Doctor Who_ Trading Futures Part 35

'It looks like stock prices,' Anji told them. 'It's monitoring financial transactions. Perhaps he's waiting for a payment, looking for proof.'

Fitz was looking actively bored, now. 'We're looking at Baskerville's bank statement?'

The Doctor was staring at the data, trying to make sense of it all. 'More than that, I think. Anji, look: International Financial Exchange Computer.'

'IFEC. So... Baskerville has control of this?'

'I think so.'

'Then he's won. He's got control?'

'For what it's worth.'

'For what it's worth? He can charge commission on every financial transaction on the planet. He can stop business deals, shut down governments. If you control the flow of money, you control the planet.'

'A sad reflection on your species,' the Doctor said, in that irritating professorial voice he occasionally adopted. 'Hang on a mo...'

Anji saw what he was looking at. 'The transaction isn't complete until there's an IFEC number attached to it. He's not finished. He must have been interrupted.'

'There is a very large hole in the floor,' Fitz reminded them. 'And a rather nasty looking red streak on that wall.'

'Malady must have interrupted him before '

'I understand, Doctor, I told you, remember? Now, quick, before they come back.'

'Quick, what?'

Anji held up a piece of paper. This is the IFEC number they were going to enter. The master account. Attach a different IFEC number.'

The Doctor floundered. 'Which one?'

'Any one.'

'Any one?' one?'

Anji stared at the screen. 'Well, OK, not any one... er...'

The Doctor had a brainwave, and started rummaging around in his pocket.

'Hurry, Doctor.' She was looking around the room for another IFEC number, unsure why she thought she'd find one.

The Doctor had pulled out a bank card. 'I opened a bank account in Athens.'

'You had time to do that?'

'It was an accident. Look let me enter the number.'

He tapped the fifteen digit code into the computer, winced as it scanned his retina.

'There.'

He tapped a few more controls.

'Now... the world's economy will be run through my bank account.'

Fitz was looking at the card. 'Hang on, you've got all the money in the world in your bank account?'

'Not exactly for a millisecond or two, every financial transaction is channelled through my account, that's all.'

Anji stared down at the little piece of plastic. A hologram of Medusa stared back at her. 'Still, it's probably best that you don't forget your PIN number.'

The Onihr deputy leader sniffed the air.

Earth was cold, dark, insubstantial. The human structures were feeble. To prove the point to himself, he reached out, scooped a handful of brick from the wall, then crushed it.

'Report,' he barked into his nosepiece.

His warriors did just that they were fanning out across the base, on full alert, but had come no nearer to finding the time machine.

The deputy leader leaned against a blue wooden structure. He sniffed it, peered at it. Its function was not immediately obvious. It was made of wood panels, with little windows towards the top, and a light on the roof. Primitive human writing adorned some of the uppermost panels. It would just, at a squeeze, be big enough for an Onihr to stand inside.

A useless human artefact.

The deputy leader was frustrated that his search for the human time machine was taking so long. He was irritated that the humans had a time machine in the first place. They must have stolen it, or had it fall on to their planet by chance. How dare these flimsy*skinned, insubstantial creatures have time travel when the Onihr race had strived so long to achieve it. What could the humans hope to do with the technology?

There was a time machine here, so close he could feel it. The ancient Onihr quest would finally reach its culmination.

He smelled the robot moments before it arrived.

A hydraulic arm clamped around the deputy leader's neck.

The deputy leader struggled, but the hold was tight. The other arm was tugging at his breastplate.

Another robot stomped slowly into the room, raised an arm. It was holding a projectile weapon. Its height and build had more in common with the Onihrs than its human creators. Not through any aesthetic sense, simply because human technical skills were inadequate to the task.

The deputy leader doubted that the human guns could harm him even if he wasn't wearing armour, but had no intention of finding out. These machines were crude, insulting.

He straightened up, pulling the robot that had hold of him off its feet. It strengthened its grip, constricting the deputy leader's throat a little, but not enough to block his breathing.

Its leg pedalled a little, trying to find the ground. The device was surprisingly light, even allowing for the low gravity.

The deputy leader slammed it against the structure behind them, heard a number of satisfying cracks and hisses. He slammed it again.

The other robot opened fire, and only succeeded in blowing the head off its comrade. Blinded, the machine tried to tighten its grip, but it had lost a lot of its balance. The deputy leader found it easy enough to extricate himself from its limbs.

He picked up the robot and swung it at the other. It broke the functioning robot's neck and shoulder, then fell apart.

The deputy leader had a hand free now to reach for his gun. It took three shots to damage the robot beyond repair, two more than the deputy leader would have liked.

He rubbed his neck. It hurt a little. There were hints of damage to his armour, too, and he was lucky they hadn't caught his gun, which wasn't as well protected. With the right combination of circ.u.mstances, the humans could harm Onihrs.

All the more reason to eliminate them as efficiently as possible.

Chapter Twenty.

Endgame Dee hurried through the robot factory.

