System Shock Part 22

'Ahem. To do with bathrooms.'

The d.u.c.h.ess of Glas...o...b..ry was somewhat surprised that her request was granted. Stabfield was not exactly sympathetic.

In fact his demeanour seemed to have discouraged anyone else from asking to be excused for similar reasons. However, it appeared that they were being moved to a room on the first floor next to the Director's office, and the journey through the kitchens and up the back stairs involved pa.s.sing the toilets at the top of those stairs.

The hostages were taken, hands on heads and guns at backs, through the house and up the stairs. One of the Voracians led the d.u.c.h.ess back behind the staircase. There were two very similar doors, and the d.u.c.h.ess fumbled in her handbag for her gla.s.ses. The alien watched suspiciously as she found her spectacles, and peered at the symbols on the doors. It really did 195 not matter, she supposed, but there was a certain degree of dignity to be maintained even in these circ.u.mstances.

Having checked so carefully, the d.u.c.h.ess was rather taken aback by what she found inside the room. She almost went back out again to check she had not made a silly and embarra.s.sing mistake. But the tall man with curly hair and bullet-holed hat cracked a huge toothy grin and said: 'Would you mind terribly if I asked you a small favour?'

196.

Plans The hostages were all in a large computer suite next door to Director Westwood's office on the first floor. Sarah knew it was a computer suite because the equipment and desks had been pushed into one corner to make s.p.a.ce for the hostages, once again, to sit on the floor. She knew it was next to Westwood's office because he had told her so.

The large red-haired director was getting increasingly agitated. He seemed to be taking the whole thing personally it was his installation the Voracians had captured. It had been all Sarah could do on the way up from the great hall to dissuade Westwood from making a run for it. She had been more certain that he would not make it ten yards before being gunned down than she was that escape was his only motive.

From the more and more intense way he was acting she thought there was a good chance he was intending to take on the aliens with his bare hands. And Sarah had an awful suspicion he thought he could win. She tried to keep Westwood's attention by asking him about his office, the size, shape, decor, view ... Anything to keep his mind occupied on mundane, safe matters.

The room was crowded. Though it was large, it was much smaller than the great hall. To make things worse, there were more hostages now. Or rather, Sarah realized, they were all together. Sarah's group had been joined by a handful of security guards, some of whom looked decidedly groggy. She guessed they had recently come round after being rendered unconscious.

Sarah nodded at whatever Westwood was saying about the view over the grounds. The only view they could see anything 197 of from their current position was the glare of one of the searchlights which were now illuminating the exterior of the house. She tried not to yawn, and could feel her eyes watering with the effort. A slight commotion from the door gave her an excuse to turn away before Westwood noticed.

It was the d.u.c.h.ess arriving back from powdering her nose.

She was arguing with Lewis in the doorway. He was shaking his head, but the d.u.c.h.ess was continuing to haggle, gesturing and waving enthusiastically. As Sarah watched, both Lewis and the d.u.c.h.ess turned towards her, the d.u.c.h.ess pointing and becoming even more animated. After a moment Lewis seemed to concede, for the d.u.c.h.ess smiled and nodded happily. Then they both picked their way through the hostages towards Sarah.

'All right then,' Lewis said as he arrived beside Sarah.

Sarah looked up at him from where she was sitting on the floor. 'All right what?'

The d.u.c.h.ess pushed through, still apologizing to some poor unfortunate she had trodden on. 'I told him,' she said to Sarah when she had finished. 'I knew you'd be too embarra.s.sed and worried.'

Sarah was completely confused by now. 'Sorry?'

'Oh you know,' the d.u.c.h.ess said. She looked round as if to check there was n.o.body else in the room. Then she leaned forward and whispered loud enough for anyone in Westwood's office operating a pneumatic drill to hear: 'About needing the toilet.' She nodded and pushed out her lower lip, a theatrical confidante. Then she winked, a movement of the eyelid so subtle and so fast that Sarah almost wondered if she had imagined it. 'Anyway, this nice gentleman, or whatever he is really, he says you can go.' The d.u.c.h.ess leaned forward again.

