Doctor Who_ Original Sin Part 9

'Two investigators who aren't investigating.'

She looked meaningfully over at him.

'Let's rectify that, at least.'

'You mean . . . ?'

'I mean, college boy, that we're going to solve this case despite all the s.h.i.+t they can throw at us.'

He stared back. 'What's with this "we"?'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Requesting a new partner this soon could look real bad on your report.'

He grinned. 'And besides,' he said, getting to his feet, 'where could they find someone else stupid enough to work with you?'

'That,' murmured Forrester as she followed him from the room, 'is my my line.' line.'

The hands on the desk suddenly jerked into life as the fastline link to the Arachnae Arachnae was severed. was severed.

'So, Doctor,' a voice murmured, 'you're getting away from the trap I laid for you on Earth. You think that you can escape me? Think again. I have tame Landsknechte as well as tame Adjudicators. If you don't wish to be brainwiped on Earth, perhaps it's best to have you killed on Purgatory.'

Quivering for a moment, like insects surprised by a light, the hands gradually began to scuttle across the surface of the desk, sending a message along the fastline towards a planet named Purgatory and a man named Provost-Major Beltempest. That done, the hands paused as their owner digested events that had occurred in his absence. The hands requested more data from centcomp records cross-referenced to an Adjudication lodge. The hands clasped like lonely animals and began softly to caress each other.

'And you, my friend,' the voice said. 'I thought that I had killed you, but I see I made a mistake. Not something that I am p.r.o.ne to do, and not something that remains unaddressed.'

The hands rested. Their owner waited.

In the privacy of his office on Purgatory, Provost-Major Montmorency Beltempest ran the tip of his trunk over the now-darkened viewscreen. The blue tip 58of his very expensively beppled trunk, he reminded himself. Money could buy an awful lot, and over the past few years he'd managed to indulge a number of tastes that he hadn't even realized he possessed. He'd got used to having lots of money to play with, and he wasn't about to give it up. Not for anything.

But still . . . murder? That wasn't really his line. Information, yes. He would pa.s.s on secret information with no qualms. n.o.body could trace the leaks back to him, he was certain of that. And contracts. a.s.signing new weapons development contracts to a specific firm was p.i.s.s easy. No risk there.

Even that business with the Hith s.h.i.+p and its crew hadn't bothered him overly.

But murder?

He eased himself out of his chair and crossed to the window. With one ma.s.sive blue paw he moved the lace curtains aside. It was night, and Purgatory's one scarred moon was casting its reflected light upon the buildings of the Imperial Landsknechte HQ. The albino lawn trembled gently to itself and, high above, particle beams glowed as a mock battle was fought.

Beltempest sighed. He had no choice, of course. Even if he wanted to give up on his regular second income, he wouldn't be allowed to. n.o.body ever resigned and lived, anyway.

The door chimed softly. He didn't jump, because what was left of his conscience was inured to deceit by now, but his mind quickly ran over prepared explanations, excuses and lies. Just in case.

'Come,' he said. The door slid open. Two silhouetted figures were stood just outside it. 'Yes? What is it, man?'

The figures raised their hands, revealing stunners. They wanted him alive, then. 'Provost-Major Beltempest?' one of them asked calmly.

So. The time had come. So soon. They must have intercepted the fastline call.

Beltempest stepped sideways and reached for the blaster at his side. His hand moved so slowly that it was as if he were standing up to his neck in one of the swampy Landsknechte training grounds, or moving through an alien atmosphere thick enough to cut with a knife. One of the Landsknechte at the door fired, but Beltempest hadn't just spent his money on fripperies. The stun beam reflected from the wire sheathing he'd had implanted beneath his skin, catching both of them. They slumped to the floor, dropping their weapons.

They could have tried anything up to plasma rifles, and he would still have been standing. Money could buy anything.

