Doctor Who_ Alien Bodies - Lawrence Miles [29]
The Doctor turned. To the left. Acting on instinct.
A staircase was set into an alcove there, a set of hard stone steps leading up to the next level of the ziggurat. There was someone standing a few steps up, staring at him. He would have jumped, if he hadn’t had several centuries’ experience of being crept up on.
The woman was tall. Tanned. Amazonian, even. Not attractive, but well-designed, the same way early twenty-first century automobiles were well-designed, all sleek lines and aerodynamic curves. She was South American, if her clothes and skin tone were anything to go by. She stood absolutely still, not even blinking. A less experienced observer might have assumed she’d been physically trained, maybe as one of those glamorous female assassins human beings seemed to get such a kick out of. The Doctor knew better, of course. The woman was giving off no biodata signals. Organically, a complete blank.
Almost automatically, he grinned, and extended his hand. ‘Good afternoon. You must be in charge around here. I was wondering if you could help me. I think I’m a bit lost.’
The woman didn’t respond. The Doctor tried to guess what was going through whatever she had for a mind. He tried not to think about Sam. If he even glanced back along the passage, the woman would notice the eye-movement.
He withdrew his hand. ‘Ah. Of course. Formal introductions. I was forgetting. How do you do, I’m –’
He finished the sentence there, because he guessed that – if the woman was a security unit, as he suspected – this would be the point at which she’d get sick of his blathering and go for the throat. He expected her to lash out at him, or try to pin him to the ground, or at the very least demand to see his passport.
He definitely didn’t expect her to open up her face and unfold it into a gaping black chasm larger than her entire body. However, this is exactly what she did.
‘What the hell are they doing here?’ the alien called Homunculette was screaming.
Bregman tried to figure out the best way of retreating into a corner without anyone noticing her. A couple of minutes ago, the lounge had been quiet, and she’d been close to opening up a meaningful dialogue with Homunculette, albeit a meaningful dialogue in which he kept slagging her off for being a primitive ape-descendant (which begged the question, what was he descended from, exactly?). Even though the letters on the beermats had kept shifting around, trying to get her attention, Bregman had been on the verge of thinking this “first contact” business wasn’t going to be as hard as she’d expected.
But everything had gone very wrong very quickly. The two bat-faced people had arrived, and Homunculette had suddenly started shouting and swearing at them. At his table, Colonel Kortez had tensed up, his sweaty arms flexing under his shirt, ready for combat. Even the beermats had tried to retreat.
Finally, Mr Qixotl had hurried into the room. So far, Bregman hadn’t seen him walk anywhere.
Qixotl thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his suit. He looked like he’d been expecting something like this, sooner or later. ‘Not sure what your problem is, Mr H. If you’ve got, y’know, some kind of personal problem –’
‘Faction Paradox! Faction Paradox, for... I mean, look at them! Look!’ Homunculette waved his hand at the skull-people, who hadn’t moved an inch since he’d begun his rant. “Cousin Justine”, her mask held between delicate black-gloved fingers, seemed alert. Even interested. But not insulted.
‘We received an invitation,’ Cousin Justine told Homunculette, softly. ‘Please. There’s really no need to be afraid.’
Homunculette spluttered at her, but didn’t get as far as forming any words. Bregman realised he was holding an empty bottle in his hand, and for one nasty moment she thought he was going to chuck it.
‘We should be introduced,’ said Colonel Kortez.
All eyes turned on him. The Colonel was standing, facing the two Faction Paradox people. Bregman wondered if he was about to have another funny turn.
‘Colonel Joseph Kortez,’ he went on, snapping to