Match of the Day

by Chris Boucher

  ‘If this works?’ Leela challenged.

  Fanson continued to ignore her. ‘And you’re going to owe me.’

  ‘Of course,’ the Doctor agreed.

  ‘If this works?’ Leela repeated.

  ‘We are already in your debt,’ the Doctor said.

  ‘I thought you said you were a genius and they would fall over themselves to turn us loose,’ Leela pressed. ‘Whoever they are.’

  ‘She pays attention,’ Fanson said, ‘I’ll give her that. Even if she doesn’t understand what she hears.’

  ‘I understand you,’ Leela snarled. ‘There are men like you in every tribe. Men who offer nothing but the sound of their voice. Men who live only by the strength of others.’

  Fanson was stung. ‘That’s not fair,’ he protested, addressing her directly now. ‘That is simply not fair. Without us you’d all scuffle your ugly way to an unmarked grave and you know it. You’d kill for no reason and nobody would earn or learn. Without the Guild there’d be chaos. There’d be anarchy. No one would be safe. We’d all be doomed. It would be the end of the world as we know it.’

  ‘It is a sure sign of stupidity when people think that the end of the world as they know it, is the end of the world as everyone knows it,’ Leela remarked.

  ‘She’s quoting you again, isn’t she?’ Fanson said to the Doctor. ‘What did you do, make her learn one piece of meaningless crud a day?’

  ‘No, she’s not quoting me,’ the Doctor said, smiling. He was not even sure that she had modified something he’d said to her as she sometimes did. So where had it come from he wondered. She couldn’t read properly yet so she couldn’t have got it from the library in the TARDIS, unless it was one of the talking books. That could be it, or it could be something she’d worked out for herself. From time to time he was struck by how remarkable Leela was and he found himself wondering how long he could put up with a travelling companion who was constantly challenging...

  ‘So self-generated gibberish then,’ Fanson said. He glanced back at Leela. ‘I should stick to fighting. You move better than you talk.’ He stood up and stretched clumsily. He was plump and out of condition and it was clear that his back was stiff from sitting.

  Leela snorted and to stop her from stating the obvious even more obviously the Doctor said quickly, ‘I’m sure your advice will prove to be exactly what we need to know to get us out of here.’

  Fanson grinned. ‘She’s right, I talk better than I move.’

  Once again he looked directly at Leela. ‘That is what you were going to say?’

  Leela shook her head. ‘I was going to ask why you do not use the ritual form of words which is politeness and good manners? Is it that you are not afraid because there can be no violence here?’ She held up her hands to show the wrist bands.

  Fanson looked genuinely puzzled. ‘I’m a fully accredited, guild-registered agent. You’re a contract duellist.’ He shrugged and held his hands palms up in a dumb-show of blank bewilderment. He looked at the Doctor. ‘You’ll need to be careful with that one. One of these fine days she’s going to forget who she’s supposed to be fighting and why.’

  ‘Tell me who that is again?’ the Doctor asked, hoping Fanson might launch into another vaguely informative rant.

  He took care to keep his tone casual though, so that the question could be treated as a joke. ‘And the reasons?’

  ‘Very funny,’ Fanson said dryly. ‘Still not an acceptable defence.’

  Since the traffic computer paid no more attention to pedestrians than it did to vehicles it was not controlling, Keefer’s decision to walk along the edge of the road as far as Aerospace Main offered no problems. Once there though the spaceport perimeter would present him with precisely the opposite situation. The security computers had very clear directives. Nobody crossed the ‘port boundaries on foot.

  A kilometre from the first of the vehicle checks Keefer left the motorway shoulder and once more headed out across country. This time there were no woods or fields, only wide expanses of scrub criss-crossed with firebreaks.

  It was an unusual and bleak landscape, which was why Jerro Fanson had proposed it as a killing ground for one of Keefer’s early fights. He had even got sponsorship deals out of a couple of low-orbit freight companies that lifted out of Aerospace Main but then the ‘port authorities had vetoed the idea. They claimed to be concerned about public safety in a designated

  launch-and-recovery

  crash

  zone.

