A Device Of Death Part 11

Pentatholene eepcity's central hall seated three thousand people. That Devening every one of those seats was occupied, and anybody who couldn't attend was watching the live relay on screens throughout the complex. Cara was seated on one end of the front row, beside the Doctor, along with the other heads of staff and senior military personnel. As they waited for the last few people with a.s.signed places to arrive, Cara became aware of the Doctor twisting about in his seat and looking at the a.s.sembly with keen interest.

'It's a strange feeling, isn't it,' she said, 'to have so many people together in one place? Oh, of course, this probably isn't much of a crowd for you. It wouldn't have been for me either a few years ago, but we've had to get used to a smaller scale of things here.'

'Everybody seems very keen,' the Doctor observed, sitting straight at last. 'Is this man any good? Any juggling or card tricks? I'm rather fond of a little prestidigitation myself.'

'Doctor!' she hissed in an embarra.s.sed undertone. 'Can't you be serious just for once?'

'Oh, I can be very serious when it's appropriate.'

'Well, it's appropriate now shhh.'

Kambril had mounted the stage and turned to address the audience.

'Friends, fellow workers. We are here to welcome again one of Deepcity's most distinguished guests, whose sadly all too infrequent visits do so much to lift our spirits and remind us of the true meaning of the great struggle in which we are all engaged. Without further ado, I have the honour to present Fleet Admiral Zeff Dorling of the Landoran s.p.a.ceforce.'

The wiry, grey-haired figure in his immaculate midnight-black uniform stepped forward from the shadows at the back of the stage, moving with distinctive military precision in his stride, despite his right arm being confined in a sling. He saluted the audience, shook hands with Kambril who then stepped down from the stage, and patiently waited for the applause to die. When the expectant silence had grown intense enough to hear the faintest sc.r.a.pe of shoes, he spoke in a clear robust voice tinged with restrained emotion.

'People of Deepcity, friends, fellow Landorans. As you can see, I have been getting rather closer to the action than is good for me of late ' he lifted his constrained right arm slightly, provoking some good-natured sympathetic laughter ' and the medics suggested I should postpone my official duties for a while. But I told them nothing was going to stop me from visiting Deepcity as I promised.'

He paused while a scattering of spontaneous applause died down.

'It is always such an honour and pleasure for me to visit this remarkable facility of yours. I always feel that I am at the powerhouse, no, the very heart heart of the struggle when I am here. of the struggle when I am here.

In fact, if it wasn't for the work you do it is safe to say there would be no more struggle.'

More applause, bringing a gentle smile and nod from Dorling.

'You know, looking down from s.p.a.ce gives one a remarkable perspective on things. To see a world hanging in the void, green and blue and white, makes you realize what a precious and wonderful thing it is. But sometimes, for a soldier, the view is less pleasant. When you see the landscape below blackened by the smoke of many battlefields, for instance. At such times, I admit to you, I have come close to weeping in despair. And yet there is always hope, and I remind myself that I have also seen that darkness turned back as the forces of the Alliance push forward, carrying the clear fresh air of peace and freedom in their wake. At such times it makes me proud to know that at the head of that advance are the devices you make here. They may be relatively few in number, compared to the great armies of our brave allies, but make no mistake about it: the weapons of Deepcity form the spearhead of the Alliance on a hundred worlds.'

There was prolonged applause. Cara could feel the tide of intertwined pride and anger rising about her. Dorling had to raise his hand for silence.

'It is often said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Well, Averon has been flattering you for years. They have nothing like this concentration of creative ingenuity to call upon, so their scientists have to steal your ideas from the battlefield. But I have absolute confidence that you will always stay that one crucial step ahead, and that one day and may it be soon you will make a breakthrough they cannot equal. And then this terrible war will finally end in the only conceivable way: the way justice demands for the unpardonable crime they committed against us with our victory and death to Averon!'

And the audience was on its feet, repeating the ritual chant and waving their fists. 'Death to Averon! Death to Averon!'

In the midst of the wild surge of emotion, as she wiped the tears from her eyes, it impinged on Cara that she was standing next to the only silent figure in the hall. The Doctor was not shouting or punching the air with his fists, but applauding slowly, almost mechanically. And all the time his pale penetrating gaze was fixed on Admiral Dorling.

Afterwards there was a more informal reception where Dorling could meet the senior staff. Cara was within earshot when Kambril made the introductions. 'Admiral, I'd like you to meet a new member of our team. This is the Doctor.'

