Match of the Day
Page 11
Indeed why should it be as neither of them lived there?
Which of the two Keefer chose to go up against would depend, he decided simply, on which ships were leaving for where in the next few hours. He didn’t realise as he scrolled slowly through the lists that this made it somewhat less than a random choice. When he found what he was looking for he booked a one-way flight claiming seat priority and Class A personal security, but cancelling the rest of the open ticket in favour of a full cash refund in the strongest trademark currency notes.
The machine questioned the transaction politely but loudly:
‘All leading reassurance and crime-prevention companies advise against carrying cash.’ There was an element of blackmail in the volume of this announcement. By drawing the attention of everyone within earshot it was assumed that customers would feel vulnerable enough to change their minds. ‘We would be failing in our duty not to warn you of the danger you will be in with that number of currency notes on your person.’
A fluorescent flashing Rob Me would be subtler, Keefer thought.
‘Would you care to revise your instructions?’ the teller finished in a more reasonable tone.
‘No.’
While the machine printed and registered the currency with the Central Bank of Sumana it tried one last time. ‘Are you sure you understand the risks?’
‘Yes.’
‘I doubt that,’ a voice behind Keefer said softly, and he felt something pressed lightly into the small of his back. He made no attempt to turn round. ‘Don’t even think about turning round,’ the voice went on, ‘what you don’t see may not kill you. Yet.’
‘Here is your currency,’ the machine said, pushing the wad of brightly coloured notes forward between its dispensing rollers. ‘Please check the transaction and confirm that it is correct.’
Keefer needed to know what his adversary was using. ‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked.
‘Please check the transaction and confirm that it is correct,’
the automatic teller repeated automatically.
‘Well?’ Keefer was coldly focused now, waiting for the combat options to open out.
‘Take the money and say it’s right, you stupid scuffwit,’ the voice had a smirk in it, ‘unless you want to be a freelance kidney donor.’
Too confident to be bluffing, and the wordplay was knife not gun. Slowly Keefer reached for the money. A knife in zero-G? Had to be laser-enhanced. Lethal range on a decent blade: fifty centimetres set for slash; for stab, maybe half that. It would be cued for stab and the less conspicuous kill.
He took the money and riffled through the notes. ‘The transaction is correct,’ he said.
‘Thank you for using Instacash, the currency that counts,’
the machine crooned as it closed down.
‘Okay lets go.’ Another light touch on his back. ‘Put the cash in your pocket and head for the cheap washrooms.’
Keefer pushed himself off. He didn’t bother to pretend that he was having difficulty with weightlessness, although that might have given him an edge. Somehow he wanted this man to understand what he was taking on, as much as he could ever understand, because if it came to a fight killing him would be unavoidable. He wondered briefly whether that had been in his mind all along, right from the moment he decided to draw such a lot of cash in the crowded GA sector.
Chapter Eight
From behind the darkened windows of one of the lock-up’s official runners the Doctor and Leela could see the assembled news crews waiting in front of the main building. There was none of the pushing and shoving and general mayhem the Doctor had been expecting. ‘They seem remarkably restrained,’ he remarked. ‘Not exactly the press pack feeding frenzy we’d been led to expect.’
The driver was a gaunt man in late middle age. He glanced in the mirror and grinned at the Doctor. ‘You don’t push your luck while the little boss is in the building,’ he said. ‘Not if you know what’s good for you.’
‘Not even the press?’ the Doctor said.
‘Not even the press,’ the driver chortled. ‘It came as a nasty shock to them when they found out he was lurking about in the background with the surveillance tridees on manual override.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Leela asked in a tone that suggested she understood what he had just said.
‘Word was he’s not keen on you two getting any more free publicity, not from his court, not if he can help it.’ He guided the runner onto the motorway feeder ramp and stopped it while he set the default preferences on the control board.
When he was satisfied that everything was functioning properly he released the brakes and relaxed, turning round in the seat and giving his full attention to his passengers. ‘I watched the case like everyone else,’ he said, as the runner jerked into motion and took itself into the traffic stream heading down onto the motorway. ‘I listened to the expert commentaries and the studio discussions. And the thing of it is I still don’t know whether you planned the whole thing right from the beginning or not.’
‘We did not,’ Leela said flatly.
‘Not that it really matters,’ the Doctor remarked.
‘It really matters to the little boss,’ the driver said. He put a skinny elbow on the back of the seat and rested his chin on his forearm. ‘Word is he thinks you did, he thinks you used him and his court and he is not a happy man.’
‘I’m amazed he let us go under the circumstances,’ the Doctor said. ‘Last time I saw him unhappy he shot someone.’
‘He has let us go?’ Leela asked suspiciously, her hand on the hilt of her knife.
If the driver noticed the threat he gave no indication of it.
With the slightest of shrugs he said, ‘The law of attack’s the law of attack. He represents the law of attack. He wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t within the law. Nobody kills without the little boss’s sign-off on the rules, that’s a scuffling big job when you come to think about it. Must weigh heavy on a man.’
