Doctor Who_ Beyond the Sun - Matthew Jones [51]
Scott hurried over and Bernice guided him to the window – away from Errol. She wanted to know what Scott had to say before she let Errol in on the conversation. The look on Scott’s face did not inspire confidence. ‘Well?’
When he spoke his voice was full of suppressed anger. ‘The hospital is in the hands of the collaborators. There are guards checking the identification papers of patients. I would have been questioned but for this,’ he said, indicating the white stripes of his medical uniform. ‘Bernice, I didn’t realize that things were this bad. People no longer have access to medicines. Not unless the collaborators decide that what they’re doing is essential work.’ He spat out the words. ‘People are just being left to die around the hospital buildings.’
Bernice cursed, using words she usually avoided. ‘We can’t leave it any longer. Errol isn’t going – ’ She stopped herself, glancing over to the mattress. In a quieter voice, she said, ‘We need to get Errol to a surgeon today.’
‘I know, I know we do,’ Scott murmured.
Bernice noticed that his mannerisms became more angular, more reptile-like, the more angry he became.
He sighed and then said, ‘We could try and smuggle him into the hospital. Although I’m not sure that I know how.’
Bernice shook her head. ‘I don’t like the idea of trying to sneak in carrying a stretcher. We’d be bound to lose him if we had to make a run for it.’ As she spoke it was becoming clear to her that the only viable option was going to involve bringing a surgeon to Errol.
Scott didn’t agree. ‘Paranoia is rife as it is. There were people in the village who suspected that you were in league with the Sunless. It’s going to be ten times worse here. No one is going to help off-worlders when they’re not even allowed to help their own people.’
‘I can be very persuasive.’
Scott must have heard the threat in her voice because he looked at her in alarm. ‘What do you mean, persuasive? I won’t use violence, not against another Ursulan.’
‘I’m not talking about violence. Only . . . kidnapping.’
‘Kidnapping?’ he said, pronouncing each syllable carefully. ‘I haven’t heard that word before.
What does it mean?’
The room next to Michael’s was empty and Emile had quietly slipped inside. One of the walls was decorated with a mural of a middle-aged white man standing on a rough lunar landscape, holding his empty hands out in front of him. It wasn’t a very accomplished picture. It reminded Emile of a cheap book illustration. He didn’t like it.
Two mattresses lay on the floor covered in grubby white sheets. Emile closed the door behind him. The privacy and peace were as delicious as ice cream. On the relay station, Emile had spent almost all of his time alone and he wasn’t used to being in company for such a long period. After his mother had died, his father would permit Emile to join him only for Sunday lunch – formal silent affairs which dragged on uncomfortably. Emile had never been particularly close to his father, a cold man who had always lacked any kind of vocabulary for his feelings. The distance between them had telescoped since the funeral. He’d never once seen his dad cry.
Emile was neatly folding his grey-and-white uniform over the back of a rickety wooden chair when Scott stormed into the room. Emile made a clumsy dive under the sheets, not wanting the beautiful young man to see him in his underpants.
‘Jesus, Scott! I mean don’t, like, try and respect anyone’s privacy or anything!’ He pulled the sheet up over his flabby chest. He needn’t have bothered: Scott hadn’t once glanced over in his direction.
‘I don’t understand you profiteers at all!’ Scott exclaimed. ‘I mean, what’s the point in trying to save lives if all you’re going to do is subjugate others?’
Emile had no idea what he was talking about. ‘Have you had a row with Bernice or something?’
‘I don’t understand her. I thought I did. But I can’t believe what she is proposing to do. I’ve been so stupid. Just because you look like some