Doctor Who_ Shakedown Part 12

'Over there, by the door,' said Roz quietly.

Chris glanced up. 'Half-drunk. Looking for trouble.'

'Looking for us,' corrected Roz.

Chris yawned. 'Same thing. Want another beer?'

'Why not?'

When Chris went up to the bar to fetch more beer, the miners moved close to Roz's table. They began a loud conversation about the depraved s.e.xual habits of off-planet tourists, who only came to Megacity to meet virile miners who knew what a woman needed.

'Ain't that so, sweetie,' said the biggest. Suddenly he grabbed Roz's arm and pulled her to her feet. He looked across at Chris. 'I reckon sonny-boy over there's outgrown his strength. Or did you wear him out?'

'Why don't you ask him?' said Roz sweetly.

'Sooner find out for myself,' he said, pulling her closer.

Roz brought up her knee hard and he screamed and doubled up, no longer much interested in anyone's s.e.x life, even his own.

Two of the remaining miners made a grab for Roz, and suddenly felt Chris's big hands gripping the backs of their necks.

'Really, gentlemen,' he said reprovingly, and slammed their heads together with a clunk that echoed through the bar.

Dropping the limp bodies he turned to the fourth and last miner, but he was already halfway to the door, with Roz's victim hobbling painfully after him.

Chris went back to the bar, returned with two beer-mugs and sat down. He glanced down at the two remaining miners, both still unconscious. 'Who do you think set these clowns on to us?'

'Who knows? One of Garshak's worried fat-cats probably.'

'I thought Garshak was going to tell them they needn't worry about us?'

'You think they trust Garshak? An endors.e.m.e.nt from him's probably as good as a death sentence.'

'Shall we wake them up and ask a few questions?'

'Why bother? They're strictly small fry and so is anyone who'd employ them.'

Chris nodded and took a swig of beer. 'Might as well move on when we've finished these beers. This isn't the Ripper's kind of joint anyway.'

This, however, definitely was, thought Roz Forrester, later that night. She was sitting in yet another sleazy joint, sipping yet another filthy c.o.c.ktail, and thinking that all nightclubs everywhere were pretty much the same.

The same surly, but bribable, heavies on the door, the same steep, smelly stairs leading up, or down, to the same hot, smoky, dimly lit room. The same overpriced booze and filthy food, the same fools throwing their hard-earned credits away, and the same smooth operators raking them in. The same crowded floor and the same tiny stage displaying some sordid attraction.

True, the drinks, the drugs, the games and the life-forms varied from planet to planet. All the same, nightclubs were like police stations, more alike than they were different.

Roz turned to communicate this amazing insight to her partner Chris. He was sipping happily from a tall gla.s.s of clear green fluid in which a number of minute alien creatures were swimming, and watching the gyrations of an over-endowed exotic dancer with an expression of childlike enjoyment.

Telling herself that even idiots deserved their moments of pleasure, Roz went back to scanning the crowd which was supposed to be why they were here.

All they had to go on was the Ripper's established pattern.

He'd already committed his first more or less routine murder to give him operating credits. Next he'd be going for the big score, the one that would get him off-planet and on the way to wherever he was heading.

The nightclub proprietor, a smarmy little b.u.t.terball in an expensive white silk dinner-suit, was one of the most likely candidates. He caught her eye and came over, bowing and smiling and rubbing his hands.

'Everything all right, sir, madam? You enjoy your evening?'

His name was Raggor, and he was reputed to control a major slice of the drugs and gambling in Megacity. He was also a ruthless killer, who had personally garrotted several rivals with the white silk handkerchief overflowing his breast pocket. Most important of all, he dealt largely in cash and was rumoured to keep vast sums in his office safe.

'Everything's fine,' said Roz. 'Isn't it, Chris?'

Chris dragged his attention away from the dancer. 'Oh, yes indeed. Most entertaining!'

'I send you over nice bottle of wine, compliments of house.' He lowered his voice. 'Any friend of Chief Garshak, hey?' He hurried away to greet some newly arriving customers.

If they had no luck here, thought Roz, there were only a couple more places to try. She knew that it was long odds against their being in the right place at the right time. But it was all they could do.

If it didn't work they'd have to wait for the next crime to be committed, and set off yet again on an already-cold trail.

A flurry of movement at the door caught her eye and she saw a distinguished-looking humanoid coming into the club.

He was very tall with long silver hair and a neat pointed beard, and he wore expensive-looking silk robes.

He was obviously a valued customer. The proprietor was baring rows of s.h.i.+ning teeth in welcome, bowing and rubbing his hands and showing the newcomer to a reserved table close to the stage.

Foaming wine was poured into a tall crystal goblet by an obsequious rodent-like waiter, and scantily clad humanoid hostesses hurried to the table.

Roz studied the newcomer with fascination. She had never seen him before, but she was familiar with every detail of his appearance. He wore the shape of the late Mr Sakis, murdered proprietor of a change bureau on s.p.a.ceport Boulevard.

