Doctor Who_ Lucifer Rising Part 7

The Doctor stopped twisting the handle of his umbrella, placing it instead foursquare upon the floor and leaning casually upon it. 'I wouldn't need to actually use the monitors. Just scan their records... Oh, say for the last twenty*four hours.'

Bishop pretended to consider.

'You've already said yourself,' the Doctor continued, 'that the gap created in the monitor coverage makes it difficult, if not impossible, to form a complete security record. What have you got to lose?'

'It's not a matter of what I would have to lose, Doctor. The procedure is very clear in circ.u.mstances like these. Rules are rules.'

'Poppydash and balderc.o.c.k!' the Doctor snapped contemptuously. 'Rules were made to be broken.'

Bishop smiled coldly. 'I'm afraid I must disagree, Doctor. Rules are made for reasons. One life has already been lost. If you have any information concerning the safety of others, I might remind you that it is your moral and legal duty to tell me what that information is.'

The Doctor frowned in concentration. 'And if I do?'

'Well, since I am the sole representative of the Guild present on Eden, I imagine we could work something out.'

'And what about the rules?' the Doctor said in a cutting voice.

Bishop's smile dropped away. 'I believe, under the circ.u.mstances, that the "rules" could be interpreted in a mutually beneficial way.'

Alex Bannen stood in the centre of the Mushroom Farm with his eyes shut and his hands touching the roundly contoured, almost organic metal swellings. Every muscle in his body ached. He'd spent the last five hours along with Cheryl Russell and a team of sweating technicians installing neutrino s.h.i.+elding around Eden's reactor. Although he was exhausted, he knew that he had to come to the Mushroom Farm.

Bannen opened his eyes and glanced around the shadowy curves and glinting hollows of the vast chamber. Not for the first time, he tried to gain a sense of what the builders of this metallic phantasmagoria must have been like. What kind of things had been important to them? he wondered. Would it have been the precise application of technology so sophisticated it had to be housed deep within a lunar body, or just the glory of a sunset?

For a foolish moment Bannen tried himself to recall what an Earthly sunset had been like, and was glad when he failed. His only memory of the open sky came from his youth, when a forbidden excursion through a crawls.p.a.ce in the shared hallway outside the family living unit had produced a single image of gunmetal clouds pierced by concrete towers, grey on grey, fading into the distance like the grainy picture on a cheap 2D television. A much younger Bannen had scared himself witless with this wild vision of outside outside, a far cry from the comfortingly well modulated environment within the building, and had immediately squeezed back inside, terrified that the tunnel would seal up before he could crawl back through it, leaving him exposed, naked beneath the polluted sky as a punishment for daring to let a whim take him beyond the prescribed living areas. He never told a soul about his trip, and never went outside again.

At least, not until he'd joined Project Eden.

Bannen s.h.i.+vered suddenly. He'd come here to get a handle on the Angels or whichever species had built this place. That was what he needed to do. Not spend hours dwelling upon the shortfalls of his childhood.

He touched one of the silvery upswellings, rocking his finger this way and that across its smoothly chromed surface. Throughout the chamber, hundreds of yellow*green panels blinked warmly in response, their demands for attention unmistakable, their meaning still hopelessly unclear. He tried to recall an image of his wife, Sonia, and touched another mushroom; another swarm of indicators glowed, amber this time, equally mysterious. Unbidden, an image of MexTech rose in his mind, and a third sequence of lights burned. Bannen sighed with frustration. If only he dared take one of the things apart. For all he knew, there were a hundred redundant backup systems here which could be dismantled and studied without damage to the main systems. But there were so many controls, so many permutations of function, that it would take years for the number to be calculated, let alone understood.

Still, if he hadn't had the means, at least he'd had the time. Time to bring his own plans to fruition. Time whose use the Doctor had made more efficient by freeing energy Bannen could use. He had his theories about this control room. He'd spent years tracing cables, a.n.a.lysing rooms full of dusty equipment, puzzling over geometric patterns incised in walls. The Doctor was starting from scratch, but Bannen already had more pieces of the jigsaw to work with. He had a shrewd suspicion what the purpose of this room was.

Bannen walked slowly over to where an open*plan office*c.u.m*workshop had been set up within the huge chamber, consisting of a set of filing cabinets, lab benches, portable a.n.a.lysis equipment and several desktop subsidiaries of Eden's neural net. He switched on a reading lamp over a desk and by its cosy light unlocked the bottom drawer of one of the filing cabinets. This was where he kept all doc.u.ments too precious to be stored on neural net crystal. He withdrew a bulky file and took it to the desk. Five years of hopes and dreams were encapsulated within this file. Information that no one except him would ever see.

