‘What’s going on?’ Sita asked quietly through a fixed smile.
It’s a trap,’ Ronick muttered through an equally inappropriate grin. ‘Don’t know who it’s for but even if it’s not for us we should probably try to avoid falling into it...’
‘Surely we already have,’ she whispered.
The Doctor turned to face them. He beamed. Thank you for the ride,’ he said loudly and warmly. ‘It was most kind of you to help me. I do understand that you must be on your way now but please do call on me any time you’re passing.’ He doffed his hat to Sita and made a small, heel-clicking bow to Ronick. Now I’ve wasted enough of your valuable time so please do go. Now.’
Sita got back into the runner. Ronick hesitated. ‘There are armed men in there,’ he muttered.
‘It’s a fight school,’ the Doctor murmured.
‘That’s not what I mean and you know it.’
‘I’ll keep them busy while you do a runner in the runner.’
‘While I do what?’
‘Just go. Keep in touch. If you find out anything of significance let me know.’ The Doctor turned towards the building. ‘Off you go now,’ he said cheerily, walking away and waving without looking back. ‘You don’t want to be late.
Thanks again.’
As he reached the doorway the Doctor heard the runner leaving. Good, he thought. If Ronick was not just being paranoid there was a distinct possibility that it was Sita they were looking for. Of course if it was Sita they were looking for why had they let the runner drive away like that? Would anyone really have been fooled by his performance? Unless they didn’t know what she looked like. He pushed through the door into the gloomy, unlit foyer. Or they could just be useless at their job. It was odd how you always assumed that people knew how to do what they were doing. Everyone assumed he knew how to be an agent, for example. Lights came on abruptly and four men brandishing handguns stepped out of the shadows and confronted him. ‘Don’t move,’
one of them bellowed, ‘and put your hands behind your head.’
The Doctor smiled at him. ‘I can’t do both,’ he said, ‘so make up your mind which it’s to be.’
‘Put your hands behind your head while you’ve still got a head,’ the man snarled thrusting the gun in his face.
The Doctor’s smile broadened. ‘That’s not bad,’ he said. ‘A word of advice though. It’s been my experience that threats are more effective if they’re quiet. You’d be amazed how threatening a whisper can sound. That whole snarling thing lacks punch somehow.’ Even as he said it the Doctor thought
punch is not a good prompt to give him under the circumstances. And sure enough the man immediately punched him in the midriff. The Doctor put his hands behind his head and said through gritted teeth, ‘That on the other hand doesn’t lack punch. But it does lack subtlety.’
The man hit him again. ‘Try this for subtlety,’ he whispered. ‘You are under arrest for the murders of Pet Sanderonne and Raf Lee.’
‘Never heard of them,’ the Doctor said. ‘And it’s entirely against my principles to kill anyone I’ve never heard of. Or indeed anyone.’
‘Not even when they’ve murdered your best fighter?’
The Doctor suddenly went cold. ‘Murdered whom?’ he asked, afraid he already knew the answer.
‘Leela,’ the man said. ‘Sanderonne and Lee kidnapped Leela and then killed her.’
‘Why would they have done that?’ the Doctor managed to say. We should have left, he thought. As soon as I recognised all this for the sick barbarous stupidity it was, I should have insisted that we left. This is my fault. Stupid girl, this is my fault. Only she wasn’t stupid and this was all my fault.
‘Not our concern,’ the man said. ‘We’ll never know their motives but we know yours and that’s enough for us.’
And then suddenly the Doctor thought why should I believe these people: they’re wrong about me why should they be right about anything else? ‘Not in any court of law I’ve ever been in,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry we have all the evidence we need.’
‘I’m sure you have,’ the Doctor said. ‘What about Leela’s body?’
‘What about it?’
‘May I see it?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘They haven’t got her body, Doctor.’ The tall man with the smooth round face coming into the foyer from the direction of the locker rooms looked familiar. ‘We think the abductors destroyed the body after they had to kill her when their plan went wrong.’ It was the Enforcer of the Guild of Agents the Doctor realised.
‘We being...?’ the Doctor asked.
‘The police.’