The production lines were silent. At some point during the fighting, they must have been shut down. Rows and rows of half*completed robots stood there. It made the place look like a monumental gallery of statues.

Any robot that was complete, or near enough to complete had gone. They'd been sent to the front by Cosgrove. Dee could hear some of them, rumbling away deep inside the building, loosing off the occasional round of gunfire.

Baskerville had her laptop, and all her specialist software.

They'd got split up about ten minutes ago. Baskerville had run out of gyrojets, and they'd been forced to beat a retreat straight into the path of the aliens. They'd both gone off their own ways.

Perhaps Baskerville was dead. He was certainly finished. He had hours at most as soon as CIA or EZSS programmers got here, they'd be able to see what she'd done to get into IFEC, trace the software, trace the laptop. It would take them a little time, but only a little. She'd completed the transfer, at least she a.s.sumed she had, but she hadn't buried it deep enough. If you knew what you were looking for, if you asked the right questions, then you'd be able to trace it.

Dee realised, of course, that she could be dead long before that.

The radar tower was gone, so there was no anti*aircraft capacity here any more. Cla.s.s twos and cla.s.s threes were ground a.s.sault units they could point their guns up and fire into the air, but they weren't designed for anti*aircraft operations.

She had to get to the hangar. It was tempting to steal the Concorde, but it was too big to be useful she'd need a big runway to land it, and wherever it landed in the world it would lead to a lot of awkward questions.

One of the light aircraft. They were easier to fly, would draw less attention, they'd be easier to sell on, maintain, get fuel for.

Dee reached the hangar.

One of the big freight helicopters was a burned*out sh.e.l.l. The hangar floor was littered with discarded bullet cases and bits of twisted metal.

It was dark by now, but there was a full moon, and the hangar door was wide open, so it wasn't too dark to see.

Outside, Dee could see two cla.s.s twos moving around, the moonlight glinting off them. They were just on a standard patrol as far as she could see.

The Concorde was still there, golden light pouring from the doors and windows. Other than that, it was practically invisible in the dark. She was glad of the reminder it was there it meant she would have to taxi her plane past it before powering up the runway. She'd hoped to be able to start her run from inside the hangar.

It would give the cla.s.s twos a chance to shoot at her, of course.

First things first: she needed to find a plane.

There were two light aircraft, both relatively new jet*engined Pipers. She'd not flown the make before, but knew enough about them to feel confident she'd not have a problem.

There was nothing to choose between them, so she got into the nearest, closing the door carefully behind her, trying as hard as she could to make sure the cabin hadn't been punctured by stray gunfire.

She sat in the pilot's seat, strapped herself in, put the headset on.

Hotwiring it was easier than hotwiring a car would have been. The jet engines fired up, and the on*board computer began running the pre*flight checks. It chimed up at her when she started the plane moving before it had finished making sure it was ready to go. But the engines were noisy, the noise would already have drawn attention to her, and the sooner she was away the better.

She used the pedals to steer it past the Concorde.

The two tanks had seen her, but they were too slow to react. She started her ascent run, powering up the engines and pointing the plane straight down the runway.

She was about to find out if the plane had been damaged.

The lights and other indicators all said it was fully fuelled, that the cabin had pressure. But, of course, one of the sensors might itself be damaged, in which case...

The plane lifted off the runway. Behind her, Dee thought she heard gunfire as one of the cla.s.s twos got into a position to attack her plane.

But it was too late, she was already ten miles away from the base.

She'd lived to fight another day.

For the first time since she'd left his side, Dee wondered how Baskerville was managing.

Malady had hurt her leg a little in the fall, Mather was uninjured.

They were back outside, now. It was getting dark, but it was obvious that there weren't any people guarding the Concorde any more. A few bodies were strewn on the tarmac. A couple of cla.s.s two hovertanks were patrolling the area from the look of it, they were executing a routine search pattern they were operating automatically, but would alert their operator if they came across anything of interest.

'I'm not sure the Concorde is safe, sir,' she said.

It had been their plan to head back there, use the radio to contact the authorities. But with the cla.s.s twos there, it looked remarkably like a sitting duck. The plane hadn't been refuelled, so even if they could get it up into the air, they had no idea how long they could keep it there.

The best thing to do was sit tight and wait for the planes that would be heading for them.

Malady had handed Mather one of the ray guns. If it came to it, they could outgun the RealWar robots.

'There's a time machine somewhere on this base,' Mather said. We have to get it. The opportunities it would give us... well, I can hardly imagine them.'

Malady smiled, and pulled a short silver tube from her pocket. 'This isn't Baskerville's time machine, sir, but it's a time machine.'

Mather took it, and as he did, he must have touched something, because the controls swirled out and lit up.

'It's recharging,' she told him. 'I don't think it's fully charged, yet, but it's getting there. It's smart it needs a lot of power, but it can tap into any energy source.'

Mather held it, amazed. 'Where did you get this?'

'We were attacked by time travellers in Athens.'

'Big creatures, like rhinoceroses?'