  Keefer

  remembered Fanson’s furious reaction. ‘Public safety my backside!’ he had yelled. ‘Their poxy security circuits couldn’t tell a contract duellist from a sandy fort, that’s why! Couple of shots in the vicinity of a scanner and we’d be knee-deep in snatch squads rushing about shoving stun-guns up each other’s arses!’ I must thank Jerro for this idea, Keefer thought, as he pinpointed a scanner, squatted just beyond its range and reviewed what was left in his weapons belt.

  He might have added: if it works, but one of his fighting strengths was that doubt had no part in his preparations. If it came at all the thought of failure followed a long way behind the action. Age and experience would gradually narrow that gap until doubt and movement happened together. A talented fighter might survive long enough to anticipate the moment and retire, but to date very few had managed it. A fight too far brought that slightest of hesitations that lost them contests with younger, less knowledgeable duellists.

  Satisfied that he had the necessary firepower, Keefer looked around for a reference marker. He chose the Lunar-Express control tower and quizzed the Ginko Navsat about his position. It took a moment or two for it to locate him within a circle of about a metre radius. That was the trouble with cheap mass-produced wrist compasses: their satellite beacons were always overloaded so the computing was slow and the accuracy less than pinpoint.

  He keyed the wrist unit to record the coordinates then wrapped his duelling handgun in sprayfilm and carefully buried it. There was no way he could think of to get it onto a ship without a carrying prompt and he couldn’t get one of those now. When this was all sorted out he’d come back and pick up the gun along with his career. If this was all sorted out. For just a moment this time the thought did come into his mind, but it made no difference to his plans and it certainly did not affect what he was about to do.

  * * *

  When Fanson came back from his scheduled court session there were dark shadows round his eyes and his mouth was set in a thin, grim line. ‘Is your case going badly?’ the Doctor asked, closing the casebook he had been consulting. Fanson breathed a heavy sigh and sat down on the bench beside him. ‘I’m not sure how bright I’ve been about this,’ he confessed. ‘I chose direct interrogation instead of a court appearance and an open pleading. I am innocent. They were right it was the logical choice.’

  ‘They were right?’ the Doctor asked.

  Fanson glanced at him, gave a small distracted shake of the head, and went on, ‘There’s no chance the computer can read me any other way. But I’ve had a preliminary and now a supplementary and they still haven’t turned me loose.

  Something’s not scuffling right.’

  ‘Did you tell the truth?’

  Fanson smiled a half-hearted smile. ‘Technically.’

  ‘You did not then,’ Leela said from the other side of the room where she was now trying to prise open the scanner plate. ‘What was the reason for that? There is always a reason. You cannot always spot what it is but there is always a reason.’

  It was clear how low Fanson must be feeling when he answered her directly and without any sign of irritation.

  ‘Point is it was some sort of computer foul-up got me here in the first place. I don’t know how bad it is.’ He shook his head.

  ‘I don’t know how bad it is.’

  He was talking to himself as much as to Leela, the Doctor could see. ‘Yet you chose to rely on this computer?’ he prompted.

  ‘It’s a glitch. Can’t be anyth
ing else. I am innocent.’

  ‘The computer doesn’t make mistakes. Interesting,’ the Doctor said. ‘Just this one or all of them?’

  ‘It’s all one and they don’t lie. They can’t lie, you know that.’

  Leela prowled back across the room and stood in front of them. ‘But you can,’ she challenged. She glared at the Doctor. ‘He can lie. You know he can lie.’

  Fanson was still too depressed to react. ‘Not to the computer,’ he said, shaking his head slightly as if to emphasise the impossibility of the idea. ‘The computer can’t lie and it can’t believe a lie. You can lie to other people, you can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to the computer. The computer knows what the truth is.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re lying to yourself then?’ the Doctor suggested. ‘Have you thought of that possibility?’

  Fanson rallied at last. ‘I’m innocent, not crazy.’ He looked at the Doctor suspiciously. ‘You’re not a plant are you? They haven’t put you in here to convince me that I did it have they?’

