Doctor Who_ Placebo Effect Part 17

'Oh. And by the way, Doctor,' she muttered.'I loathe cows.'

Jesus, Sam, what the h.e.l.l is wrong with you? Running away from a boy who'd p.i.s.sed you off was something you did when you were sixteen, not nowadays.

OK, so Kyle had said a jerkish thing, but he was from 3999, not her era, and just as she found it sometimes difficult to adjust to the different times and places the Doctor took her, why the h.e.l.l couldn't she understand that people in those times and places might have to adjust to her. 3999? Huh, that's not a year, she decided. It's a s.h.i.+rt from Gap .

No doubt she'd spent too long on Ha'olam, too long in just one place. She'd become settled, too confident. Too easy to spook again.

Oh, where was the Doctor when you needed him? Where were his words of comfort and rea.s.surance right now?

And why did she still need them, anyway?

Sam took in her surroundings and tried to get some bearings. She was outside the Stadium now, but not where she had come in. No, that must be around to the... yes, to the right. Yes, they'd pa.s.sed some stores on the way, and that had to back towards the main city. Which meant she could either go straight, or cut back around to the city road.

She went straight ahead.

'No contest. Been there, done that. This is new.' Simple philosophy and one that far too frequently got her into trouble. But this was Carrington City.

This was Micawber's World. And, Kleptons notwithstanding, she'd had a fairly easy time of it so far.

The road ahead was lined with trees, palm trees of some sort, and went off to the horizon. Between her and that horizon seemed to be nothing, but she would surely hit one end of the city before too long, so yes, this was still the way to go.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, she could see some kind of building ahead, quite large by the look of it.

Ten minutes later, she could still see it, but it still seemed to be far away.

Then it hit her - it was a building but it was also rather large. While she was indeed closing in on it, it was so tall that her distance ratio was confused.

'You're very big,' she told the building when she finally got to it. 'I mean, very big.'

Standing by the flight of steps that led up to the gla.s.s frontage, she tilted her head back but could not quite see where it ended. At least forty storeys high then, probably more.

She climbed the steps and the doors slid silently open to let her in CARRINGTON GRANDE, said a large sign above a reception area. 'You must be a hotel and I claim my five pounds,' she murmured.

There was a chime and an elevator door opened, expelling two men. One was rather ordinary-looking, late fifties, balding, and gave off waves of fussiness, without actually doing anything concrete to reinforce that opinion. The other man was glam, to say the least. Looking like something out of a play, he was in full Regency get-up, including a voluminous white wig, beautiful jacket and humbug waistcoat, his stockinged legs thinning into knee-high boots. He had an expression on his face that told the whole story. The less extravagant man was clearly a nuisance and the Regency man looked like he wanted to murder him.

'Oh, miss,' the Regency man said, 'would you mind getting someone to sort out Her Highness's room? I am her Consort, Ethelredd. She will be back shortly and I couldn't find one of the maids. Terribly sorry.'

Sam was about to point out that she didn't actually work at the Grande, but then smiled. This could be a fun distraction.

'I'll see to it immediately, sir. How long before Her Highness returns, exactly?'

Consort Ethelredd glanced at the clock on the wall. 'Twenty minutes, I should think.'

'Oh, no problem,' Sam lied, not having the foggiest notion what to do. 'I'll get it sorted.'

"Thank you.' Ethelredd almost shoved the other man away, but did it gracefully enough to make it look like steering rather than pus.h.i.+ng. 'Now, Mr Chalfont, I understand you have a story to post?'

Chalfont clearly knew he was being side railed but, Sam guessed, knew there was little he could do because he nodded and went into one of the rooms off the reception area.

Checking he had gone, Ethelredd looked at Sam, darkly. 'If there's any justice in this world, the d.u.c.h.ess of Auckland will have broken a nail while out shopping and I will have to spend many hours trying every manicurist on this G.o.dforsaken planet to repair it. Meantime, Torin b.l.o.o.d.y Chalfont will have licked his fingers and shoved them into an electricity point, frying his stupid brains out.' Ethelredd shook his head. 'But no, there is no justice after all, is there?'

