Zamper

by Gareth Roberts

  In a file on Smith’s computer, the Doctor found a detailed map of this region of Zamper. With his fountain pen he copied down the important details. X marked the point of access to cave 74D.

  He turned of the screen, scribbled a note for Smith, and slipped out of the hut and into the night, heading west.

  The specimens watched him go.

  Chapter 6

  Hezzka ignored Ivzid’s petty smirks in the morning. He refused to allow the brat any satisfaction from his discomfort, although the unformed fears of his nightmare remained. The feeling was hard to pin down, and seemed to disappear whenever he tried. It was rather like, he thought, coming across an old letter penned by oneself, in an associate’s belongings; the writing is one’s own, the words are one’s own, but the content is forgotten pieces of tittle-tattle and outgrown habits. The creeping repulsion he felt at the thought of the dream was operating on a level of his mind beyond conscious control, as a background murmur to his ordered waking thoughts.

  One of the servitor disc-machines entered their room, buzzed, and announced that a morning meal was shortly to be served in the dining room at the end of the accommodation hall.

  Ivzid lurched forward, raising a foot to prevent its departure. ‘You, machine. You will explain the events of last night.’

  ‘It is not in my function,’ the disc replied. ‘Refer your query to the host.’ It buzzed again, turned smartly and glided out.

  ‘Here, as on Chelonia, it is always somebody else’s fault.’ Hezzka tapped Ivzid on the shell in a gesture that he hoped would reassert his authority. ‘We will take our morning meal.’

  Ivzid hissed. ‘I do not like this, General.’ He gestured next door. ‘Who are these new parasites? Why did one of them enter our suite? I grow warier by the moment. I say we should go to the Secunda parasite and demand the return of our monies until our questions are answered. Also, the weapon, I feel need of it –’

  ‘Hold your tongue. We will discover more by subtle means than by force.’ He motored forward. ‘We will take the morning meal.’

  Ivzid muttered something, loud enough to be overheard. ‘Pah. Cowering like an aged crack-shell in the night, babbling of bad dreams…’

  ‘Ivzid!’ Hezzka controlled his anger with difficulty. ‘To what do you owe your allegiance?’

  ‘The glorious empire of the Chelonian race,’ he replied bitterly.

  ‘That is so. Do you know what sustains the empire? Respect! To speak dishonourably of a superior, that is the credo of the usurper’s mutinous rabble, and the way of the parasites you so much detest! If you have thoughts on the handling of this mission, you will address them in a manner suitable for an officer of your rank. Do you understand?’

  Ivzid looked away. ‘Yes, General.’

  ‘In the meantime, I am placing you on report.’

  ‘What?’ Ivzid’s nostrils flared. ‘Sir, you can’t –’

  ‘I already have. When we return to the fleet your appointment will be subject to a full appraisal.’ Hezzka weighed up his decision. The words had come before he’d had time to consider, but this had to be for the best. Little more than a hatchling scout, Ivzid had been promoted too far and too fast. Disloyalty had to be weeded out, strength of character built. ‘Now. No more shall we speak of this. To the morning meal.’

  Briskly he left the room, aware of Ivzid’s eyes burning on his rear.

  Forrester had insisted on staying awake all night. When Bernice had revealed that Chelonians possessed X‑ray eyes and cyber-enhanced hearing, she’d pulled her into the shower cubicle, drawn the curtain, and switched on the flow, then demanded a full explanation. In spite of her unexpected encounter in the next room, Bernice was very tired. Yes, the Doctor was all right, yes, the TARDIS was all right. Probably. Promising to reveal more in the morning, she collapsed next to Cwej and got some sleep in. She found Forrester asleep in the jacuzzi as the lights came up for morning, still wearing her jacket, her boots dangling over the sides. She was muttering something about betrayal and aliens. In a strange way she looked rather sweet.

  Cwej availed himself of the range of toiletries provided in the room’s cabinet. As he shaved he asked Bernice, ‘You’ve met these Chelonians before, then?’

  ‘They’re old enemies of mine. The Doctor and I bumped into some quite a while ago.’ Briefly she was lost in the distant memory. Her first few trips in the TARDIS had been almost fun, the Doctor the friend she’d always wanted. ‘There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then. Goodness me, yes. Sorry, you were asking?’