This time her voice was low and serious. 'And I think you should, you know.' She raised her eyebrows and nodded meaningfully.

Sarah was not sure what the d.u.c.h.ess was trying to tell her, but she decided she had nothing to lose by playing along. And it might well be something important. 'Yes,' she said. 'You're right, I should. Thanks.'

Sarah was not quite sure what she had been expecting to find in the toilets. Perhaps a note from the d.u.c.h.ess scrawled in 198 lipstick on the wall; maybe a secret message written in condensation on the mirror so that it was only visible when Sarah ran a basin full of hot water underneath it; or was she just concerned that Sarah needed to brush her hair?

Whatever the case, she had certainly not been expecting to find the Doctor. But there he was, standing in front of the mirror trying his hat on at different angles and pouting at his reflection as if to gauge the reaction.

'You took your time, Sarah,' he said to her reflection.

She gave him a hug. 'Oh Doctor, am I glad to see you!'

'Of course you are,' he said with a grin. 'And I'm glad to see you too, Sarah Jane.'

Pleasantries exchanged, the Doctor sat down on the tiled floor and motioned for Sarah to join him. She pulled her knees up under her chin and clasped her dark skirt round them.

'They're Voracians, Doctor,' she said. 'Mean anything to you?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'Just another lot of aliens trying to take over. Their approach is a little different though.'

'I'll say. They're a bizarre lot.'

The Doctor frowned. 'Bizarre they may be. But they're dangerous, Sarah. Don't confuse their att.i.tude and approach with their competence and their viciousness.'

'No, Doctor.'

They sat in silence for a moment.

'I'll have to get back,' Sarah said as she pulled herself to her feet.

'So soon?'

'Doctor, I can't stay in here for too long without arousing some suspicions.'

The Doctor looked round, as if realizing where he was for the first time. 'I suppose not. In that case, here's the plan '

'Plan? Why didn't you say you had a plan?'

'Oh Sarah,' he looked mortified. 'I thought you knew. I always have a finely detailed and well thought-out plan.'

'Okay, so what is it?'

'Well, I don't really know. I'm sort of improvising as I go at the moment.'

Sarah raised her hands and her eyes to the ceiling.

199.

The Doctor ignored her and carried on talking. 'I need to set a few things up with Harry. Don't ask me how, but I think I can get a message to him. He might even understand it if we're lucky. I want you to get the hostages to cause as much disruption as possible any time after you get the signal. Then exactly five minutes after the signal, get them all to lie down on the floor.'

'On the floor? Why?'

'Because that's when they'll storm the building.'

Sarah nodded. 'Right.'

'Any questions?'

'Yes. What's the signal?'

'You tell me,' the Doctor said. 'What can you see or hear from where you are?'

Sarah thought for a moment. 'The searchlights we can see them.'

'All right then. The searchlights will go off, then come back on again two seconds later. Five minutes after that bang!'

Sarah headed for the door. 'Great, Doctor. Good luck.'

'And you, Sarah.' The Doctor stood up and returned to adjusting his hat in the mirror. 'Oh, and Sarah?'

She paused at the door. 'Yes?'

'Aren't you forgetting something?' He pointed to the nearest cubicle and then mimed pulling a rope.

Sarah laughed, crossed to a cubicle, and flushed the toilet.

'Happy?'

The Doctor smiled. 'Mmmmm. Just one more thing, Sarah.

Watch out for technology any technology. They can control anything with a computer chip in it, turn it against you. And in these enlightened times, that means just about anything which uses electricity.'

The Voracian chief technician was still intent on establis.h.i.+ng network contact through the Highway with those nodes not responding. Others were monitoring the activity on the nodes already linked in.

Stabfield was ready to give the order to copy the data from the Voractyll CD as soon as they had a global link-up. He was sitting in front of a computer screen, his angular features 200 bathed in the glow from the windows open on the virtual desktop. He was relaying progress information and status reports to the mothers.h.i.+p in orbit around Earth. Two Voracians were on duty on the s.h.i.+p. The rest were at Hubway. With the exception of their agent in the field, who was technically a human.