In reality he was Karne, the Ripper, the quarry they had sought for so long.

She gave Chris an elbow in the ribs that made him choke on his drink. Spitting out a small, still-wriggling worm he said indignantly, 'Hey!'

She glanced briefly across the room.

Chris, who was efficient enough once his attention was engaged, looked hard and then gasped. 'It's him.'

'Yes,' said Roz. 'It's him.'

'After all this time,' breathed Chris. He started to rise, reaching for his blaster.

Roz grabbed his arm to restrain him. 'Wait.'

'But this is the closest we've ever been. Let's take him now, before he moves on.'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'We don't take him, remember, not to begin with. We follow him, make contact without alarming him and offer him our help. We escort him off the planet, protect him, pay his fare to wherever he wants to go as long as he agrees to talk to the Doctor first. If he doesn't agree, then then we take him in if we can.' we take him in if we can.'

Chris looked at her in consternation. He'd forgotten the Doctor's original instructions in the excitement of the hunt.

'But he's a killer.'

'That's not our concern. We're not Adjudicators any more.

The Doctor wants us to bring him back alive, so that's what we do.'

The visitor and the manager were deep in conversation.

After a final warm handshake, the manager turned away and disappeared through an inconspicuous door on the other side of the room.

Chris was slumped sulkily into his seat, glaring angrily across the room.

'Stop staring at him like that,' hissed Roz. 'Keep it down to the occasional glance, just to make sure he's still there. When he leaves we'll follow.'

The silver-haired man stayed at the table for some time, drinking, watching the dancers, chatting to the hostesses. To Roz, he looked like a ghastly parody of life, an automaton with jerky movements and frozen smile, having a ghastly parody of a good time. How could anyone think he was really human, really alive?

The hostesses seemed happy enough. Maybe if you spread enough credits around, no one cared if you were a zombie.

'He's leaving,' said Chris.

The tall silver-haired man had risen and was leaving his table. He headed not towards the exit but towards the door at the back of the room.

As he reached the door, a ma.s.sive Ogron bodyguard loomed up to bar his way. The silver-haired man spoke briefly, the guard stepped aside and the man went on through the door.

'Got an appointment with the boss,' said Roz. She sat waiting for a moment, and then rose. 'Come on.'

'I thought you said '

'Never mind what I said. Remember the change bureau?'

Threading their way between the tables they made for the little door. As they reached it, the Ogron bodyguard appeared, barring their way.

Arguing with Ogrons is a lengthy process at best, and Roz felt that she just didn't have the time. She delivered a ferocious elbow-strike to the Ogron's midriff. The blow would have paralysed most humanoids for several hours. The Ogron just grunted and doubled over a little.

Chris slammed it behind the ear with his blaster, using all his strength. The Ogron's eyes glazed and it staggered back against the wall. Roz and Chris caught the ma.s.sive body between them and lowered it gently to the ground.

Roz opened the door and went inside, and found a scene of nightmarish horror.

The manager was spread-eagled on his back on the floor, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A glowing shape crouched over him. Even as they watched, a thin fiery tentacle extruded itself, and sliced the tubby little man open down the middle like a surgeon's laser-scalpel, spilling out his intestines in a welter of blood, turning the white silk suit scarlet, and splitting open the breastbone to reveal the still-beating heart.

7.

Slaughter 'No!' shouted Chris. He raised his blaster and fired.

The glowing shape seemed to repel the energy blast in a brief crackle of electricity, and then flowed swiftly towards them.

Roz flung herself back and down. Swinging her legs round in a semicircle she swept Chris's ankles from under him, bringing him cras.h.i.+ng to the ground.

The glowing sphere flashed over their heads and out into the big, crowded room beyond. Crackling fiercely, it hurtled through the nightclub like a fireball, flinging aside everyone in its way through the sheer power of its energy.

Those who were brushed by its pa.s.sing were thrown back shocked and burned. People screamed as their clothes burst into flames.

There was, not surprisingly, a panic-stricken rush for the exit.

Roz and Chris scrambled to their feet and saw the glowing sphere trying to force its way free of the crowded room. The way out was already blocked by a terrified crowd of patrons, all trying to leave at once by the same narrow stairway.

Some tried to fight back. Many of the nightclub's patrons were armed, and the room echoed with the fierce crackle of blaster fire.

The sphere glowed brighter, seeming to repel the blasts. At the same time it reacted angrily to the attacks. Long fiery tentacles lashed out from the central shape, slicing through whatever they touched.

Roz saw a severed arm, the hand still clutching a blaster, fly through the air, while its owner stared unbelievingly down at the stump.

She saw a headless Ogron bodyguard take several stumbling steps as its still-snarling head rolled away across the nightclub floor.

The room seemed drenched in blood and the air was filled with the shouts and screams of the wounded and dying. It was as if someone had fired off a rocket-projectile in a crowded room.

By now people were desperately hurling themselves away from the glowing sphere and a path through the packed crowd opened magically before it. The glowing shape moved swiftly across the room and floated up the staircase.