Doctor Who_ Alien Bodies - Lawrence Miles [74]
Mr Gabriel smiled warmly. The smile didn’t look entirely natural, but that was understandable, as the humanoid body he wore was obviously artificial. To give the Gabrielideans credit, at least they were trying to blend in on Dronid. ‘Don’t worry yourself, Mr Keyhoe. Nobody’s bugging us, except maybe the staff, and they’re pretty discreet. No need to get edgy just yet, OK?’
‘Qixotl.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Qixotl. Not Keyhoe. Q-i-x-o-t-l. Kee-hot-l.’
‘Qixotl. Right.’ Mr Gabriel smiled again, and the smile was exactly the same as it had been before, so the software in his face clearly wasn’t very versatile. The Gabrielidean appeared to be middle-aged, and he was kind of cuddly, despite the suit and the lump in the pocket where he kept his staser. He was a lot like someone’s uncle, thought Qixotl, all bright eyes and shallow wrinkles. ‘The Time Lords aren’t going to be sniffing around here, if that’s what’s you’re thinking,’ Gabriel went on. ‘I’ve been dealing in time-tech ever since I got to this planet, and the High Council hasn’t caught on yet. Can I ask you something, Mr Qixotl?’
‘Er, yeah. Sure.’
‘Where’d you get a TARDIS from, anyway?’
Qixotl bit his lip. ‘Who said I had a TARDIS?’
‘C’mon. You need a demat circuit, that means you’ve got a TARDIS. Let me guess. You got friends on Gallifrey, am I right? And they managed to sneak you out an old type 60, but the demat circuit’s messed up. Listen, I’ve heard it all before. You don’t have to start squirming.’
Qixotl squirmed anyway. He didn’t like to think of his ship as a TARDIS any more. He’d changed its whole structure, its whole operating system, just to make sure the High Council couldn’t track it. The demat circuit had popped as soon as he’d got to Dronid, and he’d been stuck here ever since. For a while, he’d been happy to stick around, but things had changed in the last couple of days.
To be honest, Qixotl was lucky to have got himself stranded here, on a planet where it was at least possible to get hold of spare TARDIS parts. A couple of generations ago, one of the Time Lord Cardinals had tried building a powerbase on Dronid, putting together an army in the vain hope of overthrowing the High Council. He’d been dragged back to Gallifrey in the end, natch, but there were still bits and pieces of time-tech lying around the cities, leftovers from his time in residence. The organised crime networks had recovered most of them, which was why they more or less ran Dronid, these days. The planet was pretty primitive – they still used combustion engines around here, for pity’s sake, and the people had only just invented TV – but Qixotl had heard you could pick up the blueprints for a demat gun in the underworld, if you knew where to look.
‘You want to get some more drinks in?’ asked Mr Gabriel.
23:23; three cans down, starting to feel “relaxed”.
Qixotl had spent the last few minutes small-talking with Mr Gabriel, skirting around the big question, “How much is a demat circuit going to cost?”. Qixotl knew full well he wouldn’t be able to afford the hardware, not right away. He didn’t have enough local currency to hire an atmosphere vessel, let alone buy a chunk of solid-state Time Lord technology. Once he got an estimate from Gabriel, he’d be spending the next week or three doing little jobs around the capital city, saving up the denaris. That is, if he didn’t get knifed in the back first.
‘Don XaPristi?’ Mr Gabriel repeated, as if not believing his ears.
Qixotl shrugged. ‘What can I say? I sold the Don some faulty merchandise. Couple of items that didn’t go “bang” as loudly as they should’ve done, right? I mean, y’know, it’s not like I didn’t offer him a refund or anything.’
Mr Gabriel’s face went into “grim” mode. ‘Yeah, but the Don’s one of the old school. Hereditary gangster. Someone crosses him, it’s a question of honour. Like an insult to his family name.’ Mr Gabriel drew his finger across his throat, just to press the point home.
Mr Qixotl didn’t need telling.