‘Especially a small man,’ the Doctor said and found himself wondering what other laws there might be - and if in fact there were any. Surely there had to be other rules apart from those relating to killing. No society, not even a sick one like this, could function without some routine laws. If they were going to make a token effort to find this man Keefer it would probably be a good idea to get a notion of how everything else worked. ‘It’s not as if he’s responsible for all the laws though,’
he said casually, as though he was thinking aloud as much as making desultory small talk.
‘Well no,’ the driver agreed. ‘But the non-combat stuff is...’
again he shrugged, ‘sort of routine and a bit dull, right?’
‘Right,’ the Doctor said, nodding. ‘Important though. Can’t have people stealing and swindling and breaking traffic laws.’
The runner had settled into a central lane of the motorway and was travelling at a steady unthreatening speed. Around it in the other lanes other traffic was moving at other speeds.
Vehicles switched places, weaved in and out of lines of traffic, speeded up, slowed down; and every shift and movement was smoothly controlled and subtly choreographed by a powerful and totally reliable computer.
‘That’s what they tell us the cops are for,’ the driver snorted. ‘Not convinced myself. Scumsucking scufflers to a man in my experience. Even the women. What do you reckon, Doctor?’
‘I haven’t had a lot of experience of them,’ the Doctor said.
‘I should try to keep it that way if I were you,’ the driver said gravely.
‘I’ll do my best,’ the Doctor said and, thinking this conversation was a waste of time after all, looked out of the side window at the convoys of the heavy, driverless freight carriers they were routinely overtaking.
But the driver was not to be discouraged. ‘So what does it all mean then? I mean what does it mean for the noble contest?’
‘What does what mean for what noble contest?’ the Doctor asked with
out thinking.
‘There you go, you see. You’re not old school are you?
You’re no respecter of tradition are you?’
‘I suppose not,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘I’ve always been a bit of an iconoclast.’
‘What you did back in the Court of Attack, what does it do to the way things are supposed to be, do you know? Do you care?’ He looked at Leela and smiled unconvincingly. ‘You broke a basic rule and you got away with it didn’t you? You broke a fundamental rule. That’s what it comes down to.’
‘No,’ Leela said. ‘I know the rules by which a warrior lives. I broke no rule.’
The Doctor was suddenly aware that for no immediately apparent reason the conversation had taken a minor turn for the tense. ‘The little boss didn’t think that’s what it came down to,’ he said reasonably. ‘He found in our favour remember.’
‘The little boss is old school,’ the driver said. ‘He hasn’t liked the way things have been going for a long time now but he doesn’t know what to do about it. I know for a fact he’s been spitting blood over the Maidenly-Baloch match.’
The Doctor saw an opportunity to avoid the developing confrontation. ‘He doesn’t like the Maidenly-Baloch match?’
he prompted.
‘He’d ban it if he could.’
But as ever Leela was not interested in being diplomatic.
Her general hostility and suspicion had subsided very little despite their release from the lock-up. She fixed the driver with a narrow-eyed stare. ‘Where are you taking us?’
The driver looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘I’ve set it for Central and then I thought you could direct me, Doctor.’
Leela pointedly looked out of each side window and then glanced back to the rear. Finally she leaned forward to peer in the direction they were going.
The Doctor smiled at the driver. ‘So what’s the problem with the Maidenly-Baloch fight?’ he said. ‘Not old school enough I suppose?’
‘Is this the way to Central?’ Leela asked. ‘I do not think it is.’
‘What makes you say that?’ the driver asked indignantly.
The Doctor shot Leela an angry glare. ‘Yes, what makes you say that,’ he said.
‘This does not look like the way to Central,’ she said confidently.
The driver’s indignation had given way to anger. ‘Are you questioning my professionalism?’ he demanded.
‘Are you questioning his professionalism?’ the Doctor asked.
‘I am questioning what he is doing,’ Leela said and began to draw her knife.
‘Pull that thing and I’ll blow your scuffling head off,’ the driver said calmly from behind the handgun that he was resting on the back of the seat.
‘Leela,’ the Doctor warned, putting a restraining hand on her wrist to stop her from drawing the knife anyway. He felt her momentary coiled impulse to attack before she relaxed and sat back.
‘That’s right,’ the driver said. ‘You listen to your agent and just sit back and enjoy the ride.’
‘You’ve made your point,’ the Doctor said. ‘We’ll do as you say. In the meantime perhaps you’d like to point that thing somewhere else.’
The gun never wavered. ‘Now you’re questioning my professionalism,’ the driver said. ‘Both of you put your hands on the arms of the seat, palms down.’
The Orbital Transfer Station’s cheap washrooms were deserted. The law required low-cost facilities to be provided in all public gathering places, but very few people used them.
The feeling was that if you couldn’t afford to pay a private rate to eliminate your bodily wastes the chances were you had unsanitary habits or an uninsured disease.
Circumstances alter cases but they seldom affect prejudices and although travel off planet was denied by law to such low-level deviants the subsidised lavatories were avoided here just the same.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ Keefer said as he floated into the compartment. The stiff-curtained cubicles with their bog-standard electrical suction units were all silent and empty.
