Doctor Who: Transit

  'Who's the Pythia?'

  'The ancient line of seeresses who once ruled my home planet Gallifrey. When the last of the line was overthrown she cursed the entire population of Gallifrey to perpetual sterility. No children. Ever.'

  'Has this got anything to do with the transit system?'

  'Nothing at all,' said the Doctor, 'for which we should be profoundly grateful.'

  'Then why's it so important?'

  'Have you any idea what kind of power a curse like that represents?' asked the Doctor. 'It creates shock waves and patterns within the metafabric of the space-time continuum. The procreative impulse of an entire species can't just dissipate, it has to go somewhere. It must have been channelled by the Pythia's curse, and she knew we were in contact.'

  'Knew what?'

  'Something I forgot a long time ago.'

  'What, for God's sake?'

  'I don't know,' said the Doctor. 'I forgot it, didn't I?'

  The lift stopped and its doors opened. In the distance they could hear a siren wailing.

  'Too late,' said the Doctor.

  'Where the hell are you going?' asked the technician.

  Benny flexed her wrist back and shot him through the chest.

  The power plant had maroon carpeting and cream walls hung with framed abstract paintings at regular intervals. The thick shag absorbed any ambient noise and produced a kind of breathless hush. There had always been debate about the iconography relating to fusion power plants in the pre-expansion era.

  Benny followed the signs to the control centre. The decor was obviously designed to be as calming as possible. This hinted at a deep-seated anxiety about the forces they were unleashing within the generator.

  The corridor opened into an informal refreshment area. A cluster of easy chairs and sofas were centred around a freestanding entertainment console. A couple were sitting on a sofa watching television, a man was in the kitchen area pouring himself a coffee from a stainless steel jug. Benny shot him first. The jug made a hollow ringing sound when it bounced on the counter top.

  The situational realists maintained that the period's apprehension about their power systems stemmed from the primitive safety standards. Benny herself had defended that position during a drunken argument that followed a conference at the Institute of Human Ecology on Cygni VI.

  One of the couple on the sofa made the mistake of standing up to see what was happening. The shell blew the top of her head off.

  The Silurians felt that it was the manifestation of humanity's deep-seated guilt complex about their ruthless exploitation of the homeworid. But then, the Silurians said that about everything.

  The remaining woman on the sofa was a bit more experienced and rolled out of Benny's line of fire. The first shot blew a fist-sized hole in an easy chair.

  Benny had read a paper that attributed it to the upheavals following the first ecological crisis. She'd read it because it came at the extreme end of her own period. The title had been The Role of the Butler Institute in the Terran Post-Nuclear Period.

  The woman tried to scramble behind the entertainment console. Benny stepped to one side and shot her in the back before she could get up.

  She couldn't remember who wrote the paper.

  The control room was protected by double doors of plexiglass. Through them she could see the technicians panicking at her approach. One of them was talking urgently into a phone, someone was shouting, she could hear it as a murmur through the doors.

  Professor Beal-Carter-Kzanski, she remembered, that's who'd written the paper. She'd read it while travelling middle berth to Heaven; she usually caught up with the journals in transit There had been some interesting stuff about youth gangs and eco-terrorists.

  Benny didn't bother with the nine-digit security keypad by the doors. She just stood there and waited patiently for them to open of their own accord. There was a high-pitched sound filtering through the sound-proofed doors.

  Inside the control room someone was screaming.

  Kadiatu pulled the pistol from the holster after they encountered the first body. The Doctor gave her a hard look but said nothing: what could he say?

  There were more bodies in a small refreshment area. Kadiatu recognized the signature of the exit wounds, the way the ragged edges of the wound pushed through rents torn in the clothes. She concentrated hard on the injuries to avoid looking at the people. There was a strong smell of cordite, blood and coffee.

  The Doctor picked up the fallen coffee jug and set it carefully back on the counter.

  Kadiatu zipped the major's jacket up to her neck.

  The Doctor pointed down the corridor and opened his mouth to say something.

  The jacket saved Kadiatu's life.

