Part 18 (2/2)

'It didn't in this case. Now, don't worry, I'll sort out the Doctor problem. Think of it as a goodwill gesture. I'll see you tomorrow in Istanbul. Good bye!'

Baskerville handed Anji back her phone.

'Where were we?' Anji asked sweetly.

Every alarm in the museum was ringing.

The huge entrance hall was knee deep in water you took half a dozen steps down from the street to get in, and so the whole ground floor had acted as a reservoir for the floodwater.

The Doctor and Malady waded through.

'Where are we headed?' Malady asked.

'In here, Cosgrove's lot can't use surveillance satellites or helicopters to locate us. And Jaxa and Roja won't be able to hit us with sniper fire, they'll have to get closer. They're trained, but well, the boy didn't last long fighting hand*to*hand, did he?'

Malady still felt guilty about beating up a child. She had his raygun in her hand, and he had been firing at her she had no doubt she'd be dead now if she hadn't. But there was a basic belief hardwired into her brain that you don't hurt children.

She hadn't hesitated last time. She hoped she wouldn't hesitate next.

They were wading towards a large staircase at the end of the entrance hall, one that curved up to the upper galleries. It was mid*afternoon, and sunlight poured through the small windows lining the ceiling, like golden spotlights, casting deep shadows.

This hall was full of enormous sculpture. Malady was no expert, and all the signs describing the exhibits had been washed away, but she recognised Greek G.o.ds when she saw them.

'I guess these must have stood in the temples,' she said.

The Doctor looked back at her. 'Yes. Don't worry, they'll survive a bit of water. They've survived worse than that over the centuries.'

Most were sitting. They'd have been twenty feet tall standing up, Malady guessed. What was knee*high water to her barely lapped their ankles. They were perfectly white, perfectly proportioned idealised forms of beauty. It wouldn't be difficult to wors.h.i.+p them, she thought, particularly before they'd been dwarfed by the office blocks outside, and had stood taller than a house.

'They aren't going to stop coming after us,' Malady said.

'No.'

They could already hear more helicopters overhead.

'Normally we could make an escape through the sewers,' the Doctor said. 'Out of the question for the moment, of course.'

'We're cornered.'

'We're alive, and as soon as we step outside we won't be.' They'd reached the stairs. Seven steps up, and they were on dry land again. It felt odd not to feel the water dragging against her s.h.i.+ns.

The Doctor paused for breath. 'Sorry,' he said, 'it's been quite a busy day. Let's get up to the galleries upstairs, we'll come up with a plan there.'

'So who are you?' Anji asked Baskerville.

'I was surprised you hadn't heard of RealWar. That is my little empire. I'm sixty years old, Anji. Too young to have lived through the Second World War. My parents could remember it. And we were the first two generations in human history where the young men didn't expect to be called up to fight. Yes, there were wars Afghanistan, the Gulf, Mexico but they were fought by specialists. Professional soldiers, not conscripts.'

'You joined up.'

'I did. And I did because I wanted to fight. Somewhere, deep inside all of us we all want to fight all men anyway, perhaps it's different for girls. But you know what American and European kids did? They didn't join the army, they still wanted to fight, but they didn't want to die die. So you know what they did?'

'Er... became football hooligans?'

Baskerville nodded. 'Some of them. Many became footballers or took part in other compet.i.tive sports. Some took up shooting, or martial arts.'

'G.o.d, all the teenage boys I knew spent all their time watching television.'

Baskerville grinned. 'Precisely. Most Most of them just did that sat in front of the television, watching wars, or kung fu movies, or contact sports. And playing computer games shooting people, beating them up, infiltrating enemy bases and stealing secret plans. They played at being precisely the sort of soldiers they would never dream of becoming in real life. You know why?' of them just did that sat in front of the television, watching wars, or kung fu movies, or contact sports. And playing computer games shooting people, beating them up, infiltrating enemy bases and stealing secret plans. They played at being precisely the sort of soldiers they would never dream of becoming in real life. You know why?'

Anji laughed. 'Because when you're killed in Half-Life Half-Life you don't actually die.' you don't actually die.'

Baskerville nodded. 'Exactly. A very simple, yet also very intelligent reason. The best reason in the world, in fact... but it did make fighting wars increasingly difficult, because governments were expected to run wars like computer games, with no one really dying. At first, they just pretended no one was dying just didn't show those bits in their briefings. But that didn't fool anyone.'

'So you came up with the solution?'

'Oh yes. RealWar. Teletroops robot soldiers, controlled from a distance. Cheap, completely expendable but the bullets they fire are just as real as if there was a real squaddie firing them.'

Anji gave her best 'everyone knows that' look. 'You invented them?'

'Yes. Invented them, marketed them. But I a.s.sumed... I'm a Russian, Ms Kapoor. We still haven't got the hang of capitalism. We have... well, capitalism in Russia is exactly what the Soviets used to tell us it was gangsters and faceless international financiers s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g us out of all our money. I a.s.sumed the robots would be driven by professional soldiers, but '

'But the real whizzkids are the computer gamers. And the computer gamers love to play a game that isn't a game, they love to fight a real war where there's no risk of dying.'

Baskerville nodded. 'It took my ten years to realise that, but you've got it straight away. You really are good at your job.'

'I'd buy shares in your company,' Anji admitted. 'Robots fighting robots... that's almost ethical, isn't it? '

'Ah.' Baskerville hesitated. 'Well, my robots are cheap, but not that cheap. In the event, only the EZ and the Americans can afford them in anything like the numbers where they're an effective subst.i.tute for a human soldier. So... more often than not, it's robots versus humans. Another thing I didn't antic.i.p.ate... the teletroopers don't like their opponents to be robots. They relish the idea of going after humans. They have to be drafted in to fight other robots, but to go up against people people... they'd pay for that privilege. Once the powers that be realised that... well, market forces. So the robots started paying for themselves.'

Anji felt ill. 'People paid to kill other people?'

'Only to kill bad bad people,' Baskerville said sarcastically. 'It was how the war against terrorism was won. The computer told you who was a terrorist and who wasn't, with eighty percent accuracy, anyway, and the teletroopers went in and blasted them away, paying good money, all from the comfort of their living rooms. And if you weren't fighting, you were watching the ultimate reality TV show, for the highest stakes imaginable.' people,' Baskerville said sarcastically. 'It was how the war against terrorism was won. The computer told you who was a terrorist and who wasn't, with eighty percent accuracy, anyway, and the teletroopers went in and blasted them away, paying good money, all from the comfort of their living rooms. And if you weren't fighting, you were watching the ultimate reality TV show, for the highest stakes imaginable.'

Baskerville sat back. 'And, with my patents on the software and hardware, with my licensing agreements, with the tie*in books and games and toys and videodiscs... well, I became the richest man on Earth. Well... I think so. As I don't have an electronic presence, it's all black accountancy, but...'

'So... who do they fight now?'

Baskerville smiled thinly. 'You see my problem? How to maintain my position as market leader?'

'You're engineering the war between Europe and America?'

Baskerville nodded.

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