The Romance Of Crime Part 15

Eddie looked puzzled and turned to his brother for guidance. 'What's she saying, Charlie?'

Charlie brushed him aside and extended a hand to Xais.

'Pleased to meet you again. And no, I just like to have my steak meal in quiet. Helps me to think.' His voice was very deep and very slow, each word a grave rumble.

'You kept your side of our bargain,' said Xais. 'That is good.'

Charlie shrugged. 'I knew you wouldn't let us down. I remembered what you said at our first meeting, back on Bervisto. Not to worry if you were captured, even if they said you'd been executed, because you had a way out. You're like us, my dear. Too clever to get caught.' He indicated her face.

'What's all that with the mask?'

Xais touched her metallic cheek. 'It is not important. In my escape from the reverser I suffered a disfiguring injury.'

This was her first lie.

Eddie produced a bowl from the food dispenser. It contained a block of something that let off sugary steam. 'You won't be wanting your crumble now, will you, Charlie? Not now you've been interrupted.' He looked down at the custard-smothered dessert. 'Shame to let it go to waste.'

'You've had your yogurt and now you want my crumble.

It's not right to have two helpings.'

Eddie s.h.i.+fted uneasily. 'But I don't like yogurt, you know I don't.'

Charlie clamped a hand on his brother's shoulder. 'You'll have what you're given and like it.' He wrenched the bowl away. 'Whether it's yogurt or a clip round the ear. Mum told me to look after you. I know what's best.'

Unnoticed by the brothers, Xais's hands flickered over one of the flight system keyboards.

'But you've had a sponge and a mousse this week already,'

protested Eddie.

'Shut up,' said Charlie.

Xais had spent years plotting her revenge and was surprised to find herself listening to such trivial discussions. She decided it was time to reintroduce her agenda to the proceedings.

'My friends,' she said. 'Let us discuss our tactics. First, your servants will sweep through this station and kill all the Normals. I note you are now employing Ogrons.' She hesitated, selecting her next words carefully. 'They are not the most intelligent of beings, are they?'

Charlie halted the crumble-filled spoon that was halfway to his big mouth. 'What are you saying?'

'I merely state what I have heard. The reputation of the Ogrons is not what it was. Once, they could strike fear into the hearts of Normals through the nine corners of s.p.a.ce. Now, they are the b.u.t.t of jokes throughout the human empire.'

The spoon wielded by Charlie had now returned to the plate. He tapped his portion of crumble with its underside menacingly.

'And the Nisbett firm itself,' Xais went on, well aware of the likely reaction to her words, 'the criminal organization that thirty years ago virtually ran West Coppertown. A network of professional businessmen. Reduced to this?' She indicated the rusty s.h.i.+p.

Charlie handed his bowl to Eddie and stepped forward threateningly. His bulk towered over Xais. 'This is a setback.

A small setback. Don't make me angry, love. You wouldn't like it. I've handled myself with tougher nuts than you. I had Mad Mick the Tracksuit Atkinson cut in two for less than what you've just said.'

'We've got his kneecaps in a jar on the mantelpiece,' Eddie added. 'I get them out sometimes for a look.'

Charlie smoothed back his hair. 'So don't give us grief.

You know how we fell on hard times. No fault of our own. We were betrayed.'

Xais congratulated herself on her understanding of exactly what motivated the Nisbetts. She had succeeded in steering the conversation to where she wanted. 'Quite. And remember, I know the ident.i.ty of that informer. And I will give you the name, once you have given me what I require.'

She leant forward and straightened the collar of Charlie's coat. 'And we will then be a lot happier, and wealthier.'

Romana had unearthed a small toolkit from a well-stocked storage locker in a corner of the control centre untouched by the explosion of the central console, and was using the rudimentary tools it contained to attempt repairs on K9. The task was made doubly difficult by the lack of adequate lighting.