Sam realised the source of his new irritation. A hovercar had pulled up and some people were flocking around it, grovelling. Ethelredd straightened his waistcoat and put on a beatific smile as he walked out of the building, his greeting of'Welcome Back, Your Highness' cut off by the closing doors.

The d.u.c.h.ess's room was not going to get cleaned any time soon, Sam realised, and it might be a good idea if she scarpered before they blamed her. Trouble was, she didn't know how to get out, so her only option was the elevator. All she had to do was select a floor about halfway up. The odds of that being the d.u.c.h.ess's (royalty were always near the top anyway) were rather slim at least.

As the traditionally plummy tones of the d.u.c.h.ess wafted back in through the opening doors, Sam jumped into the elevator that the Regency man and Chalfont had emerged from. The doors closed on her and she looked for a floor selection.

'Penthouse only,' said a computerised voice.'Non-stop: Oh great, thought Sam, someone today really, really must hate me.

Quartermaster-Sergeant Dallion froze as the knock on the door alerted her.

She waved to the others to stop what they were doing, and slid her blaster rifle from its scabbard across her back.

Carruthers immediately took up a position behind the door, while the others slowly stood up behind their sergeant. She nodded to Fenton, who walked forward and opened the door slowly.

Facing him was a human male, quite tall, with wavy brown hair flowing to his shoulders. He had a well-chiselled face, a wide smile and grey eyes. He was wearing a strange velvet long coat that seemed to be green or grey or tan, depending how the light from the sun outside caught it as he moved.

He raised his hands welcomingly. 'Please put your gun down, Dallion,' he said quietly. 'I'm not here to cause trouble. And if Mr Carruthers could move away from behind the door... Well, I'm sure we could all do with a less tense atmosphere.'

No one moved.

'Oh.' The man put his hands behind his back.'AU right, then. I am the Doctor. I'm working for Commandant Ritchie. Oh, and he thinks someone is going to try to kill you, so he sent me here to warn you.'

'Who is going to kill us?' Dallion asked slowly.

'He is. Unfortunately.' The Doctor shrugged. 'That's executive stress for you, I'm afraid.' He stepped forward, crossing into their room. He looked about, taking in the peeling walls, the damp patch in the far corner, the overturned crate that doubled as a card table, and the carefully positioned sleeping bags, ensuring that every conceivable entrance was covered. Just in case.

'No guns lying around,' he muttered. 'All concealed no doubt. Probably right in front of me. Very efficient. The Commandant trained you well.'

'Forget the compliments,' said Dallion sourly. 'Who are you?'

'I told you. I'm the Doctor. Here to ensure Ritchie doesn't kill you.'

Carruthers stepped from behind the door, covering the Doctor with a handgun held firmly in both hands. He trained it confidently on the back of the Doctor's head, while McCarrick stepped over and began patting the newcomer down. 'Why should the Commandant want to kill us?' Carruthers asked.

The Doctor shrugged. 'He doesn't want to, I suppose, but he feels he may have to. He's in trouble of some sort, but won't say what. I have my suspicions, but nothing grounded in evidence, I'm afraid. It's all to do with whatever happened to your colleagues in the tunnels, deep under the surface. He asked me to save you from him.'

The others all looked to Dallion, who lowered her blaster. 'Sit,' she said, indicating another crate.'You have ten minutes.'

'Five, actually. We have to meet another ally in ten minutes and it'll take five minutes or so to get there.'

'I don't like this, Sarge,' said Clarke.

'Nor me,' agreed Klein.

Dallion shook her head at them, a slight movement, but one they understood. The Doctor seemed to understand it, too.

'If I may explain?'

'Four minutes left,' said Carruthers.

