The Romance Of Crime Part 18

Stokes and Romana crouched at the entrance to the previously concealed docking port and looked down at the sentry. Their lack of armament did not inspire Stokes's confidence. 'We should have brought your computer,' he whispered.

Romana shook her head. 'One Ogron shouldn't be too much of a problem. I hope. Their evolutionary pedigree is rather fascinating, actually.'

'Yes?'

'Hmm. The climate of their planet went through a series of rapid changes. All the evolutionary paths they took got confused. Their instincts are a mixture of primate and carnivore. They're even more jumbled up than your own species.'

She emerged from hiding and hopped nimbly down to the entry hatch.

Stokes, terrified, shook his head at her gall. The girl was certainly brave as well as beautiful. He watched as the Ogron observed her approach and raised his rifle to cover her. 'You, girl!' he shouted. 'Stop or I fire!'

'Don't you know who I am?' she said haughtily.

The Ogron, who must, thought Stokes, be accustomed to being pushed around, cowered, lowered his weapon, and shook his head.

'I am Xais!' Romana shrieked, outraged. 'The partner of your masters, the Nisbett brothers. Now stand aside and let me pa.s.s.'

'The masters say no one allowed in s.h.i.+p,' the Ogron protested weakly.

'They will be displeased if you do not let me pa.s.s,'

Romana bl.u.s.tered. 'Now, will you obey me? You know of my power to kill with one glance?'

The Ogron muttered feebly and scampered aside. Romana summoned Stokes. His heart in his mouth, he came forward and stumbled past the Ogron. 'I'm with her,' he stammered, rather spoiling the effect.

The dark entranceway of the s.h.i.+p gave onto a central corridor that ended in a flight deck, with doors leading off to either side. There appeared to be n.o.body about. Stokes and Romana crept along the aisle, trying to step as lightly as possible in case their presence was noted.

'I cannot believe I am doing this,' Stokes whispered. 'If yesterday you had given me the choice between breaking into the Nisbett brothers' s.h.i.+p or hacking off one of my own legs with a rusty saw, I would definitely have taken the latter.'

He noticed a rack of weapons built into the wall. Romana took down one of the compact rifles used by the Ogrons and looked it over. 'High impact, high range energy weapon.

Causes displacement of internal organs through narrow channel photon bombardment.'

'Don't go on, I feel queasy enough as things stand,' Stokes protested.

'Ah, but there's a stun setting,' Romana pointed out. 'That could come in handy.'

She flicked the catch off the rifle and walked towards the nearest door. Stokes followed, peering over her shoulder. A transparent panel revealed a storeroom that contained several boxes and large metal containers. Romana walked on to the next door and looked into that.

'Don't tell me, it's the torture chamber,' Stokes muttered, his knees knocking. 'Replete with every device of agony known to humanity, and a few more besides.'

Romana beckoned him over and pointed through the panel.

Stokes looked and saw Pyerpoint, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Standing on the other side of the large dirty grey room was an armed Ogron. 'It's the old scratcher,' said Stokes.

'Trust him to survive.'

He was alarmed to see Romana's hand reaching for the door control. 'Create a diversion,' she ordered him. He would have protested but the door was already open and the Ogron was lumbering over.

'Who are you? What do you want?' it demanded.

Stokes fumbled for an explanation. 'I I'm an old friend of the Nisbett brothers,' he stammered. 'I thought I'd just, er, drop in.'

The Ogron looked him up and down. 'You do not look like friend of brothers.'

Trust my luck to get the clever one, thought Stokes. 'Yes, they said, do pop round if you're ever pa.s.sing.' He tried to think of something else to say, but his mouth merely opened and closed a few times. His eyes kept flicking down to the Ogron's rifle.

Fortunately, this diversion was all that Romana needed. She leapt through the door and fired her stun charge at close range to the Ogron. He was knocked back and his rifle fell from his grip. The ape floundered on the floor, his eyelids fluttering a few times before they closed at last.

Pyerpoint sprang up nimbly. He stared at Stokes, who was fanning away the fetid air. 'What are you doing aboard this s.h.i.+p?'

'Rescuing you, you ungrateful old idiot,' Stokes said. 'You can thank Ramona for that, of course. If the decision had been mine, I'd have left you here in the lock-up. Given you a taste of your own medicine, as it were.'

Romana addressed Pyerpoint. 'What's happened to the Doctor?'

He stooped to scoop up the weapon dropped by the Ogron and settled it in the crook of his arm with ease. 'He was taken for interrogation. There was nothing I could do.'