Dorling gave a firm handshake with his uninjured hand and listened attentively while Kambril recounted the story of the Doctor's arrival in Deepcity. At the conclusion Dorling chuckled heartily. 'Well now, Doctor, you're quite the man of mystery it seems. Must be d.a.m.nably awkward for you not remembering where you come from and all that. I hope it comes back to you soon. Still, I'm sure you're being well looked after.'

'I am being taken care of most thoroughly,' the Doctor said. 'Far beyond my expectations, in fact. Such consideration.

Even being allowed to join your gathering earlier, though I am an outsider. Well, what can I say?'

Dorling was slightly taken back by this effusive praise and the Doctor's peculiarly intense manner and stuttered for a moment. 'Er, quite...what indeed...just so.' A large man in a naval lieutenant's uniform loomed at his side and Dorling glanced round at him suddenly. 'Ah, I see I'm needed elsewhere. Well, so glad to have met you, Doctor.'

'Not half as glad as I have been to meet you, Admiral,' the Doctor informed him with solemn sincerity.

It was only after they had left the reception and were walking down a temporarily deserted stretch of corridor, that Cara had the chance to ask the Doctor about something that had been bothering her.

'Doctor, I couldn't help noticing in the hall that you seemed, well, aloof and untouched by it all. I know it's not your war or your planet that was lost, but I was still slightly surprised.'

'I didn't mean to offend you,' he said with genuine concern. 'I really wouldn't want to do that.'

'No, it's just that it seemed hard to believe that you couldn't empathize with us and respond a little more, well, enthusiastically. Unless your people don't like showing strong emotions in public?'

'Oh, they do ' he looked down at her compa.s.sionately '

but only when the emotions come from within ourselves.'

Dorling woke to find a firm hand pressed over his mouth and the Doctor's disconcertingly friendly voice speaking softly in his ear. 'Excuse the intrusion, Admiral, but I wanted a private talk with you away from all those advisers and bodyguards.

Now if I take my hand away you won't make a lot of noise, will you? Don't bother to call for your companions in the next room, because they couldn't hear you anyway.'

Dorling nodded and the Doctor removed his hand, allowing him to sit up. The bedside light came on dimly until the room was half lit revealing the Doctor's shadowy form, and teeth flashed for a moment as he grinned.

'What have you done to them?' Dorling asked.

'Nothing drastic.' The Doctor held up a silver rod with a small conical mounting at one end. 'I merely played some soporific sonic frequencies over them to ensure they'll sleep very soundly for the next hour or so. I'd hate our little chat to be interrupted, because there are so many things to discuss, don't you agree? s.h.i.+ps and shoes and sealing wax, cabbages and why your hair has changed colour or how your arm has healed so quickly, "Admiral Dorling". What's your real name, by the way?'

'Oh.' With an effort he dropped out of character. 'You appear to have penetrated our little deception, my good sir.

Well, there's no point in denying it then. I am Malf Olivor Malf. I don't suppose you've ever heard of me?' he added hopefully.

'I'm afraid not. Should I have done?'

'I am an actor, once of some renown.'

'Ah. Like those two in the other room?'

'Hevist and Selto?' Malf exclaimed indignantly, forgetting his situation for a moment. 'Nothing more than mediocre walk-ons, Doctor: second spear carriers. They look good in uniform, that's all. And they handle the transportation, of course . Malf ran down. 'Well, actually, they are by way of being my minders.'

'And how did they get to be your minders and how did you get to be a pseudo admiral?'

'It's quite official, Doctor, I a.s.sure you. Not a role I would have chosen for myself but times are hard, what with the war and living on a colony world that has suffered its fair share of Averon raids. One must take what engagements one can. Not like the old days. Would you like to see my cuttings? I get so little chance to show them to strangers, as you can imagine.'

He scrambled out of bed before the Doctor could reply and pulled a case out of the bottom of the wardrobe. 'Hevist and Selto say I should leave them in the s.h.i.+p, but why should I?'

The bag had a coded thumblock. Inside was a bulging book of press cuttings and a vidi file, together with four lifelike wig heads, each faithfully reproducing Malf's features made up for different parts. Malf thrust the book at the Doctor and proudly held up each head for him to admire. 'My greatest roles, Doctor. Henry the Fifth, Naunton Smarg, Dulcio, and of course, Mr Levermann. As you can see, I use his hair for Dorling. Do you know in that part I had to '

'I am more interested in your current role,' the Doctor reminded him.