The Doctor said, ‘I didn’t realise you were a policeman.’
‘I’m not.’ The Enforcer contrived to look shocked and slightly affronted but it didn’t seem entirely convincing to the Doctor. ‘I’ve been negotiating on your behalf and the police have agreed that as a registered member of the Guild of Agents you may exercise your professional right to be processed under the direct authority of the Court of Attack: He pulled the Doctor’s hands down from behind his head and drew him to one side. He lowered his voice conspiratorially.
‘That way at least you’ll be treated in a civilised fashion and there will be expert advice available to help you to decide on an appropriate defence strategy.’
A thought struck the Doctor. ‘Is that why Jerro Fanson was there and not in police custody?’
The Enforcer looked blank. ‘Who?’
‘He was one of your members who was charged with murder.’
The Enforcer shook his head. ‘It’s possible one of my subordinates handled it...’ He shrugged. ‘I only become personally involved with our more important members.’ He smiled and patted the Doctor’s arm.
The Doctor ignored the attempt to underline the obviously complimentary reference to his professional status. ‘Come to think of it,’ he said, ‘he was an agent whose best fighter disappeared.’
‘Coincidences happen,’ the Enforcer said uncomfortably.
‘Client poaching happens too I’m afraid:
‘The fighter’s name was Keefer.’
‘Doesn’t ring any bells, I’m sorry,’ the Enforcer said and took the Doctor’s arm. ‘The Doctor is ready,’ he said to the four waiting policemen, ‘to go to the Court of Attack lock-up.
He will agree to the use of temporary restraints if you feel they are called for.’
‘Will he?’ the Doctor said, playing for time. ‘I don’t remember him agreeing to that.’ It looked as though he was going to have to make a break for it and hope that the police were bad shots. He couldn’t allow himself to be locked up again and lose any chance to sort out this mess. And besides that, this was showing all the signs of being one of those brain-threatening frame-ups that seemed to be happening with startling regularity. Four armed policemen might be a bit of a risk but he didn’t really have much choice as far as he could see. Two more policemen came into the foyer from the direction of the locker rooms. ‘Nothing,’ one of them said.
Another one wandered in and shook his head. The Doctor decided to re-examine his plan. His natural optimism and his best efforts to think positively did not convince him that the chances of breaking free of seven armed policemen and then escaping in one piece were good.
‘I think temporary restraints are called for,’ the man who had hit the Doctor said. ‘In fact I’m calling for them.’ He gestured to the man who had wandered in last. ‘They’re in the first runner. Go fetch.’
The man went outside but came back in almost immediately, followed by an irritated-looking Ronick. ‘What are you doing with my prisoner?’ he demanded, jerking his head in the direction of the Doctor. ‘I didn’t bring him here for your scuffling benefit.’
‘Driftkiller?’ the man who had done the hitting said. ‘I said that was you.’ He glanced at the others. ‘Didn’t I say that was him? I said that was you.’
‘Right, well we’ve
established that it’s me,’ Ronick said.
‘Now what are you doing with my prisoner?’
‘You let him go.’
Ronick gestured at himself and his presence in the foyer. ‘It scuffling looks like it doesn’t it,’ he said scathingly.
‘As it happens,’ the man said, ‘yes it does.’
‘We left him here to collect some personal effects, you scuffwit. You know: valuable personal effects?’
‘There isn’t anything - we’ve checked.’
‘You’ve checked,’ Ronick snorted. ‘No problem then. You and this bunch of rejects from traffic control have checked.’
He shook his head and sighed. ‘You’re not dealing with some small-time thief here. This is the Doctor and he’s in it and digging deep. Why do you suppose I sent him in on his own?’
The Doctor smiled thinly. ‘I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Sergeant Ronick,’ he said with what he hoped was the right note of knowing disdain. ‘I’d quite forgotten that I keep absolutely nothing of value on the premises.’
Ronick stared at him speculatively for a moment or two and then turned his attention back to the policeman. ‘What I propose,’ Ronick said, making it ponderously clear that it was much more than a proposal, ‘is that my driver and I take him for a little tour in the runner while you and this fine body of men make yourselves scarce.’
