The Romance Of Crime Part 3

And, dammit, that was how he'd lost Angie and the kids.

Spiggot settled himself in the chair opposite Pyerpoint.

'This is a serious business,' he said. 'Something big. See, there's something I need from you.'

'What, exactly?'

Probably doesn't like my accent, thought Spiggot. Can't handle the idea of a lad from North Nation making it big.

'Your security computer net. I need to take a look at it.'

Pyerpoint put his pen down and frowned. 'For what purpose? We have a team of skilled technicians working on all of our systems constantly.'

Probably doesn't like my hair either, thought Spiggot.

Can't handle the idea of a lad with looks and long hair getting on in life. 'Afraid I can't disclose my reasons, sir. I just need to inspect your security net.' He leant forward on the desk and scratched at his itching chin. 'Then I can be on my way and be out of your life, yeah?'

'May I see your warrant?' asked Pyerpoint.

Spiggot took a slim black plastic wallet from an inside pocket and handed it across the desk. He watched as Pyerpoint flipped it open and inspected it. The small photo inside was one of Spiggot's favourites. It showed him with an expression that was both tough and wounded, displaying the qualities of strength and vulnerability, the unconventional good looks that had brought him results at work and in the bedroom. And, dammit, those were the maverick qualities that had lost him Angie and the kids.

'This does not allow access,' Pyerpoint said severely.

'Your rank is only grade three. Without a special warrant I cannot provide what you ask. I presume you have one?'

Spiggot sighed and took back his identification. 'Listen, mate,' he said. 'You and I both know that rules are there to be twisted. I'm on the trail of something hot. Something big. I need to get in to that computer.'

Pyerpoint stood. 'Your suggestion is impertinent. Now, if you have nothing further to add, I must request that you depart and allow me to continue with my work.'

The old guy was really rattled, thought Spiggot. Not used to having his authority challenged. Well, he had some surprises coming now that Five police had sent their top investigator up to the Rock ofJudgement.

The doped workers clapped politely as their evening's entertainment came to a close. The red garbed dancers bowed and returned through the wall, which closed up after them. The lights in the bar came up.

'Well, that was interesting,' the Doctor said. 'In a tedious and incomprehensible sort of way.'

Romana nodded. 'If what you've reasoned is correct, these people's lives must be exceptionally unfulfilling. This kind of recreation releases acc.u.mulated tensions in a controlled environment.'

'Yes,' said the Doctor. 'Doesn't stop it being boring, though.' He yawned. 'The Randomizer really does lack discretion. How about a trip to Transycaster?'

'What, next to the black hole of Dehara?' Romana said doubtfully.

The Doctor stood up. 'Well, it's got to be better than this.

At least there you can get a decent drink.' He sat back down again suddenly and jammed his hat down on his tangle of thick curly hair.

Romana was alarmed. 'Doctor, what's the matter?'

'We've got company,' he whispered. 'Over there.' Romana glimpsed men in red uniforms pus.h.i.+ng through the crowd.

Some of them were carrying blasters.

The Doctor took her hand. 'Follow me, we'll go out the way we came in.' They attempted to tiptoe back towards the door, but as the Doctor was six foot four and was wearing a multicoloured scarf that was twenty-six feet long, his attempt to appear inconspicuous failed.

A voice cried 'There they are!' and the uniformed officers burst into the open. Their leader, a woman with stern and unattractive features, stepped forward. 'You! Remain still!'

The Doctor indicated the door. 'Yes, well, we were just going, charming place you have here '

The woman raised her blaster and pointed it between his eyes. 'You are unauthorized personnel. I have the authority to shoot you if you do not comply with my instructions. Raise your hands.'

'Well, if you put it like that,' said the Doctor. He and Romana raised their hands.

'You will follow me in single file and will not attempt to communicate with each other,' the woman barked. 'Make an attempt to escape and you will be executed immediately.' She turned away. The Doctor and Romana were hustled away through the crowd by her officers.

As he pa.s.sed the bar on the way out, the Doctor called cheerfully, 'A pint of whatever that lady's been drinking, please.'

3.

Suspicion.

-tokes emerged from a lift on the bas.e.m.e.nt floor of the S station. He attempted to balance his covered canvas and box of equipment while closing the lift's gridded metal shutter, failed and dropped everything. He grunted with anger, slammed the shutter, picked up his belongings and set off along the long corridor to a large door at the far end. He shuffled about in his pockets, produced a set of keys, and let himself in to his gallery.

The designers of the Rock of Judgement had intended the bas.e.m.e.nt to be used as a storage area, but it had been empty until Stokes had succeeded in persuading the Legal Chancellery Division back on Five that his project was a worthy one, and that he was in possession of the funds to proceed with it privately. The gallery consisted of a dimly lit central chamber, its high ceiling supported with fake oak beams, and several small annexes part.i.tioned off by broad stone pillars. Positioned about the gallery were representations of many of the criminals executed aboard the asteroid in the last seven years. These included sculptures, photographs, a couple of masks, and some holograms and abstract studies.

Stokes's style, if he could be said to have one, was needlessly extravagant. Red was his favourite colour and he applied it liberally to many of his compositions. An observer taking a quick glance at Stokes's works might have found them intriguing and original, but a closer inspection would have revealed a lack of detail and, as his old tutors at the Gelheissen School of the Arts had despaired of telling him, an inability to capitalize on his ideas.

Stokes put down his things and looked over to an aged couch that was propped against a wall. Foam spilled from its torn upholstery and it was marked with burns and stains.

Spread across it was a dark-haired young man with an insolent expression. He wore denims and a leather cap and was smoking a flavoured cigarette. This was Zy, a student sent by the education authorities on Five to join Stokes on attachment, a condition of their contract.