  The kinetic energy of the soft-nosed slug was dissipated by the flexible sheet of kevlar sewn into the lining of the jacket. Enough to stop the projectile from blowing out her chest but not enough to stop her from being smashed forward into the Doctor's arms.

  The Doctor grabbed the collar of her jacket in his left hand and pulled her further off balance. Kadiatu instinctively realized what he was doing and let herself be spun round as her forward momentum was translated around the pivot of his arm.

  As she turned she saw the coffee jug leave his right hand and fly across the room. He must have picked it up in the same moment as their attacker fired the first shot.

  The jug bounced off the attacker's face with a hollow bong sound and a spurt of blood. Her hand came up to cover her nose.

  'Not again,' said Benny.

  Kadiatu shot her, three bursts, vaporized flesh blooming like pink carnations on Benny's chest. The Doctor was by her side before she hit the ground.

  'Where's the real Benny?' he asked.

  The woman made a weak gurgling sound, laughing. There were three icecream-scoop-sized craters in her upper ribcage. Kadiatu couldn't believe she was still alive.

  'Actually, I thought I was the real Benny,' whispered the ersatz Benny. The eyes flickered in Kadiatu's direction. 'This one's good, isn't she? Doesn't hesitate.'

  'Very good,' said the Doctor.

  'Too good for you,' said the ersatz Benny.

  'She's not mine,' said the Doctor. 'She belongs to herself.'

  The woman made that sick gurgling laugh again. 'A time-travelling archaeologist,' she said. 'I must have been out of my mind.'

  They waited but there was nothing else.

  'I'm fine, just some major bruising on my back,' said Kadiatu as the Doctor stalked off towards the control room. 'Don't worry about me.'

  The ersatz Benny twitched and made coughing noises. Kadiatu turned back, her pistol held ready.

  'Listen,' it said, 'a word from the freshly dead.'

  'Go on,' said Kadiatu.

  'Evolution,' it said, 'is the response by living organisms to their environment.'

  'In one respect,' said Kadiatu.

  'Don't argue with the dead, girl,' it said. 'He's become a major factor in that environment. You are the human response to him.'

  Kadiatu realized that the ersatz Benny's lips weren't moving when she spoke, hadn't moved since the Doctor had left.

  'Which is the more dangerous, girl,' it asked, 'the male or female leopard?'

  'The female,' said Kadiatu.

  'Why?'

  'Her children,' said Kadiatu. 'Her children make her dangerous.'

  'What will you sacrifice for the children?'

  Kadiatu scrambled backwards. For a moment she thought she saw tears of fire well up around the ersatz Benny's left eye, an eye that had become alien in colour and full of secrets. Then eye, face and neck were obliterated by the bursts of coherent light from her gun.

  'Stop wasting ammunition,' said the Doctor.

  'Did you hear that?' asked Kadiatu.

  'Hear what?'

  'Nothing,' said Kadiatu.

  'Then I couldn't have heard it,' said the Doctor, 'could I?'

  Kadiatu followed him out.

  'What's the best route fr
om here to the Stunnel terminus?' he asked.

  'The Central Line extension runs straight to it,' said Kadiatu. 'There's a station four levels up from here. Did she sabotage the power plant.'

  'Worse than that,' said the Doctor.

  Acturus Station (Stunnel Terminus)

  Lambada dropped her Big Chicken Bit on to the floor when she saw it.

  'Shit,' she said.

  'It's not that bad,' said Old Sam, 'a bit overseasoned though.'

  'The power feed,' she said.

  On the monitor the line marking the power feeding into the Stunnel gateway from their side had suddenly started climbing. It now matched the power input from the other side.

  'Tell Ming,' said Lambada. 'She's got to shut it down.'

  'We lost the link with Ming,' said Credit Card. 'About fifteen minutes ago.'

  'They still have to come down here and switch the thing on,' said Old Sam.

  'Yeah,' said Lambada, 'but now that's all they have to do.'

  'Whoever they are,' said Credit Card.