‘Yeah we’re going to do that.’
‘I’ll see you and your lads are looked after.’
‘He’s under arrest.’ The man cast a nervous glance towards the Enforcer. ‘He’s under arrest for murder and he’s not even in restraints.’
‘I’ll put a couple of temporaries on him.’ Ronick flashed the remains of one of Sita’s wrist bands, taking care to conceal the cut. ‘What’ve you got to lose? He makes a move, I’ll kill him, right there right then. Save us all a lot of hassle.’
The Enforcer bristled with sudden indignation. ‘The Doctor is under my personal protection,’ he said. ‘I am here to make sure that nothing happens to jeopardise his legal position, and to escort him directly to the Court of Attack.’
‘Who is this again?’ Ronick asked.
‘I am the Enforcer of the Guild of Agents.’
Ronick said, ‘I’m impressed. Now shut your scuffling mouth or you’ll find yourself under arrest along with this curly-haired streak of slime.’ He beckoned the Doctor with an imperious finger. ‘And don’t be here when we get back, all right?’ he said to the assembled policemen as he bundled the Doctor through the door and hustled him out across the compound towards the waiting runner.
‘I don’t think I care for curly-haired streak of slime,’ the Doctor murmured.
‘I think it sums you up quite well considering,’ Ronick muttered.
They clambered into the back of the runner and Sita set it in motion. ‘Was it him they were waiting for?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Ronick said smugly. ‘They had him on his way to the electric scalp massage.’
‘I’m accused of a double murder,’ the Doctor said.
‘Did you do it?’ she asked
‘Did you?’
‘I’m the only one here who isn’t a fugitive from justice,’
Ronick said. ‘All I have to do is wait until the price on you two peaks and I can retire with honour and dignity and enough money to indulge myself to death.’ He smiled and his eyes vanished briefly behind their folds of flesh.
‘What about your friends in the force?’ the Doctor asked.
‘Won’t they report you to your superiors?’
‘He hasn’t got any,’ Sita said. ‘None that he acknowledges anyway.’
‘Your friend the Enforcer bothers me,’ said Ronick.
‘And a duellist named Keefer bothers him,’ the Doctor said.
‘Keefer?’ Sita asked. ‘Something special about him?’
He’s disappeared,’ the Doctor said thoughtfully. Leela’s disappeared too. She vanished when she went looking for him. His agent was a man named Jerro Fanson. On the basis of what’s been happening I’d say he was framed for murder.
Was that because he was Reefer’s agent I wonder? I’ve asked questions about Reefer too.’ He looked at Sita. You obviously haven’t though. His name meant nothing to you.’
Sita said, ‘I have been asking questions about a mystery man who went through ‘Space Main security like it wasn’t there. I didn’t get a chance to find out what his name was but I know he was fast and I know he was clever, and he could have been a duellist.’
‘He could have been this Reefer then,’ Ronick said. ‘So my feeling is that what we do now is assume they are one and the same and go and look for him.’
That’s pretty thin,’ Sita remarked.
‘That’s what I was thinking,’ the Doctor said. ‘That really is rather thin.’
The fat policeman smiled chubbily. Thin works for me,’ he said.
Chapter Fourteen
Keefer was disappointed with himself. This was not the way to approach the problem. He stepped over the body of the Fat Boy he had just shot and took the short sabre from his not-yet-cold but definitely dead hand. He was a professional with an instinct for counterattack and yet here he was running round this huge indulgence of a space monstrosity like some psycho brawler with a grudge, constantly looking for a fight.
From time to time he confronted and killed a ceremonial security man for no other reason than that they had got in his way and tried to kill him. He examined the razor-sharp sabre, hefting it and admiring its lightness and its perfect balance. It was a nice weapon but no match for a handgun, not even a handgun with reduced muzzle velocity. Why have a security force who dressed in battle thongs and used these things?
