Doctor Who_ Alien Bodies - Lawrence Miles [46]
‘Yes,’ said Trask, thinking on his feet.
And there aren’t many concepts in your mind I can easily, shall we say, inhabit. This is why I’m speaking to you directly through the creative centres of your brain. This would kill any living creature, I’m sure. However, your creative centres aren’t doing very much, at the moment. No offence intended.
‘No offence taken,’ Trask replied.
Another bidder has arrived in the City, Mr Trask. I thought you should be informed. Nobody seems to know who he is or what effect he might have on the auction.
Trask thought about this for a moment or two. ‘And?’
Mr Trask, I know who you represent, and you know who I represent. Naturally, I’m quite happy for us to keep each other’s secrets, but you’d have to admit, our objectives are... in opposition, shall we say? Officially, our respective employers wouldn’t want anyone to know we had even this degree of contact.
Trask nodded, but said nothing.
The balance of power must be maintained, Mr Trask. A threat to your people is also a threat to mine. He’s coming. Perhaps you’ll see what I mean.
‘Good afternoon,’ said a new voice. It took Trask a while to figure out that it had come from somewhere on the outside of his head.
There was someone standing at the threshold of his room. Trask wasn’t sure about the man’s species, but he stank of life. He was tall, slim, long-legged. He looked shocked when Trask made eye contact with him, but he recovered himself quite well.
‘Nice to see a happy face around here,’ said the man, smiling genially. ‘I don’t think we’ve met. My name’s Smith, or at least, that’s the nom de guerre I seem to keep ending up with, lifetime after lifetime. At least I didn’t choose it myself, this time. And you are...?’
‘Trask,’ said Trask.
‘Ah. Well, I was wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for Mr Qixotl. I don’t suppose you have any idea...?’
The man’s eyes were darting around the room, taking in the decor. Or lack of it. ‘No,’ Trask said.
The stranger nodded, apparently having run out of things to say. ‘Yes. Well. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you later, anyway. Goodbye for now, Mr Trask.’ The man turned to go, then stopped dead. He glanced over his shoulder, just briefly. ‘And you, Mr Shift.’
A moment later, he was gone.
You see?
Trask nodded.
I’ve got things to do before the auction, Mr Trask. I thought it was only fair to warn you about this new... well, let’s not call it a threat. Let’s call it a “concern”.
‘Thank you,’ croaked Trask, but the Shift didn’t reply.
Alone again, Trask considered the “concern”. He wasn’t convinced the new bidder would make any difference to his plans. Whoever the man Smith was, he was life. And all life was susceptible.
An entirely unexpected thought suddenly unravelled inside Trask’s head.
Life. When he’d seen Smith, the first thing he’d noticed hadn’t been the man’s face, or his body, or his clothes. It had been that quality of life. Stronger than it was in most organisms. Strong enough that you could smell it, if you knew what to smell for. Trask had only scented that kind of intensity in a living thing once before, and that had been in the early years, when he’d taken life for granted. The early years. The final moments.
Trask remembered being under the water, choking on his last mouthful of oxygen but not being able to let it go. His arms, weaker than they should have been, were trying to pull the rest of his body up to the surface. His hands broke free of the water, touched air above his head, but something was dragging him down, tugging at his ankles. There was liquid pressing against every inch of skin, searching for an opening. Ready to fill up his lungs. It was supposed to be a good way to die, a peaceful way, but Trask knew it’d all be over as soon as he gave up and tried to breathe in. That was the hardest thing to take. Knowing that when he died, it would be his fault. There was no peace in a death