He halted his drift at the nearest one. ‘Are you going to kill me?’ he asked. If he knew precisely where the man was then not knowing which hand the knife was in wouldn’t matter.
Most of the knifers he had come up against were ambidextrous and fought flicking the weapon from hand to hand, probing for weaknesses. But was this a fighter, and how would weightlessness affect the technique?
‘The money,’ the voice said.
Keefer made a show of reaching for it. His opponent’s position still wasn’t exact enough so he closed his eyes and said, ‘I said are you going to try and kill me?’
There was a fractional pause. ‘Try and kill you? No problem. Money. Money!’ The last word was louder, fiercer, and Keefer knew the man would be thrusting his head forward to speak it.
The human ear picks sound direction poorly but with the source close and with breath-smell to supplement the sound data, Keefer could place him now exactly. He opened his eyes. Got you, his mind exulted. He flipped the wad of notes over his right shoulder, and when they passed out of his peripheral vision he grabbed a safety handle and pivoted, twisting himself to the left.
The man was short and thickset with a Western-zone cast to his features. He held the laser blade in his left hand and with his right was hesitating about reaching for the spinning cash. He had been ready for any move but his attention was divided and it marginally slowed his lunge. That was all Keefer needed. He parried the stiletto, pushing it outwards so that it missed his chest and seared a neat hole in the plastic wall.
As the man tried to draw back for a second stab, Keefer used the momentum and the superior purchase from his hold on the safety handle to turn the moving blade. He didn’t waste effort struggling for possession but simply braced the man’s grip on the knife and jerked him forward.
The laser punched through the man’s side and severed his lower spine. A helpless spasm clenched through him and he began to twitch uncontrollably. Keefer barely looked at him as he took the knife from the nerveless hand and dispatched him with a single blow up through the jaw and into the brain.
Without really thinking about it Keefer swapped IDs with the dead man, shoved the corpse into one of the cubicles, and carefully sealed the curtain. He retrieved the money and then, when he had satisfied himself that there were no obvious signs of a struggle and that he looked normal, he left the washrooms and headed for the Geewin system embarkation zone.
The stocky young man with the white streaked, shoulder length hair was clearly furious. ‘You did what?’
‘They wouldn’t have come otherwise.’ The driver looked to the Doctor for confirmation and, oddly, for support. ‘You wouldn’t have come otherwise, would you?’
They were standing by the parked runner in an area of small, single-storey houses squeezed onto narrow, individual plots of scrubby land. The buildings were little more than shacks and here and there along the dusty access road a straggly tree struggled to remain upright and alive.
‘Given the choice,’ the Doctor said rubbing his wrists to emphasise the point, ‘I do normally prefer a less binding invitation.’
‘I cannot believe you pulled a gun,’ the young man raged,
‘and then wrist clamped them, you stupid old scuffwit.’
‘Hey!’ The driver jabbed an angry finger at the young man’s face. ‘You do not talk to me like that. I am your father and I did what I did for you.’ He turned his back on the young man. ‘And anyway the gun wasn’t loaded.’ He went round to the other rear door of the runner, to where Leela was still sitting with her wrists tightly secured to the seat arms. ‘The gun wasn’t loaded you know,’ he said to her. ‘If that helps at all.’
‘It does not help at all,’ Leela said through gritted teeth.
‘I’m sorry if I affronted your dignity,’ the driver said. ‘Not if, I didn’t mean if, I mean obviously I did affront your dignity.
I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be -’
He leaned in through the front door and flicked the release switch. ‘You have the right to try and kill me,’ he said. ‘I accept that:
‘Do not talk like a fool,’ Leela said coldly. ‘I am a warrior. I do not kill stammering old men.’ She stepped out of the runner and stretched, not deigning to rub the circulation back into her wrists as the Doctor had done. ‘A warrior does not kill without reason. I do not kill without reason.’
‘You see?’ the young man said. ‘I told you. I told you it was a whole new way. I told you they were the first of a whole new way.’
‘Good,’ the Doctor said cheerfully. ‘Now that we’ve got that all sorted out perhaps you’d like to explain why you brought us here?’
‘I want you to help my son,’ the driver said.
‘Why?’ the Doctor asked. ‘Is he in trouble?’ He turned to the young man and smiled. ‘Are you in trouble? Because, if you are, I think I’m probably not the person you should be talking to. I’m not even sure what constitutes trouble around here.’
‘I’m a fighter,’ the young man said. ‘At least I want to be a fighter. I’ve been training for a long time. I’m fit; I’m fast; I’ve got the classic moves all nailed down.’
‘All except one,’ the driver said, allowing an edge of bitterness and contempt to touch his tone. ‘The only one that really matters. The only one that really counts.’
‘I want to be a duellist. I want to be a pro.’
The driver threw up his hands in mock disbelief. ‘But he doesn’t want to kill anyone.’
‘I think that’s admirable,’ the Doctor said. ‘But what’s it got to do with me?’
‘I want you to represent him,’ the driver said. ‘As far as I can see you’re his only chance for survival.’