Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead Part 19

'So what's it for?' said Mancuso, leaning closer.

'The other chips are just onboard memory and the operating system. That big one's the intelligence. They don't call it a smart gun for nothing.'

Mancuso pointed at the display above the magazine sleeve on the gun. The magazine itself lay on Petersen's desk, grey and copper bullets visible in the glow of the desk lamp. '"M-T". What the h.e.l.l does "M-T" mean?'

'It means no ammunition. The gun is empty. It also means the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were too cheap to give you anything more than a threecharacter display. You can also use that readout to do a general systems check when you dismantle the weapon. It'll probably also show the time and date and store phone numbers for you.' Mancuso picked the magazine up and thumbed bullets out of it on to the desk, the spring easing a new round up each time. She remembered bright colours flowing out of plastic bottles, gathering at her feet.

'I was holding it, talking to Breen. This witchy girl came out of nowhere, from behind some shelves. She had us. We were finished. She had her gun right on me. Then this thing moved, aimed and fired itself.'

'That's pretty smart.' Petersen was carefully working the intelligence chip out of its socket. The thin glowing light around its edges remained on as it left the mother board.

'Maybe you can examine that, tell me something about it.'

Petersen set the chip on his desk and adjusted the lamp over it. 'Maybe,' he said.

'I wouldn't mind some answers before I go off duty. I might be able to get some sleep if I know what I'm carrying on the street tomorrow.'

But Petersen didn't reply. He was no longer looking at the chip. His eyes were on the desk screen, watching the numbers from the door coder flas.h.i.+ng. He stared at the numbers for a moment, then began pulling magazines out of the piles of paper that buried his intray.

'What is it?'

Petersen ignored her. He had a magazine open and was looking at the screen again. The magazine was printed on cheap yellow paper with occasional highquality ivorytoned pages for colour ill.u.s.trations. It was a scientific journal of some kind.

'Jesus,' said Petersen. He was running his finger along a row of figures printed in the journal, looking up at the screen and back down at the magazine.

'What's going on?' said Mancuso. 'What is that?'

'It's an article in the math section. Not really my field. It's about the ozone holes and modelling their behaviour. The big problem is predicting the movement in the atmosphere.'

'I know. I had a cousin in Oregon.'

'Well, they've got these equations.' Petersen was looking at the screen again. 'Basically, all you have to understand is that it's an unsolvable problem,' he said, reaching for the release b.u.t.ton for the door lock, 'and that someone standing down there in the alley is solving it.'

The steel bars securing the street door made a dull thudding noise as they drew back into the wall.

He was smaller than Mancuso remembered. In the drugstore she'd thought of him as the little guy, but somehow in her memory he'd grown. Now she was startled to see how small he was. She looked into his disquieting eyes, then down at his small, delicate hands. They were empty. Mancuso held her own hands out of sight behind Petersen's desk.

'There's no need for that,' said the man, looking at her. Mancuso lifted her hands and brought her Colt sidearm into view. She didn't point it at the man, but she didn't point it away from him either. Petersen ignored both of them, concentrating on his desk screen. He was ransacking the buffer, retrieving as much as he could of the sequence of numbers the man had keyed in on the door coder. 'It's chaotic but patterned,' said the man.

Petersen glanced up and smiled, then bent back to his work. He was happy. He was going to get a paper out of this.

'Did you find the hovercraft?' said the man. 'I thought you ought to know about it.'

'That was a really stupid move,' said Mancuso.

'Not only was it illegally parked, but I also suspected it of being involved in the commission of a felony,' said the man.

'I can't remember if I gave you your rights,' said Mancuso.

'I've still got the card, right here.' The man's hand moved and Mancuso's handgun automatically swayed up, aiming dead centre at the man's chest.

But he just smiled as he reached in a pocket and took out the card. 'There's a misspelling in the Gujarati,' he said.

Stephanie was very tall and very blonde. Mulwray was slim and muscular, with oriental eyes. His skin was golden and he had thick black hair, cropped short. Very pretty, but very tired. When he looked at Ace he wouldn't quite meet her gaze.

'What's the matter? Your posture's all wrong,' Stephanie was saying. 'You look like you're hurt. What happened in there?'

'I had to fight.' Ace's voice was hoa.r.s.e. She cleared her throat. 'The first couple of times I was okay but then one of them got me down and held me while another one kicked '

'Oh my G.o.d.' The woman was looking at her with concern in her eyes and touching her. A light, professional touch, a physician's touch. 'Jesus, those animals.'

Stephanie and Mulwray steered Ace a short distance down the hallway from the cell and seated her on the first bench, sitting close on either side of her. Stephanie bent over her, fussing. A woman walked past, pus.h.i.+ng a trolley. She slowed down to take in the three of them sitting on the bench. 'Careful girl.' she said, 'they just want your body.'

'Shut up,' snapped Stephanie.

Breen was beginning to wish he'd flipped a coin with Mancuso. A visit to R&D about a weapons malfunction wasn't much fun, but registering a prisoner involved dealing with Cooper on the data console. It had taken three hours just for Breen to finish doing the doc.u.mentation on the English girl. Now he had to get over to the lab and pick up Mancuso. Then maybe they could see if there was anything useful they could do in what was left of the s.h.i.+ft. He was hurrying past the data section on his way to the car, when he ran into them.

Sitting on a bench near the cells. Three of them. Two clowns from the Butler Inst.i.tute and the English girl. Breen dismissed the man as no threat. He looked like one of the walking wounded. The BI woman was different; hard. She just looked right through Breen, as if he wasn't important enough to register. The English girl smiled, recognizing him.