  ‘This computer,’ Leela asked the Doctor, ‘is this like the god of the Tesh?’

  ‘No,’ the Doctor said. ‘These are just machines. Merely machines,’ he corrected himself. Whether they were just or unjust machines remained to be seen. All that could be said with certainty was that they were dominant in this society.

  ‘Then why does he listen to it and do what it says?’

  ‘It’s the law, it seems,’ the Doctor explained.

  ‘Why are you discussing me as though I’m not here?’

  Fanson demanded.

  Leela ignored him. ‘What was it you told me: if it looks like a duck, and it walks like a duck and it quacks like a duck.’

  ‘It’s probably a duck,’ the Doctor said.

  Leela shrugged, ‘So if it speaks like a god, and he treats it like a god, and it rules him like a god would rule him...?’

  Leela offered.

  ‘It’s probably not a duck,’ the Doctor said and beamed at her. When he had told her that tired old duck routine, which he had always found quite amusing, he had not even been sure she had understood the basic point. And she had never seen a duck to the best of his recollection. But here she was adapting the argument to make a point of her own. She was getting quite sophisticated in her thinking. He really must try not to underestimate her.

  ‘Enough of this,’ Fanson declared. ‘Let’s get to the gore.’

  ‘Get to the gore?’ Leela asked.

  ‘A colloquialism meaning let’s get on with it, I imagine,’ the Doctor suggested. ‘A nos moutons, cut to the chase...?’

  ‘You never stop talking do you,’ Fanson commented. ‘And a good chunk of it doesn’t make any sense at all.’ It was not a criticism. ‘You’re a natural. If fighting comes as naturally to her, you’re going to be huge one of these fine days.’

  ‘We have to get out of here first,’ the Doctor said.

  ‘When you do, and if I haven’t, I want you to do something for me.’ Fanson’s expression had become earnest, too earnest to be entirely convincing. He leaned closer and looked the Doctor directly in the eye. ‘A favour?’

  The Doctor could not help smiling at the blatant effort to manipulate him, but he had said he and Leela were in his debt and he had meant it. ‘Yes?’ He had meant it at the time.

  Fanson’s expression did not change. ‘Find Keefer, find my fighter. Tell him what’s going on.’

  He had meant it at the time but this was potentially a bigger favour than the Doctor had in mind and a commitment he was not anxious to make. ‘Tell him what’s going on? I’m not sure I know what that is,’ he said hoping that Fanson might take the hint. It was, he realised immediately, a forlorn hope.

  ‘Tell him there’s something wrong,’ Fanson said. ‘Tell him I think there might be someone out to get us. Someone major.

  Someone with serious contacts,’ he dropped his voice slightly as though he had only just realised what that might mean.

  ‘I’m talking a big player. Warn Keefer to keep his head down.’

  ‘Why should we do that?’ Leela demanded.

  ‘Because I helped you. Because we’re...’ For once he seemed genuinely at a loss for words.

  ‘Because we’re in this together,’ the Doctor said. ‘We’ll do our best.’

  ‘I need your promise,’ Fanson said.

  The Doctor nodded. ‘I promise we’ll do our best.’

  Fanson was not satisfied. ‘Your word as an agent, on the life of your fighter?’ he pressed.

  ‘No one swears on my life,’ Leela interrupted angrily. ‘It is my life and mine alone. No one swears on my life except me.’

  ‘Then I want your word,’ Fanson said and, when Leela remained silent, he added, ‘Gratitude not one of your strengths then.’

  ‘I will give you my word as a warrior,’ Leela said, her voice cold and flat, ‘we will find this Keefer and warn him.’

  Fanson smiled cheerfully. ‘Good enough,’ he said and stood up and stretched.

  Watching him the Doctor got the distinct impression that Fanson was pleased with himself and the way things had just gone. He probably saw this as a successful negotiation, or possibly as a successful con. As far as the Doctor was concerned it could have been either.

  ‘Do you want to rehearse your open court arguments?’