She tweaked at a junction of coloured wires with a pair of pliers and awaited a reaction. None came. The complexity of K9's internal circuitry baffled her. This model had been constructed by the Doctor after an original that he considered far inferior. Unfortunately, his modifications to the design had been carried out with his customary disregard for technical standards that everyone else in the universe, so far as it seemed to Romana, employed as common sense. She wasn't sure if this approach was born out of lack of skill or sheer b.l.o.o.d.y-mindedness. Whichever was the case, the innards of K9 Mark II were an amazing hotch-potch of items cobbled together by means that were the work of either genius or inept.i.tude.

'Come on, K9,' she urged the inert audio sensors of the dog. 'Power up. I've reconnected your fuse box.'

There was no response. Romana's shoulders slumped. 'I'll just have to start again,' she said. She was all too aware that K9 could come in very useful if they had been boarded by hostiles.

The technicians had fled the control centre when the Rock had steadied itself. The only other person left with Romana was Pyerpoint, who had pulled himself up with all the dignity he could muster and staggered over to an emergency unit. The arrival of the alien craft seemed to have shaken him. His immaculately coiffured hair had unwound from its beaded coil and his face was drawn and pale.

'What are they?' she heard him cry from the other side of the room. Romana abandoned work on K9 for a moment and went to him. He pointed at a small monochrome screen. It showed a group of uniformed security officers struggling to beat off an attack by three huge, hairy, ape-like beings dressed in rough sacking coveralls and purple jerkins. They watched as one of the creatures took one of the guards by the neck and snapped it in his mighty grip like a twig.

'Ogrons,' Romana replied, shocked. 'They're mercenaries.

I wonder who they're working for?'

'Xais,' growled Pyerpoint. 'That's obvious.' He flicked a couple of switches next to the screen and sound was relayed to accompany the picture.

The voices of the Ogrons were gruff and deep. 'Come. We must attack. Or the Mr Nisbetts will not be pleased.' They ambled away from the security camera.

Pyerpoint's eyes widened. 'Nisbetts?'

'I've heard of them,' said Romana. 'Gangsters, aren't they?'

'Indeed. And in a different league to Xais. Why is she doing this?'

He reached for a large red b.u.t.ton on the emergency panel.

A klaxon began to sound loudly from speakers around the station. The recorded voice that made all the announcements aboard the Rock said smoothly, 'This is an emergency. This is not a drill. Evacuate. Evacuate. Evacuate.'

Although it had been designed by her sly mind to goad the Nisbetts, there was more than an ounce of truth in Xais's approximation of the Ogrons' abilities. They lumbered through the corridors of the building, and shot down any human that was unfortunate enough to cross their path. As far as this part of their task was concerned, they were efficient enough. The problems lay with the inability of the Ogron mind to grapple with the twisting geography of their surroundings.

The architects of the Rock had endowed the complex with an unsettling lack of symmetry that confused even those who had lived and worked there for years. So it was that the Ogrons spent much of the time they had been allocated for the purpose of maiming and murdering wandering the echoing, empty corridors that wound around the building. A crucial mistake was that they had concentrated on reaching the centre, at the same time that the workers, lawyers and criminals, encouraged by the klaxon, were running for the stairway and the escape capsules, or making for the transmat, all of which were located on the far side of the complex.

K9's eyescreen flashed red for less than a second and died again. 'Good boy, K9,' Romana said. 'You can do it.' But there was no further response from the dog.

Pyerpoint had sunk into a chair, his head in his hands. 'You must leave,' he said. 'Your colleagues may be dead, but you could still get away.'

Romana lifted K9, who was surprisingly light, from the console and joined Pyerpoint. She knew for certain that the best course of action for her to take would be to return to the TARDIS, where she could repair K9 with adequate tools.

'I know a place where we can hide,' she told Pyerpoint.

'Come with me.'

He remained slumped in the chair. 'No. You go. I must stay here.'

'They'll kill you.'