Information which would literally transform his life.

He'd been quiet as a child, too quiet. In later life, this had been reflected in a tendency towards over*loudness which alienated him from his few remaining friends even more than the shyness of youth. More than anything, Bannen was beginning to realize, he was a lonely man. A sad man. He tried to enjoy the company of others, but found it increasingly difficult to be patient with them. There had been few enough on Earth who shared his views. Here on Eden he could name only one.

If Bannen had his way there would soon be no more arguments with Engado, Christine, Piper, Moshe*Rabaan... Anyone. He would dismiss his fear and loneliness with one flick of a switch, and become a new man. A whole man. Only the Doctor could interfere now. He had provided the extra energy Bannen needed, and he could probably devise a method of taking it away again.

It was just as well for the Doctor that he showed no signs of wanting to do so.

Bannen supposed he should really be grateful for this, but somehow it seemed like the least of his worries.

Beyond the circle of light cast by the reading lamp, out in the metallic cavern beyond, there was a tiny sound. A shadow moved, darkness within darkness. Quickly, he closed the file and slipped it by his feet under the desk.

Ace walked out of the darkness. 'How do you find your way around here?' she asked. 'This place is like the Carlsbad Caverns.'

'Hardly.'

Ace came round the desk, ran her fingers along the darkened neural net terminal, and perched herself on a three*legged lab stool. 'What do you mean?'

'An American subsidiary of a company called Panorama Chemicals filled the Carlsbad Caverns with plastic waste in twenty*one forty, three years after the repeal of the anti*pollution laws.'

'Earth was that desperate for energy?'

'It sure was.'

'What about tourism?'

Bannen frowned. 'What's "tourism"?'

Ace laughed, a cold sound which reflected back from the distant walls to counterpoint their conversation. 'You're not serious, right?'

There was a long pause. 'Ace, what are you doing here? I'm engaged in high*priority work. I don't want to be disturbed.'

'In the middle of the night, with the workstation switched off?'

'Physical observation.'

'What of your knees?'

Bannen jerked his head upright, uncomfortably aware that the corner of his file was projecting from beneath the desk. 'I'm very tired.'

'Right.'

'So go away.'

Ace shrugged. 'Okay.' She didn't move.

'Now.'

'Though I'd much rather stay and chat. I'm interested, you see. Interested in all this. The others won't talk to me. They think I'm just a girl. Funny, it doesn't matter when we go to, there's always someone who reckons they're better. The high*and*mighties. The I've*no*time*for*yous. Sometimes I feel like a bit of an outcast, know what I mean?'

'No.'

Ace grinned. 'I believe you. Millions wouldn't.'

Bannen said nothing.

'What about this place, then? How come it's so big? What went on here?'

Bannen rubbed one hand tiredly across his eyes. 'Nothing I want to talk about.' He got up, switched off the reading light, and began the two*hundred*metre trek to the cavern entrance.

Ace took a last look around the hall, shrugged and followed. She'd learn nothing here.

Yet.

Cheryl Russell walked into the living area she shared with her husband Sam, disturbed to find him absent. Her extra s.h.i.+ft at the reactor had just ended; as far as she knew, Sam should have finished his s.h.i.+ft down on Moloch hours ago. Perhaps he'd logged in some extra time as well. Yep. That would be it.

She put down the food tray she had carried from the refectory, stripped off her dirty coveralls, stepped into the dryshower and programmed the cubicle for a sonic ma.s.sage. Ten minutes later scrubbed clean, and starving she emerged from the unit, set the entertainment cube to play Gla.s.st's Requiem Requiem and fell upon her meal with a vengeance. and fell upon her meal with a vengeance.

Half*way through her fourth mouthful, something wet splashed on to her plate, and Cheryl realized she was crying. There was a ringing in her ears which drowned out the music, and her stomach rolled sickeningly with a combination of unsated hunger and loss.

She was thinking of Paula again.

There was a knock on the door.

Cheryl struggled to keep her mouthful of food down as she tipped the rest, plate and all, down the recycler chute. She pulled on a presentable face and answered the door.

'Hi!' Bernice Summerfield strolled into the room, digging into one of the deep pockets of her coveralls. 'I come bearing gifts.'