The Doctor nodded. 'All right, as I see it, something is here on Micawber's World. The Olympic Games are about to start, bringing millions to the planet. Whatever is here, whatever killed or kidnapped your fellow agents, is here for that very reason. Your Commandant is involved in this in some way. Maybe someone's blackmailing him. This is either the someone who dealt with your fellow agents or someone else who is interested in their whereabouts. Ritchie is answerable to the SSS. He is also answerable to this other force. I think he's answerable to something else as well, which is why he brought me in. He needed an independent outsider whom he could deny any knowledge of or use as a scapegoat to cover himself. He saved you lot from regulations. Why? Because he's a nice man? Possibly.

Because to discipline you would bring attention to whatever happened?

Most probably. I don't think anyone outside his office and this room is aware that your friends have vanished. I do however believe that whoever Ritchie is frightened of knows, and he wants you to find out the truth before they do. If they get there first, then he'll have to kill you to cover his back.

It's a s.h.i.+eld he's rather adept at. My only question is, do you trust him? In fact, doI trust him? If you trust him, you'll have to trust me. And if you trust me, I, logically, have to trust him, because you trust him, and therefore trust me. Are you following this?'

Everyone except Dallion shook their head. She just began polis.h.i.+ng the b.u.t.t of her blaster with spit and her finger. 'Two minutes, Doctor,' she said.

The Doctor took a deep breath. 'Also on Micawber's World is a rather unusual Jadean, a Ms Sox.'

'Carrington's PA,' interjected McCarrick. The Doctor nodded.

"That's her. She's also his head of security. She arranged for the SSS to be brought in right at the start. She feels that Micawber's World is being compromised. Her involvement is strictly personal. She's in love with Carrington and wants to protect him. Only problem is, I'm rather afraid she's failed. It's my guess that Carrington is dead. The man in his office is probably a Foamasi spy, possibly from the Dark Peaks Lodge.Which makes me wonder if the Dark Peaks are in fact Ritchie's unseen allies-c.u.m-foes.' The Doctor paused. 'Now, that's an interesting possibility. If the Dark Peaks want control of the Games, that will cause severe ructions within the other Lodges as, strictly speaking, the Twin Suns have this planet. If the Foamasi killed at the Stadium was a Twin Suns, killed on the orders of the Dark Peaks, then on top of everything else, we're in the middle of an escalating struggle for power.' He looked at Dallion. 'I hadn't thought of that, you know. Thank you.'

'For what?'

'Making me consider that possibility.'

McCarrick tapped his watch and Dallion nodded.

'We're not convinced.'

'Odd that,' added Carruthers. 'Because I'm sure it sounded convincing to someone.'

'Just not us,' added Klein.

Dallion replaced her blaster in its holster. 'However, I'm intrigued.' She looked at the others. 'Keep him here. I'll meet up with Ms Sox and make my own mind up.'

The Doctor tried to stand up, but four pairs of hands clamped on his shoulder, and even if that had not been enough, Carruthers's blaster suddenly pressed against his temple made his mind up fully.'You don't know where, Sergeant Dallion.'

Dallion smiled. 'I'm a soldier, Doctor. While you were gabbling away, Ms Sox came out of Carrington Corp and got into her flyer. I'm tracing it now.'

She pulled the PMD out of the shadows, and the Doctor could see it was jury-rigged to a few datapads and a computer.

'Ingenious,' he said. 'Are you monitoring everything that's going on?'

Dallion nodded. 'Just about. Had my eye on you since you left SSS Admin last night. Oh, and I don't trust you a millimetre.' The Doctor's face fell.'Why?'

'Going to the Foamasi Temple to see Green Fingers. The Amba.s.sador only sees people he knows.'

'Am I the only person who didn't know Green Fingers was the Amba.s.sador?' The Doctor shook his head. 'Once upon a time, in another lifetime, I saw everything. Nowadays, I keep missing the important bits. It's really not fair.'

Dallion shrugged. 'More fun for the rest of us, Doctor. Knowing you're not perfect.' She glanced down at the PMD readout. "The Earth Church.' She looked at Carruthers. 'You're in charge. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, blow off his head and then get off this planet. If it is a set-up, we're dead. If nothing else, he's right about Ritchie covering his a.s.s. We'll be an embarra.s.sment before too long.' She looked back down at the datapad, preoccupied. 'Good luck.'