Pyerpoint looked up at her. To her surprise, there was anger in his eyes, the first time she had seen an emotion expressed so strongly there. 'I know what will happen to me,' he said. 'And I have to stay.'

Romana could tell there was no point in trying to reason with him. He probably had some grand notion about the captain going down with his s.h.i.+p. She hefted K9 in her arms and left the control centre.

As soon as Romana had gone, Pyerpoint stood. The normally impa.s.sive set of his features twisted into a snarl. He picked up the chair he had been sitting on and threw it across the room. It smashed into the damaged area and sent a shower of sparks flying.

He reached in his tunic and pulled out a red key, then crossed back to the emergency systems panel and inserted it in a small slot. A red light flashed and he spoke into a concealed microphone.

'This is High Archon Pyerpoint, broadcasting from asteroid 6KK Gamma, the Rock of Judgement. Our emergency is under control. Repeat, I have the situation under control.

Caution. Do not approach. I say again, do not approach.

Radiation hazard.'

He withdrew the key and pressed a b.u.t.ton next to the slot.

The message he had recorded would be repeated constantly until he saw fit to cancel it.

The first thing the Doctor's senses registered as he returned to consciousness was the smell. He possessed a large and very sensitive nose that identified sweat, filth and badly brewed alcohol in the recycled air around him. There was also a bruise throbbing on the back of his head.

He opened an eye to check his surroundings and saw a large boot. The boot's owner was standing guard over the Doctor's forlorn body, his unthinking, ape-like eyes trained on the opposite wall. For a moment, the Doctor considered tackling the Ogron and making a break for it. But the creature was armed and he was feeling rather beaten, so he decided to bide his time. He closed his eye.

Voices and footsteps drifted along a nearby corridor. The Doctor strained to make out what they were saying, which wasn't difficult, because they were heading in his direction.

The first voice he recognized as that of Margo, now submerged by the ident.i.ty of Xais. 'I thought you might like to take a look at him, and ask him a few questions. He's an investigator of Five police.'

'What, you reckon they might be on to us?' This voice was male and sounded almost as deep as that of an Ogron.

'I'm not certain,' said Xais. 'But I think it's worth keeping him alive, for the moment.'

The Doctor gave an inward sigh of relief. He heard the small party move away from the doorway of whatever unpleasant room was his cell. Their voices carried faintly through to him and he rolled over very slightly in order to follow their conversation.

'About the deal,' said a third voice, male again. It was similar to the first, but contained a quality that made it somehow more threatening. 'We've got the items you requested, all that mining equipment. Before we go any further, I want to know more about the belzite you promised us. We've waited four years to begin this operation, remember. We want results. Where is the belzite?'

'That's easily answered,' said Xais. 'Planet Eleven. There is a rich seam of belzite there.'

'That can't be so,' said the first male voice. 'There's nothing down there. Besides, they can't scan the surface because of the storms.'

'Belzite,' Xais insisted. 'Up to six million credits' worth. I discovered it through a contact in McConnochie Mining, some years ago. The company are aware of it, of course.' She paused. 'They've been holding back from exploiting the planet until the economic conditions are right. I am aware of the exact location. Which I will divulge when we reach the planet.'

The stronger male voice spoke again. 'And the other information you hold?'

'Ah, yes, the ident.i.ty of the man who betrayed you. I will reveal it when the mining operation is complete. That seems reasonable to me.'

The Doctor was unable to hear what was said next, as Xais and her accomplices turned a corner. He decided it was time to take a more active part in the proceedings and emitted a loud and theatrical groan before rolling over and snapping both eyes open.

The Ogron stared down at him. 'You are a prisoner. Stay still or I shoot.'

The Doctor took no notice and leapt up from the floor. The room of his confinement was now revealed to him as the Ogrons' mess. There had probably never been such an apposite use of the word. Personal hygiene was plainly not one of the Ogrons' primary concerns. When packed with the dirty creatures the place must have been frightful.

