Cold Fusion - Lance Parkin [54]
‘They’re nearly through,’ Adric told him. Sections of the door had almost melted away.
The Doctor led the Patient to the open vent. She understood what he was trying to do, and the hole was just large enough for her to squeeze through. She dropped out of sight.
‘You next, Adric.’
‘There’s only time for one more person to get through.
You go.’
‘They’ll kill you,’ the Doctor yelled.
‘Go!’ Adric shouted. The Doctor turned on his heel, and dived through the hole. Adric moved the grille back into place. By the time he had finished, the door had evaporated.
Adric raised his hands, turning his palms forwards so that they could see he wasn’t carrying anything.
The middle-aged woman from the skitrain station stood in the doorframe, still wearing her fur coat. She looked around. ‘I take it that I’ve missed the Patient?’
Adric nodded dumbly. There was the sound of clattering boots from outside.
‘Here we go again,’ she said wearily. ‘Well, come on if you’re coming.’
Adric scrambled to his feet and joined her. They jogged down the corridor.
‘Where to?’
‘Not far.’ She stopped at one of the doors. ‘Just in here.’
She tapped a combination, and shoved him through. The door hissed shut behind them.
It was pitch black. He could hear the woman wheezing, out of breath. His own heart was still pounding against his ribs. Adric reached out, his hand brushing over what felt like a tortoiseshell, and then he found a touch-sensitive plate. The light winked on.
She had stripped down to her underwear, a pale green haltertop and tight shorts that looked odd next to her skin.
Rivulets of sweat were running down her spine. She looked exhausted, but hadn’t even sat down, stuffing her coat and other clothes into her bag.
‘Well, don’t just stare,’ she said in a low voice. The walls of the room were lined with suits of Adjudicator armour.
The curved shape next to the light switch had been a shoulderpad. The woman was reaching down a pair of leggings for herself.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked. ‘I’m Adric.’
‘A what? I’m Roslyn Forrester. You can call me Forrester.’ She bent over, clipping strips of armour over her shins. ‘Find one your size,’ she prompted. Adric nodded, and began looking. By the time he had found a breastplate that he thought would fit, she was looping a bulky utility belt around her waist. Forrester must have been on the verge of collapse: she was old enough to have greying hair, and although her arms were muscled, her face was lined.
‘Why did you save me?’ he asked, trying to get her to slowdown.
Forrester paused. ‘I was returning a favour.’
Adric struggled to remember. ‘You mean when I didn’t shoot you at the station?’
She chuckled. ‘No. The stungun is keyed to my thumbprint. If you’d tried to fire it, then the whole powerpack would have discharged down your arm. You saved me just before that when the armed response hovercopter turned up.’
‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten that.’
‘Lucky for you that I didn’t.’
Adric was wrestling with one of the shoulder-catches of the armour, and Forrester came over to help. She reached over him, and slapped it hard. Adric caught a glimpse of dark hair underneath her arm. The catch snapped into place. Forrester returned to her bench to pull on a pair of boots. As they were buckling themselves, she selected a pair of leggings for him. Adric pulled them on over his trousers and fastened them. She was tugging on a thick pair of mittens, and flexed her fingers. She held out her right hand for Adric’s inspection. A stubby metal tube ran from the back of the hand down into the fabric swathing her upper arm.
‘Have you ever used a guntlet before?’
‘No. I’m not even sure what it is.’
She clenched her fist and a high-pitched whine started up. She flicked her fingers out in turn, as though she was counting. Every time another finger snapped out,