'h.e.l.lo,' she said. 'All right?'

'No, not really,' said Breen, unclipping his holster and resting his hand on his pistol.

'Good evening, officer,' said the female BI, acknowledging Breen now that she had no choice.

'Good evening,' said Breen. He looked at the woman. 'What are you doing with my prisoner?'

'This young lady has been released into our care.'

'That's interesting. To the best of my knowledge this young lady hasn't even been charged yet,' said Breen.

Through the gla.s.s he could see Cooper easing his fat bulk out from behind the data console and coming towards them, sensing trouble.

'Come on now, time to go,' said the female BI, taking the girl by the arm and moving away from Breen.

The girl pulled free. 'No thanks,' she said. 'This young lady has plans of her own.'

Cooper was hurrying towards them.

'This is ridiculous. We have custody of the girl and we're going,' said the woman.

'I understand you people have very good healthcare schemes. They say you can replace just about anything these days,' Breen said.

Cooper was beside them now. 'Hold on, Breen.'

'I am holding on,' said Breen. 'They're not taking her. It's bad enough letting these ghouls into the parks but now they're taking prisoners out of the cells. She hasn't even been charged yet.'

'There are no charges,' said the woman. 'She's no longer under arrest.'

Breen looked at Cooper. He nodded, his double chin wobbling. 'She's off the charge list,' said Cooper. 'She's free.'

'That's great,' said Breen. 'How long has this scam been going on?'

The woman smiled and signalled to the man. They grabbed the English girl, each taking an arm. The English girl tried to pull away but they hung on tight, clutching the black cloth of her jacket. Breen reached in and helped her pull free. The Butler Inst.i.tute couple looked at him.

'If she's free, then she's free to go without you,' said Breen. The female BI moved forward, as if she was going to go for Breen. He just smiled at her, hoping she was stupid enough. But the man touched the woman's arm and she stared at Breen for a moment then relaxed. She reached into the jacket of her silk suit and took out a small blue card that resembled a credit card. Printed on it was the beeandeye logo of the Butler Inst.i.tute. 'If you need a place to stay while you're in town, just put this in any public phone. It will dial our number for you.' She slipped the card into the English girl's pocket and left, the man following her.

Breen and the English girl stood looking at Cooper. Cooper s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably and shrugged. 'They must have read her medical records as soon as we logged her. The Butler Inst.i.tute is in very tight with the service and...'

Breen just kept looking at him until he stopped talking.

'I don't know how much they're paying you,' said Breen. 'I hope it's worth it.' The English girl stifled a yawn, standing beside him. When Breen turned to leave she followed him.

'Well, what am I supposed to do with you?'

'Where are you off to now?' said the girl.

'I'm supposed to find my partner,' said Breen.

'So am I.'

'I don't believe it,' said Mancuso.

The Doctor said nothing.

Mancuso turned and looked at Petersen. 'He could be lying, couldn't he? He could have rigged this up.'

Petersen didn't reply, either. He was examining the dismantled control sections of Mancuso's gun, spread out on his desk. A thin coiling cable connected the gun to the scientist's computer. Petersen looked at the display above the gun's ammunition clip, then back at his computer. Mancuso came and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder at the gun's small ammunition counter display.

'I refuse to believe it,' she said.

'You've been talking to the Doctor, I can tell.'

Mancuso's head jerked up, startled by the voice. The English girl from the drugstore on Fifth Avenue had come into the lab. She was standing just inside the doorway.

'h.e.l.lo, Ace,' said the Doctor.

'Who let you in?' said Mancuso.

'Bloke called Breen. Claims to be your partner.' The girl came over and sat beside the Doctor. 'He said to tell you he's going home to bed. He'll see you tomorrow.'

Mancuso automatically checked her watch.

'Your s.h.i.+ft isn't over yet, is it?' said the Doctor. 'McIlveen would never have done that.'

'Who is McIlveen?' said Ace, covering a yawn with the back of her hand.

'He used to be Mancuso's partner,' said the Doctor, going to the computer on Petersen's desk. 'Until he was shot from a rooftop.'

'I'm sorry,' said Ace. She watched while the Doctor typed at the computer keyboard. 'Is he dead?'

'In a manner of speaking,' said the Doctor. On the screen of the computer the words he was typing appeared, letter by letter.

Who are you?

The Doctor pressed the Return key on the keyboard and the message was transmitted, travelling through the thin communications cable that connected the computer to the gun. The words were converted to ASCII codes which flashed into the gun's control system, entering the large chip with the luminous line around it. There was a brief pause and then symbols flashed up on the gun's ammunition counter. The tiny LCD screen was only three symbols wide, being designed to indicate how many bullets were left in the clip.

But now instead of numbers it began to display letters of the alphabet.

MCI.

LVE.

EN.

'Does that mean what I think it means?' said Ace.

'McIlveen, James Haines,' said the Doctor.

The lab was silent. After a moment the letters on the ammunition counter faded away. Mancuso watched the tiny screen go blank, then she looked over at Petersen. He just shrugged.

Mancuso moved to the chair where the Doctor was sitting. 'Here, out of the way.'

The Doctor got out of the chair and Mancuso sat in front of the computer, typing on the screen.

Why should I believe you?

After a moment a response began to appear on the gun's display.

ISA.

VED.

YOU.

RAS.

S.

Mancuso began to smile. She remembered the woman in the tiedyes and flack vest and the way the gun had moved on its own, aiming and firing for her. 'I guess you did save it.'

Now a new message was coming up on the gun display.