He fried both men with two careful bursts from his blaster. Beltempest was nothing if not careful. With luck, a gun and sufficient bribes, he could get to his private s.h.i.+p and off-planet within an hour. He took two steps towards the door . . .

And stopped. Cursing, he tried to force his legs to move, but they wouldn't 59obey him. What was this, some kind of new weapon? He slapped his thighs desperately. He could feel the impacts, but nothing was happening. It was as if someone else had taken control. Fear flooded his mind. If he couldn't get out if he was found there, with the two bodies then he would be finished.

Entirely without volition, the hand holding the blaster began to rise towards his face.

He didn't scream. There was a way out. There had to be a way out. Money could buy anything.

He could feel his finger tighten on the trigger as his lips kissed the hot metal of the barrel.

He tried to scream then, but it was too late. There was no time, there was no money, and there was nothing left of his head.

'Are you going to tell me how we bluff our way off the end of this ramp or not?'

Bernice hissed as she and the Doctor made their way, ahead of the tourists and the Landsknechte, down the ramp of the Arachnae Arachnae onto Purgatory. Her breath billowed out before her in the cold, thin atmosphere. onto Purgatory. Her breath billowed out before her in the cold, thin atmosphere.

The s.p.a.ceport was a huge plasticrete plain: one of the many and various hexagon-bounded areas that made up the planet's surface. As the s.h.i.+p descended towards it, Bernice had tried counting the number of lighters, corvettes, frigates, cruisers, Dalekbusters and battles.h.i.+ps that sat divided into squadrons, flights and wings, on the hard pink surface. Some were gleaming and pristine in the hard, cold light of Purgatory's sun, sitting alertly upon insectile legs, but the majority were scarred and singed, old and tired.

'Well, I haven't quite sorted out the details yet,' the Doctor said, not meeting Benny's gaze.

Blaster batteries in fortified pits had tracked the Arachnae Arachnae as it descended, and were still trained upon it. The burnt expanse of plasticrete stretched to the horizon, and beyond. A squad of Imperial Landsknechte, immaculate in black and orange dress uniforms, waited at the bottom of the ramp, holding their plasma rifles at the ready. as it descended, and were still trained upon it. The burnt expanse of plasticrete stretched to the horizon, and beyond. A squad of Imperial Landsknechte, immaculate in black and orange dress uniforms, waited at the bottom of the ramp, holding their plasma rifles at the ready.

'What do you mean, "haven't quite sorted out the details yet"?'

'They look very fierce, don't they?' he said, indicating the Landsknechte guard.

Bernice felt a rising hysteria. 'I'd hoped that you might have come up with some sort of plan during the journey,' she snapped.

'Of course, you know what they say.'

'I mean, it's not like we can just wander in and ask to look at their records, is it?'

'If it's a yellow alert, they issue them with plasma rifles . . . '60.

'Some sort of cover story is probably required, and I'd like to know what it is!'

'. . . And if it's a red alert, they give them the power packs as well.'

' Now! Now! ' '

He sighed. 'Yes, yes, I know all that,' he scolded, as if he had suddenly heard what she was saying. As they reached the bottom of the ramp, the Landsknechte came to attention. A man in a captain's uniform stepped forward, holding a gene-tester. He was tall and dark-haired, and his skin was a dull, hard sh.e.l.l, like a beetle's carapace.

'Identification?' he said.

The Doctor proffered his right hand. 'I am a plainclothes Landsknechte agent, here on official business,' he said calmly.

The captain ran the gene-tester over the Doctor's hand and glanced at its tiny simcord screen. The tester buzzed faintly. 'It will take a few seconds to check your ident.i.ty,' he said. 'I apologize for the ah yes, that seems to be in order, sir.' His att.i.tude changed markedly. 'If I can be of any a.s.sistance . . . '

'We wish to consult your records,' the Doctor announced. 'Judicial investigation, you know.'

'Of course, sir. And the lady?'

'My companion.'

'And her identification?'