  'We know who they are,' said Blondie. 'Cake-eating freesurfers from hell.'

  'That's a great comfort,' said Lambada.

  'You want that Big Chicken Bit or not?' asked Old Sam.

  Olympus Mons (Central Line)

  There were two cake monsters waiting on the platform. They stood chatting to each other just like normal people. One of them was holding a freesurfing board. Kadiatu ducked back into the entranceway and told the Doctor.

  'Reinforcements,' said the Doctor. 'Just in case the fake Benny didn't make it.'

  'When you plan,' said Kadiatu, 'plan in depth.

  'Get rid of them,' said the Doctor.

  'What, just shoot them?' asked Kadiatu.

  'Yes,' said the Doctor, 'shoot them.'

  'What happened to the sanctity of life?'

  'It just got filed under D for desperate expediency.'

  'Just checking.'

  Kadiatu stepped round the comer and opened fire. She kept firing until both cake monsters stopped moving. By the time she'd finished the pistol's charge LED was flashing.

  'I need a bigger gun,' said Kadiatu.

  'What for?' asked the Doctor. 'Dead is dead.'

  'But not fast enough.'

  'We need a train,' said the Doctor.

  The destination indicator was blank.

  'Typical,' said the Doctor. 'You wait ages for a train and then three come at once.'

  'I doubt that,' said Kadiatu. The STS map was showing a large swath of black lines in the northern Mars area. Black for no service. 'Someone doesn't want us to get there.'

  'I'll use the board,' said the Doctor, running down the platform.

  'No,' shouted Kadiatu. 'You'll kill yourself

  The Doctor scooped up the board in one fluid motion and ran faster. 'A coward dies many times before his death,' said the Doctor.

  'This is no time for Shakespeare,' said Kadiatu, starting after him. 'It takes two to freesurf.'

  'No, it doesn't,' said the Doctor and threw the board on to the friction field. 'You just think it does.' He jumped on to the board.

  Kadiatu ran parallel to him as the board coasted towards the tunnel gateway. 'We can get a train.'

  'Too late,' said the Doctor. 'We're in the end game now, the queen has defected, the knights are in trouble and the king's out of position.'

  'What are you going to do?'

  'Do?' said the Doctor. 'I'm going to improvise.'

  8: Improvisations

  STS Central - Olympus Mons

  The pain was his friend, keeping him alert in the face of the drugs. Dogface had overridden the medical expert system that stood by the all-body brace, to reduce the doses, but he was frightened of going too far. He could feel his central nervous system wavering back and forth between agony and euphoria. As he tried to concentrate on monitoring the network, his thoughts would veer away in unexpected directions. Accelerating into bands of bright primary colour or crashing through walls of glass into diamond studded darkness once the network had shrunk down to a spider's web of glittering lines that he felt he could hold in the palm of his hand. It was a tremendous high but he doubted that it would catch on.

  The equipment was too expensive, for one thing. When the systems crash blacked out the control room he managed to get some data by bypassing the main signalling subsystem and routing through one of the TV channels. He chose Welsh 12 because he figured no one watched it, not even the Welsh. He'd tried shunting the feed up to the control room but he kept running into blocks. Someone had deliberately isolated STS Central's command network.

  Jacked in through the plug in his index finger Dogface could feel the whole network running down. Trains were halting by platforms as onboard emergency systems shut down in response to the loss of power. Back-up power generators at isolated stations came online like little novas. The daily commuter scramble that usually ran ahead of the dateline on Terra toppled over like a breaking wave and became a wash of stranded individuals.

  He wondered if he was watching the end of civilization.

  There were things moving about in the system. Dogface could track them by the spikes in the power lines. Some he thought must be the virus program, others various subsets of the network intelligence. Most were converging on Acturus Terminal and the Stunnel gateway.

  There was activity at the other end of the system too, at Lowell Depot. His own drones were involved in it somehow. He felt he might have authorized their use to Yak Harris but he couldn't remember.

  A voice called his name in perfect Mandarin.