He smelled the food on the second hakai-warrior fractionally before he heard him, and heard him fractionally before he saw the movement flicker into the extreme of his peripheral vision. In a single smooth action he ducked to one side and stepped forward, pushing upward and turning in a pirouette made possible by the reduced gravity. As he spun he threw the short sabre at the ample gut of the onrushing giant. Although knife throwing was one of the secondary disciplines Keefer had been working on before he set out on this journey, he was coldly pleased and professionally satisfied to see the blade plunge home, stopping the huge man in his murderous tracks. It didn’t look as though he would have to waste a precious bullet to get past this one.
Grimly the hakai-warrior glared at him and then with a grunt staggered on trying to get within striking distance.
Keefer took several steps backwards. The man stopped again.
He was clearly losing focus and his strength was draining away. He staggered forward, stopped and stood swaying uncertainly, staring at Keefer with unseeing inward-looking eyes. He dropped his own blade and tugged at the handle of the one that was stuck in him. It slipped in his hands and he tried again, pulling it at an angle. The savage sharpness of the blade cut through him quickly and easily. He fell to his knees and his intestines flopped wetly out onto the deck, and he died.
‘You people eat too much and your blades are too sharp,’
Keefer muttered as the reaction to the fight made him shiver and feel momentarily nauseous. He picked up the blade that the man had dropped. He wondered briefly why the hakai-warriors didn’t throw these short sabres when the chance was there. They were perfectly balanced for throwing. ‘You could have thrown me dead as soon as you saw me.’ Maybe it was against their code. No guns, no throwing. ‘Too easy for you, Fat Boy?’ A lot of warrior cults were more interested in rules and superstitions than in getting the job done. It was a sort of arrogance and like all arrogance it was based on stupidity. ‘You’re underestimating me. You and the Lady Hakai are seriously underestimating me.’ He moved on down the corridor. Getting the job done was all any of it was about.
Finding her and finding out what was going on: that was all he had to do. Hakai-warriors might have a whole different agenda, but that was their problem. His problem was that
he could spend a lifetime wandering about and never come close to his target. She could be anywhere. She could remain hidden and wait for him to die of old age. And sooner or later the Fat Boys would start to take him seriously enough to forget some of their superstitions and cut through some of their rules: he swung the blade a couple of times to loosen himself up again. This was too much like an open contract: they would keep coming without challenge and he would keep killing them until he missed one... He ran quickly through his sense-sharpening routine. He needed a new tactic, one that would bring the Lady Hakai to him. He must get hold of something she valued and force her to come for it.
But what does a woman who can have anything she wants really value? It had to be something that she needed. He had to take something that she couldn’t do without. And then it struck him. It was obvious, he realised: he had to take the ship.
She lay almost completely outside the range of the lenses of the watching eyes. Part of one foot was all that could be seen.
It twitched and cramped in barely discernible spasms.
‘Leela?’ The pilot’s voice was panicky. ‘Leela! Leela what’s happening, has something happened? Leela?’
She lay behind the curtain of the ablutions unit, with her foot part way through the small gap she had left, and faked the involuntary movements that might be the result of striking her head, or choking, or whatever it was that had struck her down as she was entering the small cubicle.
‘Leela don’t do this to me! I’m in no mood to be scuffled about with.’
He sounded almost convinced, Leela thought. He needed a bit more encouragement. She made the smallest of whimpering, gargling sounds in her throat and twitched her foot. Was it enough, she wondered? She knew she had only one possible chance at this. If she did not fool him now, if he saw through the ruse, she could not try it or anything like it again.
‘Leela I know there’s nothing wrong with you.’ The pilot’s words were saying one thing but his voice was saying something different. She could hear his uncertainty. ‘Stop playing games, Leela. It’s not funny. You must think I’m a complete moron. I know there’s nothing wrong with you. Stop joking around or I shall get angry with you. I can make things unpleasant for you if I get angry with you.’ She resisted the temptation to make bigger twitches and to groan more loudly. It was like trapping sunbirds in the clearings beyond the village. Jerk the bait about too much and you frightened them off. You had to use small movements, though, if you wanted to keep them interested. You could not catch sunbirds with bait that looked dead. It would be no use if the pilot thought there was nothing he could do for her. If he thought she was already dead, her plan would be dead too. She arched her foot a little and sucked air tightly into the back of her throat so that it made a feint rattling gasp.
Match of the Day Page 21