Stokes threw up his arms. 'Interrogation? Oh dear, no.

Right now the poor old Doctor's probably lying half in half out of a bath with electrodes dangling over the water. That was one of the firm's favourite methods, as I recall.' He rested a protective hand on Romana's shoulder. 'I really shouldn't discuss such things in front of you, should I? Try not to be too upset.'

She removed the hand. 'Thank you, but I shouldn't worry.

The Doctor's been interrogated before. I think he enjoys it.'

'Listen.' Pyerpoint was at the door, looking down the corridor and out of the s.h.i.+p. 'In my office, up on level nine, there's an emergency beacon. Only I know the combination that will activate it.'

'What good will another silly old signal make?' said Stokes.

Pyerpoint angled the tip of his newly acquired rifle slightly towards Stokes and spat, 'It will transmit our exact position to the nearest police patrol. They could be with us in hours.'

'Right,' said Romana, steadying her own weapon. 'Let's go.' She hurried from the mess. Pyerpoint stalked out after her.

'Why do we have to do all this rus.h.i.+ng about?' Stokes complained as he panted along the corridor after them. 'Can't we stop and have a rest somewhere?' But the others were not listening.

The door to computer control opened and a small party of Ogrons walked in. They carried gleaming silver crates that were marked with alien symbols. Charlie turned from the console he had been examining and inspected the equipment.

'Right, that lot looks all right. Three mini-rigs, a Kekkerson drill, and seven rubble crushers. Remembered the atmosuits as well, good.' He stepped forward and took a small cardboard box from one of the Ogrons. 'Take it all down to the transmat.'

The first Ogron inclined his head. 'Yes, Mr Charles.' He gestured to his colleagues and they started to shuffle out.

'Hang on,' called Eddie. 'What about the tea?'

He took a smaller box from one of the Ogrons, waved them away again, crossed to the console at which Charlie was seated, put the box down, and pressed a red b.u.t.ton on its side.

It flipped open. Inside was a steaming pot of tea, a jug of milk, sugar, and a china service that consisted of two small white cups and saucers. Gathered on a plate were a selection of icing-striped fondants in dainty, floral patterned paper cases and a couple of dry tough unsweetened biscuits.

Charlie watched as Eddie poured. In the old days, before the bust, one of the firm would have carried out this task. Old Frank McGhee or Andy the five-headed axe Wilkinson. It would have been beneath the brothers to pour their own tea.

They had tried to teach a few of the brighter Ogrons to wait at table, but the ungainly beasts had proved to be appalling butlers, particularly when serving smaller items such as new potatoes or sprouts.

Charlie slipped the pudgy index finger of his right hand through the small handle of his teacup and sipped at the boiling liquid. His other hand wandered over the fancies, weighing the charms of one against another. It settled on a pink oblong. He nibbled the edges of icing from the sponge.

He liked to save the small n.o.bble of cream in the middle of the top to the very last and eat around it.

'Just think,' he heard his brother say. 'With three million credits' worth of the big B, we'll be able to get ourselves proper tea again, none of this HL plantation stuff.'

Charlie settled his teacup on its saucer and finished off his fondant before speaking. 'Listen to the boy,' he said. 'It's a good thing Mum told me to look after you, Ed. "Three million credits' worth of the big B." My elbow.' He noted Eddie's eyes l.u.s.ting for a fondant and pa.s.sed him one of the unappealing biscuits.

'What, you don't think she's trying to spin one over on us?'

Eddie's eyes narrowed.

'Do I reckon?' Charlie finished his tea. 'Do I reckon? If Dad could see you now, Ed. What would he think.' He leant over the console. 'There's no belzite on Planet Eleven. If there were, it'd have been stripped clear years back. And she knows as much about our old chum Sentinel as I know about keeping goats.'

'What, she's taking us for a pair of chumps?' Eddie slammed down his teacup and bit a corner off his biscuit.

'Let's have her!'

'Don't be hasty,' said Charlie. 'Think about it. Xais wants us to set up a little mine on Eleven, right? So there's got to be something worth her trouble down there. And if it's worth her trouble, worth waiting for us all this time, it's got to be worth a lot. I want to find out what it is. And don't think I'm going soft, neither.' He reached for the other box he had taken from the Ogrons and flipped open its cardboard flaps. A row of small, dusty, bullet-shaped objects, painted a dull green, were inside, wrapped up in yellowing newspaper. 'Remember these?'

'They're those remote blast mines you bought off that bloke at the auction,' said Eddie.