  ‘Chelonians?’

  ‘Oh, right. Well, they’re just an average bunch of cybernetically-augmented hermaphrodite giant tortoises who want to destroy the human race, and came closer than most. Or will come close, or did come close. Tenses are a bit of a problem when you’ve travelled as much as I have.’ Cwej was staring at her oddly. She realized how much she sounded like the Doctor. ‘The lot we met got trapped in a time loop, poor things, but much the safest place for them.’

  ‘I suppose they’ve come to buy a ship from this place.’

  ‘Hmm. I don’t think any Chelonian worth his shell would do deals with humans. They regard us as parasites, you know.’

  Cwej finished his shave and got dressed. ‘That’ll make Roz’s day. She’s been looking for an alien to beat up ever since we got here.’

  Bernice had an idea. She put a finger to her lips, then tiptoed over to the jacuzzi. Holding her nose she grated, ‘You-are-an-en-e-my-of-the-Da-lek-race-you-will-be-ex-ter-min-a-ted…’

  Forrester leapt from the jacuzzi, hitting her head on the shelf above and dislodging a row of perfumed shampoos. She regarded the laughing Bernice and Cwej with undisguised venom. ‘If you could see how childish you look.’

  Violet artificial sunbeams shone through the slats of the blind in Smith’s bedroom. As dawn broke her sleeping form was revealed. Still dressed in her day clothes, she lay with her face in her pillow.

  A voice came from her Inscreen. ‘Smith. Smith?’ The Management crackled into existence on the screen, his face obscured by a widening pattern of interference. ‘Smith, where are you? I can’t see you.’

  She mumbled something, turned over and over.

  ‘Smith, I must talk to you. We have lots in common. I can’t talk to the others. It’s urgent. Where is the Doctor? Smith!’

  There was no reply from the sleeping scientist. In their cage, the three specimens burbled urgently to each other.

  ‘Smith, I can’t – I can’t hold on much longer. This manifestation is… failing… You must find the answer. My power is weakening… They’re taking my power. Please, Smith. Smith! You must find them. Only you I trust. The others, I can’t trust them. First Nula, now I’m sure the others plot against me… They’re using… Zamper must continue, you must help me!’

  The picture faded.

  Smith slept on.

  The Zamps fell silent.

  On foot, it took the Doctor a couple of hours to reach the area marked on Smith’s mapscreen, which was west along the border of the big lake. Walking through the darkness, swinging his umbrella as he went and whistling to keep himself company, he was brought up several times by movements in the water that turned out to be his reflection, ghostly and white. The starless sky and the clear atmosphere created an eerie effect.

  When he was certain of his position, he cast about for the particular rock formation that had been marked on the mapscreen. In the night it was hard to orientate, and he wandered along in the gully formed at the base of the undulating hillocks, stopping now and again to get his bearings. After a few minutes occupied in this manner he came to what looked like it might be the correct opening. With the sharp end of a piece of rock he marked the site with a question mark, and slipped through, umbrella forward, squeezing his shoulders and taking a deep breath.

  The darkness beyond was cold and wet. The moisture from the lake had seeped through into the caves in this area and he could hear water flowing in the distance
. Probably an overflow tide. He pushed himself through the narrow channel that led downwards, compressing his slight frame using a trick he’d learnt from… well, from somewhere he couldn’t remember. His torchlight he extinguished, thinking that a later moment might present a greater need for it; and besides, he could navigate almost as well by hand and through use of his well-honed senses.

  Some way further down the channel grew too narrow to traverse, and he was forced to climb back up and lift up his arms before going down again. Stretched out, he pushed himself downwards like a worm. His face was streaked with dirt as he pushed it through the foot-wide space. It would be rather undignified, he thought as he pushed himself down again with a shove that scraped the skin off his legs where his trousers had rolled up, to get stuck down here.

  ‘This,’ he muttered, ‘must be something of how it feels to be a Zamp.’

  After an anxious night, which she spent watching the wall-light for any signs of a further power loss, the Secunda carried out her morning routine without deviation, taking coffee from the servitor and settling back to view the new day’s market reports. The data-coil link inset in her desk did not respond to her request for an update. She knew at once that this wasn’t an equipment failure. The thing was inert. But the internal lighting was on, and the servitor was unaffected.