'h.e.l.lo, I'm the Doctor,' he said, offering the Ogron a hand and grinning broadly. 'What's your name?'

As he had hoped, the Ogron was confused by his air of authority. It was used to obeying orders, following the commands of the strong in order to subjugate the weak. 'My name is Gjork,' it said.

'Gjork, eh? That's a very good name, Gjork.' He fumbled in his pockets and produced a small paper bag. 'Now, would you like a jelly baby?' He took one of the sweets from the bag and bit its head off, then offered the remnant to his captor.

The Ogron s.n.a.t.c.hed the half-eaten sweet from him and examined it with suspicion. 'Go on, try it, they're really very nice,' the Doctor urged.

Gjork raised the sweet to his lips and popped it into his mouth. He smiled and said, 'Give me another jelly baby.'

The Doctor nodded. 'Delighted.' He made to pa.s.s the bag to the Ogron and pretended to notice that it was carrying a rifle. 'I tell you what, I'll hold that, you hold this.'

For a moment it looked like the Doctor's plan was going to succeed. Just as Gjork was about to hand the rifle over, some working in the c.u.mbersome muddle of his mind clicked and he pushed the Doctor back. 'You are a prisoner!'

The Doctor popped another jelly baby into his mouth and chewed resentfully. 'Aren't I just,' he said.

The corridors of the station were almost empty. The Ogrons had shut down the lift system and Romana had hurried to level three, K9 in her hands, down the emergency stairs. She found the recreation area, which was also deserted. The emergency klaxon had stopped sounding and now a silence had settled over the station. She might have believed she was the only person left aboard as she looked around at the sofas and the unattended bar.

Something crashed over, not far away. Heavy footsteps echoed along the corridor outside. Romana looked to the far door, which led to the TARDIS. She might just reach it in time. Hoisting K9 further up in her arms, she stepped from cover and raced for the door.

Too late. The other door crashed open and two Ogrons stumbled in. One of them saw her, raised its rifle, and fired.

The blast whizzed past her ear and she threw herself the few remaining yards to safety. Her pursuers grunted and shouted and pounded heavily after her.

Romana pelted down the corridor outside, skidding round the corner that led to the panel the Doctor had cut through.

The Ogrons might be stupid, she reflected, but they were surprisingly nimble. The distance between them was closing, and it would take only one bolt to blow her out of existence.

She squeezed herself and K9 through the rough-edged hole cut by the sonic screwdriver and found herself back in the cavern where the TARDIS had materialized. It stood there, square, blue and rea.s.suring. Now all she had to do was get inside.

The Ogrons were directly behind her. Her dilemma now was that she couldn't afford to stop at the door of the TARDIS, an action that would offer them a sitting target. A plan worthy of the Doctor presented itself to her. She would lead the Ogrons into the catacombs leading off from the station, lose them, which shouldn't be too difficult, and then return at her leisure.

She dashed for the exit to the cavern, a thin crack in the rock that was only just wide enough to admit her and K9. As she pa.s.sed through, she appreciated how much that would delay the Ogrons. With luck, they might even give up and turn back. She sneaked a quick glance back at them. They raised their rifles and fired again in her general direction. Where usually she might have been pleased by their lack of accuracy, she was distressed to note the effects of this salvo.

A large portion of the cavern's roof creaked, wobbled, and collapsed, showering the Ogrons with rock dust. This had the less pleasing result of showering the TARDIS with huge chunks of rubble that blocked the door.

Upsetting though this was, it did not dampen Romana's determination to escape. She pushed herself on, noting that the Ogrons had already regained their sensibilities and were making their way through the cavern towards her.

The route she had chosen took her into a long, low tunnel, from either side of which several possible openings sprouted.

She ducked through one at random, crouched behind a spar of rock, and listened for the sounds of pursuit. The Ogrons were clattering about nearby, but the confusing acoustics of the chambers of rock meant that she could not be sure of their location.