He blew a large yellow smoke cloud over at Stokes.

'You're back early, Men.'

Stokes slipped off his beret and patted his smooth s.h.i.+ny head. 'I had work to do and petty officialdom prevented me from completing it.' He stuffed the beret into a pocket.

'Whereas you have obviously been wasting yet more of your time and the state's money festooned there in a state of pacific inertia.'

The young man sat up. He flicked off a cloth that covered an object on a nearby stand. A cartoon was revealed, a caricature of Stokes that exaggerated his large nose, domed head and thin wet lips even more than nature had.

Stokes sneered and took the drawing from the stand for a closer inspection. 'You flatter me,' he said. 'It's a fair likeness. But your technique!' He replaced the picture. 'Dated and strangely timid. What's wrong with young people nowadays? You have all the daring of a hibernating burrow worm.'

Rather pleased with this turn of phrase, Stokes crossed to a sink and started to wash his hands. The young man slipped off the sofa and stood behind him. 'I've sold twenty today, Men.'

Stokes splashed water over his face. 'Twenty what?' He snapped his fingers. 'Towel, towel.'

Zy pa.s.sed it to him. 'Twenty copies of that piece I finished off last week.'

Stokes's brow furrowed. He dabbed at his glistening moon face with the edges of the towel. 'What, that purple aberration? You jest.'

Zy grinned and produced a thick wad of notes from a pocket. 'Sold twenty down the line to Five. Six hundred credits apiece.'

Stokes coughed. 'Six hundred? For that tasteless muck?

And each worth about six halfcredits.' He shook his head and one of his fingers. 'People will snap up anything on the commercial market. Don't let yourself succ.u.mb to visions of greatness, boy. I'll tell you frankly, you stand little chance of making any sale beyond the confines of that tawdry bracket.'

He leaned closer to his apprentice. 'Not, of course, that sales are the important factor in the creation of art.'

Zy looked around the gallery. 'Just as well.'

Stokes picked up his covered canvas and set it on an easel.

'Remind me. How much longer have the authorities condemned me to suffer your presence in my life?'

'Two months.'

'Yes, well.' He removed the cover and scrutinized his portrait of Mrs Blakemore. 'Make yourself useful and vamoose. There's a bar up on level three, you know.'

'For zombies.' Zy slipped back onto the sofa and lit a cigarette. Stokes grunted and continued with his work. He knew he'd have to finish the job tonight while the memory of his subject remained fresh.

'Mr Spiggot,' Pyerpoint said, 'I must ask you once again to leave this station. I have made my position more than clear. I cannot grant your request without an upgraded warrant.'

Spiggot pushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes. 'Then I may have to take my own way.' It was nearly always the same, he'd found. Doors slammed shut in his face. But where his colleagues, with their incident forms and desk reports, might have given up and turned back, he was prepared to strike out alone.

'What exactly are you threatening?' asked Pyerpoint. 'Your impertinence could land you in trouble. I '

A high pitched tone came from a unit sewn onto the breast of Pyerpoint's tabard. He frowned and put his hand to it.

'Yes?'

'An incident, sir,' said a woman's voice. Right, thought Spiggot, that'd be the chief of security. 'Please come to the detention area. Cell forty.'

'What is the nature of this incident, Margo?'

'I cannot discuss the matter on open channel, sir.'

'Very well.' Pyerpoint stood and indicated the door. 'I have to leave now. I do not want to see you again, Mr Spiggot. If you choose to interfere with the workings of this station, it is within my power to impose severe penalties.'

Spiggot grinned. 'I've heard everything you've said, sir.'

Margo examined the items spread across the table in cell forty.

An orange, a mirror, a ball of string, a yo-yo, a child's picture book, an egg timer, a slender silver object and a paper bag that contained confectionery. She picked up this item and addressed the male prisoner, who called himself the Doctor.

'What are these?'

'They're jelly babies. Sweets.'

The female prisoner said, 'Why not try one?'

Margo put the bag down. 'High sugar foods are prohibited here.'

The Doctor was aghast. 'What, no tuck shop?'

'Such items impede efficiency. Suitable relaxants are supplied in the refreshment zone.'

She studied the intruders again. A thorough search had revealed no trace of identification on either of them. Although they were carrying no weapons, their unexplained arrival remained an irritation.

'I'll ask you again,' she said. 'How did you arrive here on the Rock?'

'I keep telling you,' said the male prisoner, 'I'm the Doctor, this is Romana, we're travellers, and we arrived here by accident, and there's really no need to clap us in irons. We're quite the friendliest and most inoffensive of people, aren't we, Romana?'

'Oh yes. Let us leave and you needn't worry about us again.'

Margo signalled to one of the officers standing guard on the cell door. 'Fetch the truth serum from stores. Use my authorization.'

'Yes, ma'am.' The guard saluted and left the cell.

The Doctor did not seem to be impressed. 'Truth serum?

You really are wasting a lot of time.'

'We've been telling the truth for the last half hour,' put in Romana.

Margo pulled herself up to her full height. 'Your presence here is unauthorized. This station is top security. All transmat communications, arrivals and departures, are approved by myself and logged by the security computer. Your arrival was not registered.'

'Perhaps we didn't arrive by transmat,' said the female prisoner. The Doctor muttered a curse.

Margo seized on her error. 'So, as I thought, you travelled here by s.p.a.cecraft and cut your way in. Who is your contact?

What was your purpose in coming here? How did you locate this station?'

The Doctor held up his hand. 'Please, please, so many questions.'

The cell door swung open and Pyerpoint entered. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he caught sight of the strangers and their eccentric dress. 'Who are you?'