Stabfield fmished sending the latest data for correlation and evaluation. He disconnected the video-link to the s.h.i.+p, and sat for a moment reflecting on the progress of his plan so far.

There was an irony, he felt sure, in the fact that by their actions at Hubway and the use of Voractyll, they were merely hastening a process which I2 would eventually go through anyway. The Doctor had been right when he mentioned about I2 taking over the world. Given the laws of economics and business, and the monopoly on inter-and intra-digital device communications which OffNet provided, there was nothing to break I2's stranglehold on the information technology environment. And that environment, by a process of natural technological evolution, was becoming the world in which humans lived and moved and had their television.

But the humans were innately anti-technological and irrational. The process could take many years might never come to fruition. This way was quicker and more certain.

Stabfield rocked slowly back and forth on his chair as he began to formulate a strategic plan for the development of the world he was about to conquer.

The Doctor had waited several minutes after Sarah had left before he poked his nose out of the toilets. There was no sign of life, so he gave a low whistle and waited to see if anyone answered or came to investigate. n.o.body did.

The Doctor did have the beginnings of a plan, although nothing as detailed or worked out as he had hoped Sarah thought. In fact the whole thing was not only rather nebulous, but predicated on several extreme uncertainties. The first and foremost of these was luck. But that was how he liked it. The first challenge was to get from where he was to the further of the two outbuildings. And with the technical systems of 201 Hubway out to get him, the Doctor imagined this would be no easy task.

He was right.

The Doctor could remember the safe route round to the bridge on the first floor, and then through to the new block.

Once there he could descend to ground level and make a run for it through the night. In fact that would be the easy bit, since the 'safe' route was now anything but safe. It merely offered the consolation that whatever unpleasant fate he met, the Doctor's death would not be broadcast over the security systems for everyone to see.

That said, the Doctor had to admit that he was making excellent progress. The lights had an annoying tendency to go on and off at random along his route, and the electronic badgelocked doors often needed some encouragement from the Doctor's boot rather than his visitor's badge to open for him, but nothing he could not cope with. He was just congratulating himself on an event-free journey when he heard the sound of a piece of equipment humming into life beside him.

Instinctively, the Doctor ducked and screwed up his eyes in the gloom. But this was not a photocopier with aspirations to usurp the sun. It was a desktop laser printer sitting on a table at the side of the corridor. The Doctor stood upright again. There was little a printer could do to him, he was sure. He patted it gently on the top as he pa.s.sed.

The printer responded with a sound like a rattlesnake striking. It took the Doctor a moment to realize that the rapid rhythmic clicking was made by sheets of paper being forced at speed through the print systems. And then the first sheet of A4 paper caught him in the face. Its edge whipped across his cheek, drawing a line of blood before swis.h.i.+ng past and gently floating to the floor.

The Doctor did not witness its journey. He was too busy fighting his way through a maelstrom of razor-sharp sheets shot like pellets at him from the printer. The reams of paper flew like a blizzard as the Doctor forced his way through. He could feel them tearing at his clothes and his skin, making tiny nicks in the backs of his hands as he tried to protect his face.

202.

As he managed to stagger further away, so the projectiles lost their speed and their potency. Before long they were just sheets of paper, swirling round the Doctor as he made his way down the corridor. They fluttered and slid to the ground, flapping slightly in the air-conditioning as he ran down the corridor at full speed.

As he went, the lights in the ceiling above him glowed into brilliant life, then exploded. Shards of gla.s.s rained down on the Doctor as he ran, adding to the cuts and sc.r.a.pes the paper had inflicted. The Doctor at last arrived at the door to the bridge. It was a sliding door, designed to open as someone approached.

It did not move.

He had been protected from the worst of the effects of the falling gla.s.s by the wide brim of his hat. But he was not keen to stand outside the closed door for long. The sonic screwdriver might take a while, but it would undoubtedly be quicker than trying to reason with the Voracian bug which now controlled the door's software.

