Doctor Who_ Alien Bodies - Lawrence Miles [8]
‘Not just because of the promise. You don’t understand, do you, Doctor?’
The Doctor did his best to look confused. ‘Don’t I?’
‘The soldier’s directive. To continue the cycle of retribution, even in the face of death. Even when you know the consequences will kill you. Say what you like, about knowing Napoleon or meeting Haig or watching at Agincourt. Tell me your fairy stories. It makes no difference. You don’t understand. You never have. You never will.’
‘I see.’ The General still had his back turned, and the sunset was painting shiny patches of orange on top of his fat, bald head. The Doctor took the opportunity to move one of Tchike’s bishops to a more convenient square. Not cheating, he told himself. Making the game more complex. ‘And are you thinking of having my head cut off, at all?’
The General paused. ‘It’s a possibility. I’ve read your medical reports. All the old idents from the UNIT days. I know regeneration can only do so much. Please put that bishop back where it was, Doctor. You remember Colonel Kortez? Sergeant Kortez, as he was nine years ago.’
‘Yes. Serious-looking man, very square jaw. Talked about Zen Buddhism a lot. Rather confused, I thought. Still, maybe he wasn’t what he seemed.’
‘The Colonel is on a mission for me. In the East Indies ReVit Zone. Does that mean anything to you?’
‘East Indies ReVit... Borneo. You mean Borneo.’
General Tchike turned back to the chessboard, a gargoyle’s smile breaking out across his face. He thinks he’s won some kind of victory over me, mused the Doctor, but he’s still worried about showing his hand. He keeps skirting the issue, changing the subject. ‘Tell me something,’ Tchike said. ‘Do you know why you’re allowed to move so freely on this planet? Why your interference in our affairs is tolerated? Why Earth agrees to put up with you, the way it does?’
‘Ah. Well, I wasn’t aware Earth knew about me, much.’
Tchike narrowed his eyes. ‘Not the commoners. The governments. The United Nations. The World Zones Authority. The ones who’ve spent the last three hundred years cleaning up your litter.’
‘Oh, them.’ The Doctor frowned. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten the question.’
‘I’ll tell you why Earth puts up with you, Doctor. Because it thinks you’re immortal. That one misguided belief is what keeps you alive. It’s what stops our fingermen blowing your ugly changeling face off the second you step out of that police box of yours. You understand? Earth thinks you’re immortal, and it’s scared of the consequences if it tries to prove you’re not. That’s why the CIA didn’t put a bullet through your throat in the 1970s, and that’s why I didn’t kill you myself at Saskatoon. All we ever needed was an assurance. One scrap of evidence you can bleed as well as the rest of us.’
The grin turned into a snarl. The Doctor tensed.
‘And that isn’t where the bishop was,’ sneered the General.
The door of the office flew open. The Doctor was on his feet in a second, but the General’s men were already swarming into the room. Dark uniforms, the Doctor noted, red UNISYC insignia on their shoulderpads. Black masks, like plastic executioners’ hoods, visors pulled down over their eyes. The features of the Tactical Security Division.
Plasma rifles primed and ready. Naturally.
The men froze into position on the other side of the office, weapons targeted. Waiting for the firing order, the Doctor realised. He started to back away, edging around the desk towards the General.
‘We now have our assurance,’ Tchike growled. ‘The rules have changed. You may consider yourself a valid target.’
‘Would it change anything if I said I had absolutely no idea what you’re talking about?’
‘No.’
‘Thought not.’ The Doctor took a deep breath. ‘No last requests, then? Time for one final white chocolate mouse? Sorry, I’m trying to give up on the jelly babies.’
He reached into his jacket. The men were prepared for such a move; evidently, the General had