Charlie replaced the flaps. 'Right you are. Insurance. We'll set them up down at this survey base. And when we've got what we want, we can clear out, "Yes, goodbye, my dear, lovely to work with you, perhaps we'll do it again one day", then sit back at our leisure, and blow the lot. No Xais, no evidence. Just us. And the loot.'

Eddie sat back in his chair, amazed. 'And you've had this all worked out right from the start? Four years back?'

'More or less.' Charlie poured himself a second cup of tea and went for another fancy, a yellow one with b.u.t.terfly wings of halved macaroon. 'I've waited four years for this.' He took a bite of the cake. A pulse throbbed on his temple. 'n.o.body uses the Nisbett firm.'

10.

Traitor.

-tokes was feeling sicker than ever. His stomach ached with S cramp every time he took a breath. It had been easy enough for Romana to trick the Ogron guard at the entrance of the s.h.i.+p to let them pa.s.s back into the deserted corridors.

Pyerpoint had led the way to the stairs and was now, rather irritatingly, striding up them. Amazing for a fellow of his age, Stokes supposed. Unnatural, in fact, tearing about like that.

He stopped at a junction. 'Please,' he wheezed. 'I have to rest. I was not built for speed.'

Romana turned. 'If you want to wait here, you can always follow us on,' she suggested sweetly.

'Oh, you are wicked,' Stokes said. 'This whole business is more than I can bear. When it's all finished, I shall seek reparations, you know.' He looked up the stair-well at Pyerpoint, who stood waiting impatiently on the next landing.

'This station was supposed to be totally secure. What a shambles. I expect compensation for this inconvenience, Pyerpoint. The destruction of my life's work, wrongful arrest, invasion by big hairy aliens. I don't feel very secure after that, I can a.s.sure you.'

'We have to move on,' Romana reminded him. 'There may be '

She was interrupted by a cry from Pyerpoint as an Ogron appeared at the top of the stairs. The old judge leapt forward, angled his rifle up at the creature and fired three times into its chest. The charges blew the Ogron apart. Its death scream merged with the zing of the energy bolts that killed it.

Romana hurried up to join Pyerpoint. 'I'm going on,' he told her bluntly. 'I can't spare any more time on you or Stokes.

My duty comes first.' He stepped over the body of the Ogron and hurried up the last flight of stairs that led to level nine.

Stokes joined Romana as she looked down at the remains of the Ogron. 'Enthusiastic, isn't he?' she said.

'I never trusted him,' Stokes said. 'I always used to say that he was the creepiest character aboard this tub. s.h.i.+fty eyes.

And you can never tell what he's thinking.'

'Let's get after him,' said Romana.

The Doctor called on the last reserves of his strength as the force beam tightened its grip on his body. He shouted up at Xais, 'Stop this! I've already said, I'll answer your questions!'

The agony lessened. He opened his eyes and saw a blurred vision of Xais and her Ogron slave. His legs were cramped and shooting with pain. The bones inside felt as if they had been stretched an inch or two. His fingers had lost their grip on the rests of the chair and flopped helplessly.

'That level of pain should kill a Normal,' Xais observed as she came closer, lifting up his head. 'There is something different about you. What should I have to do to finish you off, I wonder?'

For once, the Doctor, exhausted, was unable to think of a reply. He slumped back in the chair and said weakly, 'What has driven you to this sadism, Xais? This senseless hatred.

Can't you see its inevitable end? Your own destruction.' He stared at the eyes behind the mask. 'Tell me. Would that really satisfy you?'

'My destruction? Oh no, Doctor, that day will never come.

I have elevated myself above the mortal plane. When this body is exhausted, I shall take others. I shall endure until the skull of the last Normal rests on a sea of guts and bones.'

'I doubt that, Xais,' the Doctor taunted. 'Yes, that mask trick of yours is very clever. But a strike of planetary missiles would make short work of it.'

'Empty threats, Doctor. Soon, I will be able to brush off your planetary missiles as easily as I swat an insect. I will be able to stand at the centre of a sun as it ignites and survive!'

The Doctor shook his head. 'No. That is not possible, Xais.

You are a deluded s.a.d.i.s.t. You cannot justify your actions.' He let his eyes close again. He needed to prepare himself for the next wave of agony.

'I...' He heard Xais gasp. He opened his eyes and saw her standing back from him. One of her hands had raised itself to the mask in a jerky movement that belonged to Margo. 'I am...'

The Doctor strained forward in his bonds. 'You are Margo,'

he urged her. 'You can fight her off. I will help you.