  Fanson offered. ‘I’ll stand in for the referee.’

  ‘Why not?’ the Doctor said. ‘You can never be too well prepared.’

  Fanson sat down on the edge of the workstation and folded his arms. ‘In the arena,’ he intoned, ‘only the fundamental kill rules apply. This is a sacred trust of which I am the sole trustee.’

  ‘I object,’ the Doctor protested. He stood up and pulled his hat from his pocket and jammed it on his head. Then he put his hands round the lapels of his coat and grasped them lightly in the best courtroom manner. He had often thought that the wig and gown worn in certain eras and jurisdictions on Earth were rather appealing. ‘I object,’ he repeated. If he had realised this was going to happen he might even have been able to find some appropriate legal robes in one of the wardrobe rooms of the TARDIS. ‘As a material witness and a direct participant I challenge your right to sit in authority here.’

  ‘No,’ said Fanson. ‘No, no, no. You must remember Doctor

  “challenge” is not a word to be used lightly. He could take it as a legal justification to kill you right there, right then.’

  Despite the fact that he had been studying case law and listening to detailed advice from Fanson, the Doctor still could not quite believe what he was hearing. This was a technologically advanced society whose attitude to killing didn’t seem to have got beyond the stone-axe stage. And they had what appeared to be a sophisticated legal system entirely devoted to deciding who could hit whom, when and with what. ‘I won’t be armed,’ he said, rather lamely.

  Fanson nodded. ‘Which is a very good reason not to take the chance of using words like challenge. And take that thing off your head;

  ‘My hat? What’s wrong with my hat?’

  ‘It looks ridiculous.’

  The Doctor took his hat off and turned it around in his hands, shaping it and dusting it off ‘It so happens,’ he said,

  ‘this a particularly fine fedora.’ He put it back on top of his untidy mop of hair. ‘It has been admired across the galaxies.

  Universally admired.’

  ‘The court could take it as an insult. You really do not want them to take anything about you as an insult.’

  The Doctor smiled broadly. ‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. It would be a legal justification for killing me right there, right then?’

  ‘It could lead to a challenge that you might find it difficult to avoid,’ Fanson explained patiently, obviously stating the obvious.

  This is madness, the Doctor thought. I’ve let myself be talked into accepting this primitive nonsense as if it were normal and now I am actually trying to fit in with it. I’m trying to work my way th
rough a system devised by homicidal maniacs to accommodate their insanity. But before he could voice any of this, the rehearsal was abruptly interrupted by a proximity speaker. ‘Subject Jerro Fanson will attend a final assessment in Interrogation Suite Seven,’ it whispered with chilling clarity. ‘The Interrogation Controller will be in attendance momentarily.’

  Fanson got to his feet. The colour was draining from his face and for a moment he looked unsteady. ‘That was quick,’

  he said forcing a smile. ‘They must have sorted out the glitch.’

  ‘What happens if you refuse to attend?’ the Doctor asked.

  Fanson rubbed the wrist bands. ‘There’s a time limit on these now.’ He was still pale but he was steady now. ‘They’ll have sorted out that scuffling glitch.’ He started to walk away. ‘I’ll be out before you are,’ he said without looking back.

  Chapter Five

  In the Aerospace Main’s surveillance suite the Shift Controller watched Sita Benovides out of the corner of his eye and wondered idly what pulling rank would do to his chances. He had made a couple of jokey references to her prospects in ‘port security if she ‘got close to the right people and made the... right connections’ but she didn’t seem to understand or else she chose not to.

  She was younger than the other squad leaders and there was something about her cropped, black hair and slim, almost boyish figure that he found particularly appealing.

  Skin like cream satin, he thought, picturing it taut over supple swells and curves... He shifted in his chair. Perhaps it was time to make her understand.

  What the Shift Controller did not understand was that Sita was already close to the right people, if not quite in the way he had in mind. In fact she comfortably outranked him. Any trouble and his prospects in ‘port security were not promising. As it happened his prospects for walking were not good either since she planned to break both his legs if he ever got up the nerve to put a hand on her.