Part 22 (1/2)

WSZOLA, IAOMNET: Thanks. I'm particularly fond of the Mogarian sculptures. It's a shame they have to be kept in those gas containers: they're meant to be touched.

He was a short white man in a tweed jacket; she was a tall, dark-eyed agent of Imperial Intelligence, imposing in her uniform. Genevieve could have looked at her service record with a flick of her eye, but for now she concentrated on the securicam playback.

THE DOCTOR: I saw a museum like this in Paris.

WSZOLA: Where's that?

DOCTOR: Europe. Once upon a time. The spoils of conquest, treasures from Egypt and Europe. Very impressive, while it lasted.

WSZOLA: Why? What happened to the museum?

DOCTOR: The English came and took most of it away. The spoils of conquest.

WSZOLA: Aren't you going to ask me where we're going?

DOCTOR: Well, the list of possibilities seems pretty short.

You're taking me to a dingy and purportedly escape-proof cell.

WSZOLA: Or?

DOCTOR: You're taking me somewhere to stick electrodes in my head.

WSZOLA: Or?

DOCTOR: (pause) I suppose you could be taking me to your leader.

Genevieve's point of view gently rolled to a stop. Wszola and her prisoner came to a halt before a huge, rococo door. An error message apologetically explained that Genevieve didn't have the clearance to look inside.

DOCTOR: Oh.

WSZOLA: You're lucky, Doctor. Very few people outside the Council and a few select staff get to go through that door.

DOCTOR: It doesn't look very secure. Where are the guards?

The elaborate security devices?

166.

WSZOLA: We've pa.s.sed all of them already. That's why there's no lock on this door. If we weren't cleared to be here, we'd already be dead. Knock.

DOCTOR: Sorry?

WSZOLA: Go on. Knock knock.

The Doctor stepped up to the door and rapped on it twice.

'Anyone home?' he bellowed.

They stood there for a moment, the intelligence agent and her two armoured guards, watching the little man. He raised his hand, and was just about to knock again when the door cracked open, the two halves sliding apart and up like beetle wings. Green steam puffed out. The Doctor waved it away, muttering about theatrics.

The room inside was vast and dark. Genevieve couldn't make out any details. She wasn't sure if that was because it really was that dark in there, or because the securicam recording was quietly censoring itself.

The Doctor took off his hat and walked inside. More green steam puffed up from the floor, obscuring him. The door slid shut with a sigh.

Genevieve switched off the recording, snapped instantly back into darkness and silence. They'd just let him go in there. He'd been invited, he'd pa.s.sed all the security checks.

G.o.ddess, she had had to find out what had happened. to find out what had happened.

She called up the tank's menu and selected finish session finish session. The tank cracked and hissed as the liquid gently drained out, lowering her to the bottom. She felt herself grow heavier and heavier, until finally she was lying on the curve of the isotank's floor.

Her body servant, a Lacaillian with skin like the sky and the grace of a delicate insect, helped her out of the tank and the constricting suit and mask. She pulled on something practical and black, pulled her golden hair back into a practical ponytail, and sat down at her terminal. She was going to have to pull in a few favours to get access to the prisoner. Quite a few.

The Doctor sat in an ultra-security cell. Actually, ultra-security was supposed to involve enforced unconsciousness in a psi-proof cage, but after the media protests they'd decided to opt for a 167 normal high-security cell with a few additional bells and whistles. The Doctor had already done three interviews by the time Genevieve managed to get in.

One of the ma.s.sive doors at the end of the cylindrical cell hissed open. The force s.h.i.+eld inched its way towards where he sat on the bunk, until there was enough s.p.a.ce to comfortably admit her.

He was like something from a horror sim. The cold-blooded and insane killer who looks entirely harmless, even comic. The sims about the year of the disaster were full of characters like him quite a small man, wearing very crumpled clothes. She stepped forward, and the force s.h.i.+eld moved with her, until she was standing close enough to see his face clearly.

'They tell me you call yourself ”the Doctor”,' she said.

He lifted his hat. 'Unfortunately, no one seems to have heard of me.'

'Soon everyone will have heard of you,' she said. 'Is that why you did it? So you'd go down in history?'

The Doctor allowed his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. The room was bare, as though there was a corner of darkness. The room was bare, as though there was a corner of the palace they'd forgotten to plaster with ornamentation and the palace they'd forgotten to plaster with ornamentation and plunder. plunder.

The room was huge, as though it had to encompa.s.s crowds.

Now there was no one there. Just him.

'Excuse me?' He took off his hat. 'Is the Empress Gloriana at home?' home?'

Directly opposite him, a pale circle of green light appeared.

Ten feet across, a few feet above the floor.

He walked towards it, carefully, half expecting a bit of furniture to unexpectedly smack him in the s.h.i.+n. But his first furniture to unexpectedly smack him in the s.h.i.+n. But his first impression had been right. There was nothing in here. impression had been right. There was nothing in here.

Nothing but him, and the gnarled sc.r.a.p of a woman floating in the green sphere. the green sphere.

'I know you,' she said.

'No,' said the Doctor.

168.

'I'm sorry,' said Genevieve, 'I haven't introduced myself. I'm Genevieve ap Gwalchmai.'

'Ah,' said the Doctor, with a small smile.