The others muttered their agreement and farewells and Dallion left.

The Doctor looked up at his captors cheerily. They looked down at him impa.s.sively. 'Well,' he said. 'Isn't this jolly.'

Torin Chalfont was bored now and was beginning to feel that today was just one big waste of his time. The d.u.c.h.ess of Auckland had returned ages ago - tomorrow she was due to open the Olympiad and so far he hadn't managed to get that contract to publish her Olympic memoirs.

Every time he tried to talk to her, that blasted Consort, Ethelredd, interrupted them. Or Counsellor De'Ath. Worse still, that pathetic little fussbudget from Carrington Corp - what was his name... oh yes, Coordinator Sumner - was getting more attention thanhe was! And Torin Chalfont was adored by his public, accredited by the news servers and applauded by his peers.

Thank G.o.d none of them were here to see how he had been relegated to the lower divisions on Micawber's World.

He was seated in his rooms at the Carrington Grande, which, according to the sign floating outside the door, was the Colby Suite. The trappings were tasteless, the chairs uncomfortable and the two bedrooms positively filthy.

'I have to get away,' he declared to no one in particular.

The door from the lobby opened, and Secretary Aigburth slipped his head around.

'Ah, there you are, Chalfont. The d.u.c.h.ess has a message for you.'

Oh, at b.l.o.o.d.y last.

'Marvellous, my dear Aigburth, quite marvellous. I a.s.sume she is ready to receive me after her shopping and sightseeing expedition. No doubt full of tales of exquisite purchases, sweet-smelling perfumery and taste-searing chocolates. I simply cannot wait. And yet -' he held up a hand to stop Aigburth interrupting - 'I fear I must, as I need to bathe. To greet Her Highness in such a manner as this -' he waved a hand towards his morning suit -'would be disrespectful.'

'Actually, Chalfont,' said Aigburth with ill-concealed glee, 'the d.u.c.h.ess regrets that she cannot entertain you until after the opening ceremony. She says she will meet you in her chamber tomorrow afternoon. Apres luncheon, bien sur.'

Before Chalfont could reply, Aigburth had vanished.

Chalfont was livid. "That two-faced b.i.t.c.h. I'll give her blue blood - I'll pump it out of her veins and into the gutter by the time I've finished with her.'

He threw himself into an armchair, ignoring its protesting creaks.

After a few moments' fuming, he grabbed at his laptop and began tapping the keys. Unlike so many of his contemporaries, he despised modern technology, refusing to use voice-activated systems, feeling that to convey accurately the journalists' true feelings, one simplyhad to type it all up longhand oneself.

His laptop did, however, have another use. He long ago understood how the thing actually worked, and how similar machinery worked, and, best of all, how to hack into other systems by creating echo files and fake pa.s.swords.

'If Torin Chalfont is here on Micawber's World, he is going to find and write a story that will make Her Royal Highness and her wretched Court completely unimportant.'

After only about ten minutes' hacking, he found the kind of thing he was looking for. A secret SSS carrier wave, giving details of eight missing, presumed dead - SSS agents. Further research showed that they vanished investigating some tunnels beneath the Olympic Stadium.

Already, Torin Chalfont could see the newscasts, the server headlines and the Pulitzer (Offworld and Interstellar Division) Prize.

He closed down his laptop, shoved a datapad into his pocket, straightened his collar and left his room.

Crossing the lobby, he had to duck aside slightiy, nipping behind an ornate pillar, as one of the hotel maids came out of the elevator carrying a bag, presumably of wastepaper from Her High and Mightiness's bedchambers.

Probably planned to sell it to one of the low-taste holochannels that were overrunning Micawber's World right now. After a few seconds he peeked back from behind the pillar and she was gone. He quickly left the hotel and consulted his datapad for a map - the Stadium was off to the left. but the entrance to the underground pa.s.sages was nearer to the industrial area, where the power feeds would come from. That made sense - the tunnels were presumably hosting all the electrical cabling, so getting in should be quite easy.