Part 8 (1/2)

She found another hotel room, crawled inside, and smoked an entire pack of Yemaya Strikes.

Outside, she could hear sirens everywhere. Given what had happened the last time they'd encountered an N-form, she'd managed to keep the damage down to a surprising minimum.

Given what had happened last time.

They'd be coming for her, Mr Cheesecloth and whoever he was working for. Even a green-walled, cigarette-burnt hole like this one would have some securicam, somewhere. She was surprised they hadn't got here already. Maybe she'd just given them one h.e.l.l of a fright, and they were waiting to see what she'd do next.

73.The gun was in her hand and aimed before she even knew it.

'Who the living h.e.l.l are you!' she yelled.

The tall, curly-headed stranger just raised his hands. 'It's me,'

he said.

'Jesus,' coughed Roz. 'I nearly swallowed my cigarette. Who are you?'

'I'm the Doctor,' said the stranger.

She looked at him. She'd never seen him before. Tall, his curly head nearly b.u.mping on the low ceiling. He was wearing a coat like a fairground performer. She half expected him to start juggling.

'Or at least, I might have been.'

'What?'

'I'm on Iphigenia, Roz. I need your help. Desperately. Come at once. Aulis. You won't miss it.'

'What do you mean, you might have been the Doctor?'

'If you don't reach Iphigenia right away,' said the maybe-Doctor, 'I won't have been. No one will have been. There'll have been no one to tell you not to spoil your tea with sweetener.'

Roz stared at him. She reached for her money belt, on the end of the bed. 'I'm on my '

She looked up. He was gone.

She pulled on her shoes, swearing. She didn't know what the h.e.l.l that had all been about, but she did know one thing.

Whatever was on Iphigenia was so dangerous that not only shouldn't she go there, but the Doctor shouldn't have gone there either.

74.

2.

Iphigenia 5 January 2982 Bruchac was going over the pre-flight checklist when he saw the guy waving at him from the tarmac. He put down his DataStream clipboard and walked down to the main airlock of the Hopper, halfway down the length of the little intersystem shuttle.

The safeties were off in Aegisthus's artificial atmosphere, both doors open.

The guy was standing beneath the airlock, the wind blowing his blond hair around. 'Hi,' he said, waving an ID. 'Biocustoms. Can you let me up?'

Bruchac hit the extend-ladder b.u.t.ton with his toe. The guy grabbed hold of it and hauled himself up, work case tucked under his arm. He was tall and muscular, filling out his blue uniform.

The yellow and black flash of Aegisthus Biocustoms bulged on his left breast.

'Thanks.' The guy smiled. There was an environmental mask slung around his neck. 'Charter Pilot Leo Bruchac, right?'

'Why didn't you radio ahead?' said Bruchac. 'I'm due for pushback in twenty.'

'I'm in a hurry.' The customs guy snapped open the work case, consulted the screen in the lid. 'Is this your s.h.i.+p?'

'For the next month,' said Bruchac. 'Look, is there a problem?'

'Maybe,' said the customs guy. He was in his twenties, and 75 sim-hero handsome. Bruchac imagined him on a recruiting poster. Organic Import/Export Regulation it's a man's life Organic Import/Export Regulation it's a man's life.

The guy took out a medical handscan, putting down the work case. 'I just this minute got a report that on its last trip this Hopper visited Mictlan. About a week ago.'

'Yeah,' said Bruchac. 'Part of the supply route.'

'Mictlan's a nice planet,' said the customs guy, waving the handscan around the airlock. 'If you like dead people.'

Bruchac said, 'Look, I checked the flight records myself.

Everything was SOP. The Hopper stayed in the s.p.a.ceport and didn't go anywhere near the quarantine areas. And it went through standard decontamination before leaving. You must have all that in your records.' He looked at his chronometer. 'I've got pa.s.sengers arriving any minute.'

'There's just been an outbreak of Breckenridge's Scourge reported on Mictlan,' said the customs guy.

'Breckenridge's Scourge? I've never even heard of that.'

'Neither had I, until we got the report in half an hour ago.

Turns you into one huge boil, apparently. Thing is, Biocustoms on Mictlan say the standard decontamination might not kill it.'

'You're kidding. They only just contacted you?'

'Apparently it takes about a week to incubate. People are dropping like flies on Mictlan.' He paused. 'Not that that's anything new.'

'So what you're saying is, this shuttle might be contaminated?'

The customs guy shrugged. 'They say the outbreak started with bacterial particles lodged in a Hopper's air filters. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be fine.' He started waving the handscan at Bruchac.

'Listen,' said the pilot. 'You've got a lot of work to do. Why don't I leave you to it?'

'Sure,' said the customs guy. 'I'm going to check the air filters and do a sweep of the s.h.i.+p. You can wait back in the ready room if you want.'

'No problem,' said Bruchac. 'No problem at all. Just give me a yell when you're done.'

76.

The Hopper's c.o.c.kpit was tiny. Chris Cwej squeezed in through the door and looked through the front window. Charter Pilot Bruchac was legging it across the tarmac. Chris grinned and tossed the work case into the co-pilot's chair.

He went down to the cargo deck. There were a couple of Ogron handlers still lugging boxes of equipment around, securing them for the flight. Chris smiled at them. Small eyes stared back.