Malf sighed and reluctantly put the heads away again. 'It's very simple. Fleet Command on Calfon colony that's my homeworld wanted to boost morale by having senior officers travel around to bases and Alliance worlds giving stirring speeches and so forth. But, apart from security considerations, they were all too busy with the actual war itself. So they came up with the scheme of using an actor. I happen to resemble Dorling slightly and was resting at the time well, for quite some time, to be honest. I have a tiny weakness for the juice of the grape, you see, and it sometimes has a slightly deleterious effect on my performances. Anyway, that's how I got started and I've been touring now for...what is the date? Oh, yes five years. Not taxing work, except for a bit of improv occasionally, and I doubt if I'll ever get proper recognition when it's over, but the fees are regular and the audiences seem to like me.' Malf's face fell. 'I didn't muddle my lines, did I?

Didn't give myself away saying something foolish? I've been fully professional, you know, and studied thoroughly. Can't understand the highly technical stuff of course, even though I can spout the jargon on cue, but then neither can the real Dorling, apparently. But I'd hate to think '

'I a.s.sure you,' the Doctor said, 'that your performance was faultless. I already had my suspicions that you might not be who you were supposed to be.'

'But you won't let on that you know, will you? I don't know what Hevist and Selto would say. They can be most vexing at times, and I'd probably lose the part.'

'I promise I won't say anything about our little discussion if you answer one last question absolutely truthfully and without hesitation.'

Malf let out a sigh of relief. 'Certainly. What is it?'

The Doctor looked at him closely. 'Do you know what pentatholene gas does?'

Malf blinked in surprise. 'Doctor, I swear I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.'

The Doctor nodded and smiled. 'I'm very glad to hear it.'

He got up and moved towards the door. 'I trust you won't mention my presence here either. They might think it was rude for a guest to pry like this.'

'Wait a minute, Doctor. What does pentatholene gas do?'

But there was just the click of the outer door closing, followed by a brief trilling hum. Malf tried the handle but the door was locked again. He sat on his bed for some minutes in troubled silence, wis.h.i.+ng he had a drink. Then his eyes turned to the standard console built into the room's small writing desk. It had been years since he'd searched for anything like this with a console, but he was surprised how quickly he tracked the reference down in its science data base.

Pentatholene: A colourless, odourless gas. There followed details of its atomic weight, formula and a complicated structural diagram which he did not understand. Properties: Properties: induces a mild hypnotic state in most sentient warm-blooded induces a mild hypnotic state in most sentient warm-blooded oxygen-breathing organisms, heightening emotional response oxygen-breathing organisms, heightening emotional response and susceptibility to suggestion... and susceptibility to suggestion...

16.

Max dentify. Friend or foe?'

'I The synthonic voice delivering the ancient challenge was not the flat, clear and powerful tone Sarah had become familiar with. This machine's voice grated and wavered as she stared almost mesmerized into its red eyes, which themselves flickered unsteadily. A little more of the plastic wrapping tore away as it straightened from the position it had been placed in: sitting on its pallet with its knees drawn close to its chest.

What she could see of its body in the dim light of the hold was scarred and blackened. Obviously it had been badly damaged in combat, but had somehow retained power in its circuits, which her clumsiness had released. But on which side had it been fighting? The pressure on her arm increased slightly.

'Friend, friend,' she gasped, as its hard fingers pinched her flesh. 'Please, let me go.'

'What s.h.i.+p is this?'

'A Union s.h.i.+p I'm not sure whose exactly.'

'You are human not of the Union?'

'No. I'm escaping from them. I was a slaveworker on the moon of Averon.' She touched her forehead. 'If you look closely you can still see the mark of my ident plate.'

The great helmet-head turned slightly on its ma.s.sive shoulders, and she had an impression it was trying to focus on her. She realized its features were different to the workcamp synths perhaps this was an Alliance machine? Then the grip on her arm weakened allowing her to pull free. Its arm dropped to the deck with a heavy clank. The glowing red eyes dimmed a little more. 'Power level critical,' it rasped feebly.

'Recharge immediately or unit function...will...terminate.'

Sarah's initial nervousness at being in the presence of a synthoid was rapidly fading, to be replaced by the disquieting feeling that she was watching something dying before her very eyes. But a machine couldn't die, could it? Doctor: where are you when you're needed? 'Look, I'm not a mechanic I don't know what to do. I'm sorry.' Her words sounded either grossly inappropriate or completely inadequate even as she spoke, she wasn't sure which.