He had barely started work on the door when it slid quietly open. The Doctor was surprised. He doubted the sonic screwdriver had managed very much in the short s.p.a.ce of time, but he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. On the other hand, neither was he one to rush in where seraphim feared to tread. So he waved a hand experimentally through the door.

Nothing happened. So the Doctor tried tossing his hat through into the bridge. Still nothing happened. With a grin, the Doctor walked back a few steps, then marched smartly up to the door. Just as he reached the threshold, he leaped through the gap.

The door snapped shut, catching the hem of the Doctor's coat so that he fell with a thud to the floor. The Doctor sat up and tugged his coat free.

'You'll have to be quicker than that,' he said smugly as he stood up and brushed himself down with his hat. Then he sprinted for the other end of the bridge as the floor-level lighting along the edge of the raised corridor exploded round him. The gla.s.s walls of the corridor reflected the sparks and flares as the Doctor crashed through the closing door at the far 203 end. The fireworks display continued for a few seconds after his dark figure was gone, then the bridge settled back into silence.

The video link to COBRA was up and running. Harry had tested it out almost immediately. Partly this was to get in first, he could do without the top bra.s.s demanding an audience at some crucial moment. But partly it was also to let them know he had called in some help.

Ashby had checked with the local police and a.s.sured Harry that it was pretty much standard procedure, or as standard as anything in this sort of situation, but Harry was still keen to clear it through the committee. If anything, Hanson was the least enthusiastic, but presented with a fait accompli, COBRA could do little but acknowledge that the SAS liaison officer was at the scene and that 22 SAS were on standby at their Hereford barracks.

'Don't worry, Sullivan,' Colonel Clark told Harry. He'd been watching the video display from out of sight of the near-end cameras. 'They're always like that. They mistake practicality and caution for admission of failure. I went through all this just a couple of days ago.' He gave a short humourless laugh. 'G.o.d, what is the world coming to, eh? But bear in mind, a peaceful resolution is still the most probable outcome by far.'

'I'm not so sure we'll talk this lot out so easily,' Harry told him. They had already agreed to call the main house on some pretext so that Clark could hear Stabfield's voice and get an idea of his potential opponent.

Stabfield answered the direct line almost immediately. 'What can you do for me now, Commander?' he asked.

'You could surrender and release the hostages,' Harry suggested.

'Very amusing, if somewhat naive.'

The conversation continued for a few minutes, with neither party really giving any ground. Harry asked if Stabfield needed any food. Stabfield replied that the kitchens were probably more adequately stocked than the security forces catering and offered to send out sandwiches. The tone of the conversation was deceptively light. When Harry asked how the hostages 204 were, it almost sounded like he was inquiring after a favourite aunt.

But neither Harry nor Clark had any illusions about the seriousness of the situation. When the exchange was finished, Clark nodded grimly. 'We've got problems with this lot,' he said.

'You're telling me,' Harry said.

Not feeling in any way encouraged by events, Harry set about providing blueprints of the house and maps of the area.

Clark also wanted whatever information Harry could provide about the number of hostages and terrorists and their current locations within the house. Harry introduced Clark to the police team in charge of surveillance and data collection.

'Any joy with the bugging devices?' Harry asked.

'No chance,' the police expert said. 'This place was decorated by the same people as provided your wallpaper at MI5. It's laced with copper wire, so we'd never get a decent signal out.'

'Have you tried directional laser microphones pointed at the windows?' Clark asked. 'Not terribly efficient, but you might pick up some useful stuff, depending on the type of gla.s.s they used.'

'It's a thought,' the expert conceded. 'I'll set something up.

As they continued their discussion, Harry reflected that he had provided Clark with all the information about the situation he could with one exception. He had not so far plucked up the courage to mention that the terrorists were in fact alien aggressors probably out for control of the planet. But Harry had no illusions about keeping that fact secret for much longer.