Doctor Who_ Corpse Marker - Chris Boucher [29]
Sarl was unusually tall for someone who had grown up in the Sewerpits. As she squared up to him, the top of Padil’s head was barely on a level with his shoulder. ‘She has proved herself one of us,’ she raged.
‘No,’ he said, ‘she hasn’t. We don’t know who she is or where she came from. My money’s on a security plant.’ His thin face was impassive and the tone of his voice remained chillingly matter-of-fact. ‘And you brought her along so you’re under suspicion. Now get yourself ready and get in your flier or I’ll kill you and leave you here.’
Padil hesitated for a moment or two and then her defiance gave way and she did as she was told.
Five minutes later the first of the fliers lifted off and headed out across the huge sprawl which was Kaldor, the mega-city which had grown on the profits of mining and robotics and which continued to spread itself along the southern edge of the Blind Heart desert. At one-minute intervals the other three fliers took off, travelling in different directions.
It had taken Carnell two whole years to establish his credentials in this credulous world. He had been on the run for some time when he had come to the planet and initially it had amused him to be a secret alien, an off-world visitor in a society which, despite its obvious origins, had simply turned its back on the possibility of space travel.
The novelty had worn off quite rapidly of course, as it always did, and he quickly got bored, as he always had. Trying to keep interested, he had created a past for himself which nobody would, or indeed could, question unless they were curious and very determined. He was satisfied that this was unlikely to be a problem since it was apparent that curiosity and determination were not common traits in this world. In truth, he had found they were not common traits anywhere but here it seemed they were almost unknown. If they were considered at all they seemed to be regarded as counterproductive. This, he had concluded, was probably because of the instinctive fear of the robots on which the society depended. It was the group equivalent of covering your eyes and tap-dancing in the dark. This blindfolded attitude helped to explain why everyone had not shared equally in the wealth generated by the tireless robots. That and basic greed.
Out of his carefully constructed past an equally fictional and unquestioned present had inevitably sprung. He made no attempt to hide and now as far as anyone was concerned he had always been here. His legendary skills as a financial planner and economic analyst were well established among the general business community. It was less widely known but not a total secret that he was a confidential adviser to the cartels. His involvement, however, with the founding families’ attempt to re-establish their power was known to a very small, very select group of people. The fact that he was a psycho-strategist, a one-in-a-million freak, identified by a corrupt regime and trained since childhood to outthink its enemies and friends alike, was known only to him.
Carnell knew that he could achieve exactly what his employers wanted and he could do it with casual ease. There was no pride in this, no vanity, it was a fact and who could find vanity in a fact? The strategy he had developed had pleased him certainty. It was slightly more elaborate than was necessary but he needed to be stretched if only a little. No one else involved would understand the strategy or even know it was there. The inevitability of it all had a certain subtle charm, nothing more.
He was asleep when the call came through. He found sleep at once a pleasure and a fear. The pleasure was in the release from control and understanding and, needless to say, that was the fear too. He did not wake cheerfully.
He should have let the undercover