  She turned in her chair to her Inscreen. Only rarely had she made use of her right, as Secunda, to summon her superior. ‘Management. I request your presence.’

  There was no response.

  The Inscreen flickered and he was there, in monochrome. His face had frozen in a frown and when he spoke his voice was thin and reedy. The image could have been a transmission from three star-sectors away. ‘You called?’ He was, she realized, trying to sound confident.

  Keeping her expression and her voice calm and steady, she asked, ‘I’m having a spot of bother with my data-coil link.’

  ‘Just-just an equipment failure.’ Static flared.

  ‘Oh good. That’s all it is. Only there doesn’t seem to be any power.’

  ‘There is just-just a fault in the-in the power distributor-tor links. Power is being reserved for esse-essential functions. Business can proceed smoothly.’ A thick bar of colour superimposed itself over the top third of the screen, and his eyes switched from red to green to blue. A brief moment of confidence that soon faded; he must have realized he was lying to himself. ‘Business can proceed smoothly. Business must proceed smoothly. Business-ness must proceed-eed smoo-oothly-ly.’

  And he was gone.

  The Secunda took a deep breath and called up the operator. ‘Madam?’ The simulation sounded as calm as ever. She asked for Mr Jottipher.

  The dining hall’s numbered tables, napkin rings and toastracks put Bernice in mind of a provincial guest house. A couple of servitors buzzed over as she, Cwej and Forrester took their seats, and hovered with an air of waiterly deference.

  Forrester shook her head as Cwej handed her a plastic wipe-clean menu. ‘I can’t read that.’ Although the format of the menu was familiar the notation was in rows of aggressive-looking hieroglyphs.

  One of the servitors reacted to her words, chimed, and the menus instantly rearranged themselves in English.

  Cwej chuckled. ‘There you are.’

  ‘If somebody’s treating you well, they’re expecting something,’ she said. ‘I wonder whether we’ve got it to give.’

  ‘Robots don’t need tipping.’ Bernice examined the menu. ‘Coffee and croissants all round okay?’ The servitors took this as a command, dipped and buzzed away.

  ‘We can’t pay,’ said Forrester.

  ‘We’re guests, we don’t have to. Relax.’

  The door crashed open and the Chelonians ambled in, their internal mechanisms grinding and clanking. The younger one glared at them and growled ferociously. Bernice reached across the table and laid her hand on Forrester’s arm to warn her against replying in kind. ‘Morning,’ she called chirpily to the newcomers.

  ‘You are the one that entered our room last night,’ said the older Chelonian. Bernice noted the red stripe on its shell.

  ‘Yeah, sorry. I’ve had a bit of a knock on the head and I got our room numbers mixed up, General.’ She could smell her own fear mixed in with the unmistakable odour of the Chelonians. They smelt like old leather upholstery.

  ‘We were not expecting more humans,’ said the younger Chelonian.

  ‘We weren’t expecting to be here. We got lost,’ said Cwej. ‘Just passing through.’

  The younger moved closer, clicking its teeth deliberately to scare them. Bernice fingered her tablemat. Forrester looked as if she was about to burst. ‘You got lost?’

  Cwej said ‘yes’ in a small voice.

  There was a distraction that fortunately took away the Chelonians’ attention. Taal appeared, grinning obsequiously at them all. His cheeks were ruddied and the strands of wheat-coloured hair plastered over his head were sticking up, making him appear faintly ridiculous. He’d been drinking. ‘Morning all.’ The cynicism beneath his words did not go unobserved by Bernice. ‘All well?’

  ‘Who are these new humans?’ the General demanded. Bernice looked into his eyes and registered a quality she’d not previously accounted a Chelonian. He was curious, and unlike his junior seemed unwilling to reach conclusions. ‘We were told only five of you lived on Zamper.’

  ‘Guests of the Management, General Hezzka,’ said Taal. ‘Quite unconnected to your visit. I’m sure you have nothing to fear.’

  The wrong thing to say. ‘We do not fear parasites!’ The younger Chelonian reared up, showing its teeth again and a glimpse of its bright red tongue. ‘You intend to deceive us!’

  ‘Not at all, Mr Ivzid.’ Taal spoke with an air of experience. ‘No need to concern yourself. All is well.’