'Locate external power source...emergency coupling...' A plate on the synthoid's side sprung open. A complex multi-pin plug head was clipped to the inside of it, connected to a tightly coiled cable.

Sarah cautiously pulled the plug free and looked around the gloomy hold. Surely they would want to use power tools, cleaners or extra worklights at some time, but where would they put the sockets? She made for the illuminated hatchway dragging the cable along behind her. The hatch itself looked like something from a submarine of her own era. The glowing blue strip above it was grimed with dust, but had no apparent power connection or switch control, unless they were hidden behind it; some long-lived natural fluorescent, perhaps?

However, at waist height beside the hatch was a small box with a flip-up lid and strip of cable trunking running out of it.

That looked promising. But as she reached for it the emergency coupling plug jerked tight in her hand. The cable was too short.

She ran back to the synthoid. Its head had fallen forward on to its chest suggesting exhaustion in an alarmingly human manner. 'It won't reach you'll have to move closer.'

The machine raised its head feebly. 'Insufficient...power.'

'But you must try.'

'Function terminating.'

'Don't you want to live?' she shouted at it angrily.

'Live?' It sounded puzzled.

'Straighten out. Lie flat and let yourself go limp.'

The synthoid collapsed backwards to the deck. Sarah tore away the remaining shreds of wrapping and plastic strapping that had coc.o.o.ned it. Its body sh.e.l.l was torn up so badly that she could have put her fist deep into the holes. Some of the exposed circuitry was mottled with a crumbling powder like dried mould, and a few of the cavities were sticky with what she took to be leaking oil, which in the dim light looked disconcertingly like blood. Never mind, she told herself firmly, as she went looking for some sort of lever, it's just a machine. There were a couple of metal rods with flattened ends like long crowbars clipped to the wall near the hatch. She unhooked one, jammed it under the synthoid's side and heaved. It rolled over with a heavy thud. She flinched at the sound, hoping the crew wouldn't hear it. But if it is just a machine, why am I doing this, she wondered, even as she levered the synthoid over a second time. For the same reason people talked to their cars? The synthoid was just a sophisticated robot, very much like the ones that had kept her prisoner. That it seemed to be on the Alliance side hardly mattered, since its allegiance was simply a question of programming. But all the same it was hard to refuse something that asked for help. Besides, I'm not a machine, I'm a person and fully ent.i.tled to do irrational things for foolish reasons, she reminded herself.

The synthoid rolled over for the third time. Its eyes had shrunk to tiny red pinpoints. Sarah untangled the power coupling and stretched it out towards the wall socket again. It just reached. She flipped open the lid to expose a pair of three-in-line socket holes. She frantically twisted the plug around in her hands until the rotating and pivoting pins matched and rammed it home.

The synthoid's eyes immediately glowed brighter.

She leant against the bulkhead for a moment and let out a relieved sigh. Well, that's your good deed done for the day, Smith; how many points do you get for saving a robot's life?

Half an hour later the synthoid was sitting uptight and appeared, if that was the word, far more lively. Sarah sat opposite it, cradling the crowbar in her hands in case they were disturbed and trying not to look as more fluid oozed around the pits and scars on the machine's body. Even after the synthoid had explained its regenerative function the sight still made Sarah feel queasy, especially when, at its direction, she helped push trailing wires and tubes back into place to speed up the process. Its att.i.tude to its own internal anatomy was far too precise and clinical for comfort, yet she could see the obvious advantages in a self-repairing battle machine. The process was still being powered by the cable that attached it to the s.h.i.+p's mains. She hoped the crew wouldn't detect the drain on their system.

She now noticed further differences in its design from the Averonian models. The lightly scaled body sh.e.l.l with protective reinforcements around its main joints was similar, but the shape of its head was quite different. Overall it looked a little like a samurai helmet, with a protective visor that could close over the recessed slot that contained its glowing eyes.

And its left hand ended in a heavy three-jawed mechanical claw instead of two, with a heavy-calibre gun barrel mounted on the forearm, not extending from within it. The right hand was five-fingered and though large it was otherwise quite human in articulation, with a smaller projector again mounted on the arm. In addition it had an integral moulded 'backpack'

containing rocket tubes, together with other weapons and utility equipment. Unfortunately, as with all the salvaged items they had received at the a.s.sembly plant, its weaponry had been de-energized and any unspent explosives removed before transport.