Part 20 (1/2)

'Early reports have already proved that the new life form is not robotic or simulant in nature, and that the slugs meet all criteria necessary to be cla.s.sed as living beings. The discovery has rocked the scientific establishment, with most dismissing it as an absurd hoax. . . '

'It's a hoax,' croaked Halcyon. 'Has to be!'

'It has has to be a hoax,' said Roddle, biting on his knuckle. 'But there still has to be an enquiry.' to be a hoax,' said Roddle, biting on his knuckle. 'But there still has to be an enquiry.'

'It's a trick!' Halcyon whimpered. 'Agitators trying to stop the Grand Orchestration!'

'I'm sure the enquiry will prove that, and quickly.' Roddle put on his gravest face. 'I just thought somebody should tell you the news. When I heard about this I went straight to Sook, but. . . '

'Where is she?' he said, with icy quietness.

'I don't know,' said Roddle. 'I can't find her anywhere. It's like she's just vanished. . . '

'. . . The news may signal a reprieve for the tiny moon of Leda, due for vaporisation this very evening along with fifty-nine other minor satellites, leaving just the Ancient Twelve in orbit around the gas giant. The planned demolition is a spectacular highlight of celebrity decoratiste decoratiste Aristotle Halcyon's Unclutter project known Empirewide as the Aristotle Halcyon's Unclutter project known Empirewide as the Restore the Wonder Restore the Wonder programme. . . ' programme. . . '

111.

Falsh turned his back on the screen and stared out at the s.p.a.cescape.

'Klimt,' he breathed, 'you son of a b.i.t.c.h.'

As ever he kept imagining movement out through the window. Little s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps, no doubt, streaking on their way to Leda fruitcakes and fanatics, so-called experts hoping to wh.o.r.e themselves out to the media for their opinion. . . The heavyweight journos who'd scorned the moon-blitz press junket as low-brow filler would be weighing up this story and streaking over in the time it took to set up an expense account.

'. . . If the hastily convened enquiry rules a moratorium on this evening's planned demolition of Jupiter's moons, it is Aristotle Halcyon currently on Callisto preparing for his much-publicised live broadcast, and so far unavailable for comment who stands to lose the most.'

'Wrong!' roared Falsh. It's me! It's me! he thought. Me he thought. Me who stands to lose the most! who stands to lose the most!

Loss of advertising revenue, loss of publicity, loss of credibility. . . 'They'll say we did no preliminary surveys!' 'They'll say we did no preliminary surveys!'

'. . . Criticisms have been made of the preliminary surveys allegedly carried out by Halcyon's sponsors Falsh Industries. The big question is why weren't these s.p.a.ce slugs observed sooner?'

He swung back round in his chair. 'Nerren. I want Phaedra's R and D team a.s.sembled immediately from the labworks on t.i.tan. And contact Tinya. We're heading out to Callisto early. We're going to blow this sick joke out of the skies and then we'll do the same with those satellites as programmed.'

'. . . the recent accidental demolition of Carme one of the Ancient Twelve actually marked by Halcyon for preservation. . . '

'Doctor!' Trix shouted. 'It'll be over by the time you get here!'

'. . . and the unscheduled demolition of Thebe which NewSystem Deconstruction, the company responsible, has described as ”a controlled test, routine and of no importance” '

'Ha!' said Trix.

'. . . have both been d.a.m.ned by the Empire Trust. Halcyon inventor of Halcytone and known favourite of the President was to present a lavish four-hour spectacular tonight at the newly built Medicean Stadium on Callisto. The vidcast hinges upon the total destruction of sixty of Jupiter's satellites. The planetoids have been deemed to have no further commercial or creative value and marked for destruction. The Empire Trust has denounced the move to junk Jove's moons as shortsighted. . . '

Nerren peered through the tinted gla.s.s of Tinya's office. She sat at her desk with a slightly glazed expression. Mails were flooding in, her computer chiming for each new arrival like it was marking the seconds. Bubblescreens 112 inflated and popped from her trilling vidphone, and her cell was vibrating with message alerts and missed calls, slowly working its way along the desk as if trying to leave home.