  ‘Come away, Ivzid.’ Hezzka beckoned his junior with a motion of one claw. ‘We will take our morning meal.’

  Snarling, Ivzid followed the General to a table on the far side of the room. A little confused by the chairs they pushed them aside and examined the menus.

  ‘This is crazy,’ said Forrester. She shook Bernice’s hand away and sneered at Taal. ‘You’re going to sell those – those things a battle cruiser?’

  ‘It’s not for me to make a moral judgement.’

  ‘The eternal excuse of the arms dealer.’

  ‘If it wasn’t us it’d be somebody else, love.’

  ‘Likewise.’

  Bernice was relieved when the servitor-discs returned. Suspended between them was a tray laden with a coffee pot and cups and a plate of croissants, which they lowered on to the table.

  ‘There must be some sort of penal code out here,’ Forrester went on, twisting in her chair to keep up with Taal as he moved away. ‘You’re selling out your entire species.’

  ‘We’re neutral and I couldn’t care less.’ He turned to the Chelonians. ‘Gentlemen. Your orders?’

  The General lifted his heavily lidded old eyes. ‘I will take the smasti nuts.’

  ‘Twice,’ barked Ivzid.

  Taal nodded graciously and waved the servitors off on the errand.

  There was a long and terrible silence. Bernice looked from side to side. Both sets of diners stared at each other, with Taal hovering inbetween. Forrester locked eyes with Ivzid. Cwej and the General shuffled uncomfortably. If the Doctor were here, she wondered, what would he do?

  She reached for the coffee pot. ‘Shall I be mother?’

  Ivzid roared. ‘You mock us!’

  ‘Sorry. Just an expression. No offence given.’ She poured. The coffee slopped out, lumpy and cold. ‘Er. Taal?’

  Cwej waved a croissant. ‘Are these meant to be frozen solid?’

  All eyes were now on Taal, who shrugged. ‘Small equipment failure, I’m sure.’

  Bernice wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. Hezzka rumbled. ‘Another power failure? I am suspicious of these failures of yours.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ivzid tapped his front feet toget
her. ‘We demand an immediate explanation. A full explanation.’

  ‘I will personally look into these matters right away,’ Taal said as he backed hurriedly from the dining room. His fingers fumbled for the door handles and he was pushed aside by a young girl, dressed in an identical red suit with Z emblem, on her way in. They collided, apologized, and Taal was gone.

  The girl smiled hesitantly. ‘Hello, everyone,’ she said with little confidence. ‘I’m Christie, your hostess.’

  Hezzka tapped Ivzid on the shell. ‘Come, First Pilot. We are leaving.’

  ‘Yes. These parasites insult us.’ As they passed by the humans’ table, Ivzid fixed Forrester with a contemptuous glance and let fly a string of blobby mucus that landed on the shoulder of her jacket. ‘Parasite scum!’

  Forrester beat her fists on the table. ‘I don’t believe this. What I’d give for a gun!’

  Cwej dabbed at her shoulder with a handkerchief. ‘You’d probably miss. Try not to get so worked up. They’re only giant turtles.’

  Bernice examined the new arrival. The girl had tried to cover up her unhealthy complexion with layers of blusher, giving her the aspect of a painted doll. Strangely, the muscles of her arm bulged against the fabric of her suit. After introducing herself, Bernice waited for a reply. The girl grinned feebly but said nothing.

  ‘You must see a lot of alien races here,’ said Bernice.

  The girl performed a shaky gesture with her hand, half indicating herself and half pointing to nothing. It seemed to describe her relationship to the rest of the universe. Her eyes were checkout-dulled, thought Bernice. ‘I’m new,’ she said. ‘I’ve never met Chelonians before.’

  ‘Let’s go and find the Doctor,’ Forrester said, standing. The shoulder of her jacket was bleached where the Chelonian mucus had landed. ‘It’s time we got away from this place.’

  Christie waved one of her fingers again. 'Actually, I’ve got a message for you. Well, it’s specifically for Professor Summerfield. The Secunda says would you like to take tea.’ As she spoke, something in Cwej’s body language drew Bernice’s attention. He was standing unnaturally, his legs slightly bent, and his dopey half-smile was dropping as fast as his blink-rate increased. Oh, surely not.