  A Chinese princess stood by his brace, beautiful in a silk shamfoo embroidered with twisting dragons in silver thread.

  Yang Chou, she called him, using his given name, one he hadn't heard since the war. When he looked closely there was a nimbus of light around her perfect face.

  'Have you come to take me to heaven?' asked Dogface.

  'Fuck no,' said Ming. 'But I wouldn't mind some of whatever it is you're on.'

  Ming traced her hand along the top of the expert system; there was a panic button there, a switch to override his override If she pressed that the expert system would shut him down until he felt better. About a week. Dogface estimated, at least.

  'I've got this problem, Yang Chou,' said Ming. 'All the other floozies are over at Acturus Station with half an arsenal, waiting for God knows what to turn up. Now I'm not saying they won't make it, but if they don't I won't have no one to do what I tell them and fix the network. The Sol transit system will collapse, billions will starve and the bottom will fall out of the stock market. Taking my investments with it.'

  Ming smiled down at him and Dogface saw for the first time ever that Ming really was a princess.

  'Somebody has to live,' said Ming. 'And that somebody is you.' She pressed the panic button.

  Dogface felt himself sink into the waters of oblivion.

  Lowell Depot

  Achmed had just managed to sit down when Deirdre called him. He'd propped himself against a wall in the freight depot and watched the military load up their hardware on to the flatbeds. The military, the NGOs and the police were pulling out of the Stop. A captain from the project police had briefed him on contingency plans in case of stragglers. The captain had scraped-back hair and tired eyes. Achmed's foreman brought them glasses of sweet tea and they'd gone over the whiteprints together. Achmed was a great believer in gathering local knowledge before he started a job.

  The captain left along with the last contingent of police leaving Achmed and his team alone in the deserted projects. At least Achmed hoped they were alone. Just in case he made sure that his people worked in pairs, fanning out into the projects with the survey-drones. Their job was to take precise structural measurements and compare them to the whiteprints stored in Achmed's portable console.

  He usually used this lull to collect his thoughts before tackling any problems. A couple of moments now could save him hours even days later. And as his wife Ming alwa
ys said, 'time is money and sleep an investment.'

  The communicator pinned into the lapel of his kaftan beeped. It was Deirdre his shift supervisor.

  'Yes?'

  'Boss,' said Deirdre, 'I think you'd better come and have a look at something.'

  'What is it?'

  'I don't know,' said Deirdre.

  That worried Achmed. Deirdre considered herself the real driving force within the company and affected to regard Achmed as an overpaid supernumerary who was only kept on because he was co-married to the chairman's wife. If Deirdre was passing the buck upwards then it had to be serious.

  'Where are you?' asked Achmed.

  'The main passenger platform.'

  'I'm on my way.'

  Achmed got to his feet and walked up the narrow connecting corridor to the passenger platforms. One of his crew had wedged the security door open with a block of wood.

  Deirdre met him on the other side, a small bulky woman wearing baggy rhino-hide dungarees and a New Jamaica T-shirt that was pulled tight around her heavy breasts. She pointed down the platform.

  'Who authorized that?' asked Achmed.

  The ugliest tank engine he'd ever seen was standing at the platform.

  'Not me. Boss,' said Deirdre. 'I tried contacting STS Central but the link's dead.'

  A freshly welded patch covered most of the nose, including the forward windscreen. It gave the engine a blind stupid look.

  'Anyone get out?'

  'Not yet,' said Deirdre.

  'Did you look inside?'

  'I thought I'd call you first.'

  'There might be people inside,' said Achmed. 'They could be hurt.'

  'After you. Boss,' said Deirdre.

  The tank engine had another fresh patch where the emergency cabin door should have been. Achmed peered into the cabin through the one unbroken window.

  'What can you see?' called Deirdre, who'd stayed at the end of the platform. 'Is there anyone in there?'

  'I can't see anyone, but it's pretty messed up in there,' said Achmed. Most of the cabin instrumentation was dead, there was what might have been evidence of small arms damage.

  'What are you waiting for?' he called to Deirdre.