Part 27 (1/2)

There wasn't much in the way of attractions on the outskirts of town, and naturally no one realised that Pent Central had seconded the area for secret s.p.a.ce-slug research.

149.

Pent Cent security treated her like dirt. Falsh Industries' presence here was plainly endured under sufferance; they'd been allocated a small shed situated at the back of the compound, part.i.tioned from the main hub of activity by a military checkpoint. The President might have wanted Falsh in on this, but the military didn't.

Once she'd made it unscathed through the leers and jeers of the squaddies at the checkpoint, Tinya walked on to the makes.h.i.+ft labworks. It was quiet and deserted, the rusted buildings like great tombstones. They had marked the end of one age; now they found themselves pressed into service to help usher in a new. She found the Falsh shed without difficulty: an escape capsule a large, silver cylinder was sat on the loading pad just outside, the distinctive Falsh brand picked out on its side in sparkling Halcytone.

Tinya marched up to the shed entrance and waved her pa.s.scard over the entry-panel. A desultory bleep told her she had no access. But a neat young man in a sterile mask swelled out of a bubblescreen, looking her over.

'Cinnamin Tinya, PR. Falsh Central Station,' she said primly. 'I got you in here.'

The young man raised his eyebrows, tugged down his mask and smiled. 'So we've got you to blame, huh?'

The door slid open and Tinya walked inside. She squinted the light was brighter and harsher than the fake sunlight outside. Despite the glare, it was actually like walking into a freezer, the air-con rumbling out of an antiquated system high on the corrugated iron wall. A collection of workstations had been set up by the door, ringed in by portable equipment banks lining the wall. But most of the floors.p.a.ce had been part.i.tioned off and a sterile chamber erected a diaphanous plastic tent suffused with light. Misshapen silhouettes loomed against the walls as staff milled about inside.

She waited for the man to come over to her. 'Where's Phaedra?'

He gestured to the sterile tent.

'Get her,' said Tinya. 'All right, everyone.' She dapped her hands, like a teacher bringing a kindergarten cla.s.s into line. 'Gather round.'

A slim woman, anonymous in headscarf and sterile mask, emerged from the sterile tent. She freed her red hair from the scarf and looked at Tinya with a mixture of irritation and expectancy. This must be Phaedra. Her staff, all dressed identically, bobbed behind her like shadows.

'You've come to open the escape capsule,' Phaedra surmised.

'It won't open?' Tinya frowned.

'Requires code override.' She shrugged. 'I haven't the time or the manpower to spare, lady. Whoever Falsh put inside, they can stay there and rot for all I care.'

' Falsh Falsh put them inside?' put them inside?'

150.

'Turns out the capsule was transmitting his personal recognition codes.

Once we set the beacon it touched down on automatic.'

'Pent Cent gave you no trouble admitting it to land?'

She shrugged. 'President told them to give us a free hand. So long as it stays on our side of the fence they don't care.' Phaedra's eyes narrowed. 'You've got a lot of questions, lady. I was figuring you were here to give us some answers.'

'I'm here,' said Tinya, reaching down the neckline of her tunic, 'to give you these.'

She placed two tiny capsules in Phaedra's hand.

Phaedra stared down at them, confused. She opened her mouth to speak then the communicator chimed.

Tinya was already making for the door.

'Call coded red maximum,' the comms-voice informed them.

'Falsh, and about time,' said Phaedra.

The capsules burst open in her hand and a thin, evil-smelling gas steamed out.

The doors closed behind Tinya just as the screams started up.

151.

Chapter Nineteen.

Trix wasn't sure if Falsh was laughing or crying. 'Years of research,' he said.

'Billions of wasted dollars. High levels of foreign investment '

'You mean fish-face chipped in,' said Trix.

'Shhh,' hissed the Doctor.

'And nothing but those d.a.m.ned slugs to show for it.' Falsh mopped at his forehead with the sleeve of his expensive suit. 'Oh, Klimt was a clever son of a b.i.t.c.h. Fobbed me off with plans and promises and prototypes. . . when all the time he was redirecting the finance into his own pet project.'

Trix looked at him doubtfully. 'Slugs?'

'The development of an ent.i.ty that can flourish in any environment. An animal that can bring life to the galaxy's wastelands, dead areas.' Falsh shook his head. 'Turns out Klimt was a bona fide nut.'

'And that's why you wanted the Inst.i.tute blown to bits,' Trix realised. 'Not to cover your tracks once you stole the weapon '

'But to cover up the fact that the entire venture was nothing but a spectacular failure,' the Doctor interrupted. 'Why involve yourself in weapons research in the first place? Your portfolio was surely broad enough.'

Falsh looked at him as if he were mad. 'That's like saying a man can be rich enough. I'm a businessman, Doctor. I see an opportunity for profit and I'm not supposed to go for it?'

'Not if this is how things end up,' said Trix.

'Klimt misled you,' said the Doctor thoughtfully. 'But he gave you the paint. . . '

Falsh shrugged. 'Some offshoot of his crazy research.'

'How can it be an offshoot?' Trix pulled a face. 'I mean, paint and slugs don't really go together, do they?'

'But nevertheless, that doctored Halcytone's a useful tool,' said the Doctor.

'I see now why you're so keen for your conference podules to catch on. Paint them with that stuff and you've got eyes and ears in every company that happens to hire them out.'

Trix had to admit the simplicity of it was beguiling. 'Then you just sell on insider information or act on it yourself.'

'Wait,' said the Doctor. 'Halcyon's the President's favourite. She must use this stuff herself. . . '