The Doctor glanced at Bernice. 'She's nervous of those machines,' he said.

'Can you not take my word for it? I can vouch for her.'

I'm sorry, sir,' the captain insisted, 'but regulations state . . . '

'Of course,' the Doctor said. 'Bernice . . . ?' He indicated that she hold out her hand.

The captain reached out towards her with the gene-tester. Bernice felt the muscles in her back go tense.

'Oh look,' the Doctor said, gazing upwards and shading his eyes, 'is that a flock of macrobiotic dodos?' The captain glanced involuntarily upwards, and the Doctor quickly shoved his left hand into the gene-tester and out again. 'My mistake,' he said, unabashed, as the captain frowned at him. 'They're extinct, of course.'

The gene-tester buzzed. The captain gazed suspiciously at it, then at Bernice. After a few seconds, his face cleared. 'Thank you,' he said, gesturing to one of the hard-faced Landsknechte. 'This man will fly you to the officers'

mess. Please accept our hospitality while your investigations continue.'

'Thank you,' said the Doctor.

'You can't resist a touch of the dramatic, can you?' Bernice hissed as they walked away from the Arachnae Arachnae and towards an armoured hovercar that sat like a fat ladybird near the s.h.i.+p. She was conscious from the stares of the 61 and towards an armoured hovercar that sat like a fat ladybird near the s.h.i.+p. She was conscious from the stares of the 61tourists and the Landsknechte that this VIP treatment had raised some eyebrows.

'A little foible I have.' The Doctor's face was strained, and a fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead. 'Ostentation is my middle name.'

'A big foible, Doctor, one that's going to get us into trouble, one of these days.' She frowned. 'How did you do that?'

The Doctor looked a little sheepish. 'A trick I learned from the Master,'

he admitted. 'He frequently used regeneration as a means of disguise. My friend Romana you remember her? did a similar thing during her first regeneration: trying out various genetic configurations before she settled on one. It occurred to me that I could temporarily s.h.i.+ft my genetic make-up enough to mimic somebody else, just for a few seconds. Two somebodies else, to be precise. Or do I mean "two somebody elses"? Whatever. It saps the energy, but it's an effective disguise.'

The Landsknechte dilated an iris door in the side of the hovercar and gestured for them to enter.

' That's That's why you were so chummy with that group of Landsknechte of the why you were so chummy with that group of Landsknechte of the Arachnae Arachnae,' Bernice said as they sat in the spartan interior. 'You were trying to pick up their genetic make-up!'

'They were nice people,' he protested.

'Then you should be ashamed of yourself.'

He squirmed in his seat as the hovercar took off in a cloud of dust. 'Time Lords don't get ashamed.'

'What, never?'

'No.' He sighed. 'We had our shame psycho-surgically removed a great many generations ago.'

The rain joined heaven and h.e.l.l with a myriad threadlike silver lines, and the hiss as it hit the water of the square reminded Powerless Friendless of static, although he couldn't remember ever hearing static. Just another orphaned memory. He should put them all in a box and shake them up in the hope that they might rea.s.semble and tell him who he was, or rather, who he had been.

Clouds curdled, high above the Undertown.

Through them, Powerless Friendless could just make out the bases of the ever-present towers, looming like G.o.ds over the broken remains of their domain. As he looked at the crumbled stone buildings surrounding the crowded square, their ma.s.sive columns now fallen, and their arched porticos rotted with the pa.s.sing of the centuries, Powerless Friendless could see why, if they were G.o.ds, they chose to remain so aloof. It wasn't much of a world for a deity.

He s.h.i.+vered as the constant rain p.r.i.c.ked at his exposed eyeb.a.l.l.s and trickled down his too-moist skin. Usually he tried not to think about G.o.ds. Religion 62was a tricky business every race had a pantheon that was incompatible with every other race but that didn't stop the wors.h.i.+p, or the arguments. The Hith were no exception.