'That's a twentieth*century idiom, isn't it?'

'Nope. Its a twentieth*century gift, though. There you go.' Bernice handed Cheryl a lime*green bottle in a paper wrapper.

'Mineral water?' Cheryl's sadness was momentarily driven aside by incredulity. 'Real mineral water? Don't you know how much this stuff costs? Where the h.e.l.l did you get it?'

'That would be telling.' Bernice tapped the side of her nose. 'And who'd be telling when they could be drinking?'

Cheryl set the bottle down beside the entertainment cube. 'Look, Benny. Thanks for the gift, but I couldn't possibly '

Bernice took a seat. 'Of course you can. I'd join you, but I normally have something stronger in my water.' She glanced around the room. The suite was bigger than her own. The Russells had made it warm and cosy. There was a rug on the floor (who wove that? she wondered), and a couple of brave attempts at art hanging from the walls. There was a simularity of Cheryl and Sam beside a pottery bowl on a shelf beneath a variably reflective mirror. Low*key lighting filled the room with soft curves and pastel shadows. A piece of cla.s.sical music was playing softly in a minor key.

Bernice asked: 'Sam not home yet?'

'Noticeable by his absence, right?'

'Sorry. Just being nosey.'

'Erase it. I'm not myself at the moment. Sam must be working a double s.h.i.+ft on Moloch.'

'Right.' Bernice hesitated. 'Cheryl if I'm out of order, say so but you look as though you could use some company. Are you sure you don't want to open that bottle?'

Cheryl turned away without replying, and moved to the shelf containing the simularity of herself and Sam. The doll*sized figures within were locked in a kiss, the air around them heavy with a spray of coloured plastic. She touched a pressure pad on the base, and the tiny figures waved in her direction, the plastic drifting like motes of dust in a sunbeam. Party time. She touched the pad again and the display froze into a new configuration, one in which she and Sam were further apart.

'We had this taken on the journey out from Earth. We were married on the s.h.i.+p. Sam wasn't originally part of the Eden team, you know. He was one of the s.h.i.+p's officers. His captain married us and bought a place for him when one of the original technicians didn't make it out of coldsleep.'

'Sounds like this captain was a nice guy.'

'I think he was sorry to see Sam go, but he knew it was what we both wanted.'

Bernice smiled. 'Who says there aren't any happy endings any more, huh?'

Cheryl tried for a smile and didn't quite make it. 'I'm for bed, Benny. Catch you in the morning, all right?'

'Sure.'

Cheryl shut the door behind Bernice and wondered just how long it would be before she managed to close her eyes without wis.h.i.+ng she'd never wake up again.

Piper O'Rourke closed the door quietly behind her as she entered Miles's quarters. With Bishop ensconced in the Coordinator's office up on the command level, she knew she'd find Miles here. He was asleep at his desk, head resting upon folded arms. At his elbow were four sticks of charcoal and a skin pouch full of some fibrous brown substance. She gently placed a slim file on one end of the desk and was about to leave when Miles stirred, alerted by some small sound she had made.

'Piper?'

'Miles, you're going to have a killer backache in the morning if you don't do your sleeping where it's supposed to be done.'

'Can't sleep.'

'You daft b.u.g.g.e.r, what do you think you were just doing?'

Miles sat up, wincing.

'See,' she continued. 'Told you.'

Miles smiled tiredly. His reaction surprised them both equally. 'You're right, as usual.'

'I certainly am. Now go to bed. I'll see you in the morning.'

'Thanks, Piper. You're a good friend.'

'Right.' Piper moved towards the door.

'Piper?' Was that a catch in his voice?

'Yeah?'

'You can stay with me if you'd like.'

Piper closed her eyes and sighed. 'Oh, Miles, your timing stinks. Tomorrow, okay? Things to do.'

'It's a date,' he mumbled sleepily.

Piper smiled sadly at him in the semi*darkness and then left the room.

Ace followed Bannen through the pa.s.sages of the base to his suite. She was careful to make sure he didn't see or hear her. She wanted to make sure he was asleep before she got on with the next job she'd set herself.

Triangular decorations projected from the sloping walls every few hundred metres throughout the base. Ace knew Christine LaFayette had been studying a few pieces recently, hoping to pry loose a bit of information regarding the aliens. It was taking a long time and there were no real guarantees.

No real guarantees. That seemed to be the story of her life.