Nerren burst in. 'Sorry to barge in on you, Tinya,' he yelled over the din, 'I couldn't reach you any other way.'

She looked at him. 'Have you come to take me away from all this?'

He smiled sympathetically. 'Falsh wants to get going.'

Tinya nodded. 'You've come to drag me into the heart of it.'

'. . . saying these satellites can still fulfil a useful role in the proposed repopulation of the solar system, and that Halcyon's proposed means and methods were ”shortsighted solutions denying future generations access to these historically valuable artefacts”. . . '

Halcyon was pet.i.tioning the President by vidphone. 'Madame, you must understand I have a four-hour live vidcast planned, and to climb down at this stage would be so. . . ' Her dreary voice dragged down his already-flagging spirits. 'Can hands so mighty really be so tied? Surely some of the moons at least can be safely blasted! You're aware that the projected advertising revenues run into trillions of dollars. . . ?'

'. . . Experts agree that the chances against new life developing on Leda are incredibly remote. But the very existence of these s.p.a.ce slugs, apparently thriving on a freezing, airless, low-gravity world, has excited the imaginations of the Empire's scientists who are clamouring to undertake their own investigations. . . '

'Sook, this is Roddle.' As he spoke into the intercom he heard his own voice echoing in the corridors outside. It was kind of a nice effect. 'You'd better report to your office. It's crisis time. Halcyon needs you. Sook, respond, can't you? Everything's messed up!'

'. . . Gaws Murphy, the discoverer of the s.p.a.ce slug or as some would hold it, the perpetrator of the most fantastic stunt this century only came across the creatures by accident. His suds.h.i.+p made an emergency landing on Leda following an altercation with NewSystem Deconstruction sentinels in the process of building a force blockade around the moon. . . '

'Doctor, quick quick!' Trix turned back to the set as Gaws Murphy appeared, a grinning loon whose top lip was carpeted with a ginger 'tache.

'. . . ”My guidance systems were malfunctioning; Leda was the nearest solid body to affect recalibration. The NewSystem sentinels were operating in Hostile Prime setting, in contravention of the s.p.a.ceways code, but somehow I got 113 past their blockade. And when I touched down, I swear swear. . . these furry big brown slug things were burrowing out of the rock!”'

Falsh turned off his wristset. 'Get on to NewSystem,' he told Tinya, as they made their way to the conference suite on board his flyer. 'Draft a statement with their people, find out if those sentinels were were placed on Hostile Prime.' placed on Hostile Prime.'

'They were,' Tinya said flatly. 'You ordered NewSystem to keep out any stray s.p.a.ce traffic cranks and fruitcakes trying to grab a chunk of a Jove moon before it '

'So blame it on technical error,' he snapped. 'But they're not to stand down, understand me? We have to be ready. Get a call through to Halcyon, too.

Tell him we're going ahead with the show. I'll see if I can get through to the President. We've got eight hours. We can still swing this.'

'We could maybe show reruns of the Asteroid Belt sweep,' Tinya suggested.

'The sponsors won't stand for it,' said Falsh. 'We have have to turn this around. to turn this around.

Think about it this news has woken up the whole Empire. Everyone everyone in existence will be tuning in tonight to see what's going to happen. We have to be the ones who will manage expectation.'

'But if we keep billions of people guessing and then the pyros are a no-show. . . '

'The President must be made to see we need this broadcast. Too much is riding on the Unclutter project, we can't put it into limbo for months and months on account of an outbreak of G.o.dd.a.m.ned s.p.a.ce slugs s.p.a.ce slugs!'

Fitz followed Sook out of the TARDIS. She was shuffling slowly, like she was afraid that too big a step might see her walking away from reality for good.

'It isn't possible,' she whispered. 'You could fit a cathedral in there.'

'I know,' Fitz agreed. 'Cool, isn't it?'

'Transdimensional engineering on that scale. . . it's revolutionary, it's a miracle! And it really travels?'

'Yep. When it's not run out of mercury, anyway. It's how I came to be here.'

'And you're from another time, naturally.'

Fitz shrugged. 'You said yourself, I don't fit in.'

'But the PadPad '