His eyestalks twitched in a smile. Perhaps there was a Hith deity who watched over those whose memories had been taken away, but if there was then Powerless Friendless couldn't remember its name.

Reluctantly, he lowered his gaze to the crowd of underdwellers that filled the square. He felt his skin crawl at the presence of so many other living beings. He shouldn't have come. A lonely Hith is a happy Hith, isn't that what they said back on Hithis?

He'd been fine, slinking alone through the alleys and bridges of the Undertown. After the Doctor and Bernice had shaken up his memory he had started to believe that everybody was watching him, following him, talking about him. After a few hours of aimless wandering, he had decided that he was overreacting. Warily, he had returned to what he laughingly called his home. As time pa.s.sed he had relaxed. He was safe.

In contrast to the narrow alleys and rotting walkways that characterized the worldwide Undertown, the square was the largest open s.p.a.ce for miles. The moss-covered flagstones suggested that it had once been submerged a nexus for various main ca.n.a.ls, perhaps but dams now blocked off each entrance, and a clever series of run-off channels and wind-driven pumps kept it clear of rainwater. It was a meeting place: the only one the local Underdwellers had.

He didn't usually go there, but this was a special occasion.

He hoped that Olias would get a move on. He felt exposed, standing there.

Anybody looking for him if anybody was looking for him wouldn't get a better chance than this. Anybody who knew anything about the Undertown would know it was Waiting For Justice's and Annie's funeral, and Waiting For Justice had been an a.s.sociate of his.

Olias stood atop an island of stone in the centre of the square, flanked by four metal statues and seven brutal Ogron bodyguards. Legend had it that the statues represented long-extinct animals, but Powerless Friendless had always thought that their regal bearing and calm and benign expressions marked them out as superior life forms, perhaps the original inhabitants of the Earth, once powerful but now overthrown by vicious, squabbling humanity. There had been a column, midway between the statues, but it had fallen in some natural or wartime disaster, and the rubble still littered the square.

'Gentlebeings,' Olias rasped, her voice echoing from the distant ruins, 'we have gathered together to honour, in our respective ways, two of our own.

Friends who lived life without hurting others. Friends who were generous.

Friends who were kind. Friends who took nothing from those who could not afford it.'63.

Olias was a Sunhillowan: race whose body chemistry was based upon ger-manium rather than the more usual carbon or silicon. Her skin glittered constantly, and s.h.i.+fted upon her etiolated frame as if smaller animals were running up and down beneath it. She was also the most powerful crime boss in the local Undertown area, a position she had held onto by an odd but effective combination of viciousness and benevolence. It was said that she knew everybody within her area of the Undertown by name.

A movement behind her attracted Powerless Friendless's attention. It was old Doc Dantalion: the arachnid Birastrop who tended to the Underdwellers if they got sick. His fees were high, but he had no compunction about accepting stolen goods, and those underdwellers who couldn't or wouldn't steal could always give him something else. Limbs or organs were preferred.

Doc Dantalion. Something scratched away at the back of Powerless Friendless's mind, something about his past. Somehow, Doc Dantalion was involved.

'Gentlebeings,' Olias said, 'I ask you to call upon your deities, if you have any, to mark the pa.s.sing in whatever way you choose of Waiting For Justice and Dreaming Of Home of the Hith race and Annie Thelma Falvoriss of the human race. They will be missed.'

As she spoke these words, some freak effect of the weather opened a channel through the clouds to the rose-tinted sky beyond. For the first time Powerless Friendless could remember, a shaft of sunlight shone down upon them like a benediction, filling the air with a golden haze. A rainbow glimmered in the distance, and the crowd of humans and aliens drew in their breath in wonder.

All except Powerless Friendless.

He was more concerned with the way the light glittered on the metal sh.e.l.l of a bot on the fringes of the crowd.

The same bot that had tried to grab him as he slithered out of the plaza in the Overcity.64.