter instinctively checked his shoulder holster was easily accessible.

Through the main door at the opposite end of the great hall, several people filed into the room. There were two men and two women. One man and one woman carried crates which they set down on the floor, opening the lids. The other waiters and waitresses gathered round them. The other woman looked round the room, her eyes wide and frightened.

The man in the lead was tall and thin, wearing chef's whites.

He was carrying a Heckler and Koch MP5. 'My name's Lionel Stabfield. If I can have your attention for a moment?' he asked.

He got it.

Behind him the waiters and waitresses, with the exception of the woman who had come into the room with Stabfield, were drawing weapons from the crates.

'I know it is customary to show the evacuation procedures and emergency exits as the first slide,' Stabfield said, 'but as hostages you will appreciate ' He broke off as the guests erupted into a series of questions, huddling together. Some of the women were in tears and one of the men seemed to have fainted. Anderson and Hunter were moving slowly towards the back of the room, Hunter reaching carefully inside his jacket.

Stabfield raised his gun and fired a single shot into the ceiling. The noise of the report echoed off the oak panelling and a chunk of plaster fell to the floor, shattering in a star on the polished wooden floor.

Silence once more.

'You will appreciate that I cannot allow you to evacuate despite this emergency.' He raised his voice slightly as if calling to someone in the next room. 'Next slide please.'

The screen changed, showing more text: Demonstration of . Strength . Resolve . Control coupled with . Elimination of . Greatest immediate threat 146.

. Possible risk element in plan (armed and trained) and trained) 'I don't think I need to talk about this slide,' Stabfield said.

The waitress who had carried in the crate was making her way down the hall, herding the guests together in the centre of the room. When she reached Anderson and Hunter she jabbed Anderson in the side with the Heckler and Koch, pushing him over to join the others. Hunter made to follow, but she shook her head, her mouth stretched into a grin.

'Actions speak so much louder than words,' Stabfield said, 'don't you think, Amba.s.sador?' He nodded to the waitress.

'Johanna.'

Hunter reached for his gun. His hand was still inside his jacket when the spray of nine-millimetre bullets from Johanna's MPS lifted him off the ground and hurled him against the wall. The wood cracked behind Hunter's body, the panelling beside him splitting and chipping as bullets embedded themselves in it. Blood erupted from his chest and throat and he pitched forward on to the floor, one hand still inside his blood-soaked jacket, the other clenching in spasms on the ground.

147.

Snakes Alive Order was restored relatively quickly after they dragged Hunter's body away. Sarah had been pushed into the group of hostages. She could see that Amba.s.sador Anderson was seething, his hands clenching at his sides. But he could do nothing.

The d.u.c.h.ess tried to calm him down. 'You'll get your chance,' she told him quietly.

The rest of the guests were subdued. Those who had been crying were now reduced to the odd sniff, and the man who had fainted was blaming it on too much champagne.

Peterson was the only one who cared to complain, despite the d.u.c.h.ess's whispered attempt to dissuade him. 'You have no right to keep us here,' he yelled at Stabfield. 'I am a minister of the crown and I demand you release us immediately. I will not stand for this treatment.'

Stabfield let him rant, his head c.o.c.ked slightly to one side, his gun lowered.

'Leave it out, Peterson,' Anderson said. Sarah tugged at his sleeve and shook her head, but he pulled his arm away.

'If you let me go I shall be able to negotiate on your behalf. I can see your demands are met.'

'Oh yes?' Stabfield said at last. 'And what exactly are our demands, Mr Peterson?'

Peterson looked lost. He turned to Eleanor, beside him, for help.

'Still thinking of yourself, Clive?' she asked. She p.r.o.nounced his Christian name as if it were a music hall joke.

Peterson seemed surprised by her tone. 'I I,' he stammered.

148.

Eleanor snorted in disgust. 'You couldn't negotiate a wh.o.r.e out of her mini-skirt.' She turned to Johanna, standing close by, gun levelled. 'Here. I'll do it.'

Johanna clicked her fingers and one of the waiters hurried over. He was carrying a silver salver. On it lay a cold Browning High Power handgun.

'What what's going on?' Peterson backed away as the waiter handed the pistol to Eleanor. 'No please '

'You snivelling, disgusting bloater,' she spat as she took the handgun, holding it in both hands, legs braced wide to take the recoil.

'El '

'And don't call me El El,' she shouted as she pulled the trigger.

There was silence for a while afterwards. Eleanor stood still in position, red hair cascading round her head. It clashed with the blood spattered across her face.

Tableau.

'Are all you terrorists actually aliens?' Sarah asked after a while. It might help to get the truth out, if the Doctor's theory was right. And she could not see how Johanna would have the strength to lift the crate of munitions otherwise. She remembered Carlson's sudden transformation the impossibly thin tongue that had swept over his lips. If any of the terrorists were human, they might yet win them over.

There were murmurs and even some laughter amongst the hostages. But Stabfield waved them quiet with his gun. 'Pick a terrorist,' he said to Sarah.

She was sure about Carlson, Johanna and Stabfield himself.

So Sarah pointed to an inoffensive looking young man holding a machine gun. 'Him,' she said.