Doctor Who_ Corpse Marker - Chris Boucher [30]
Yawning, he said, ‘Don’t bother me with details.’
Cailio Techlan, who was in awe of the legend and was making the report in difficult circumstances, said quickly, ‘My apologies, Firstmaster. I was told to report any deviations to you.’ ‘These are not deviations, these are details. The details are not important. The plan is important and this does not affect it in any way.’
‘I’m sorry, Firstmaster.’
Carnell could almost hear her standing to attention. ‘Don’t apologise,’ he said. ‘Don’t call me firstmaster. Don’t wake me again unless it’s important.’
He then broke the link and went back to sleep.
If Carnell had been paying attention he could have adapted his strategy. If he had been aware that there were two other outsiders on the planet and that these people had travelled in ways and places he could not have anticipated, he could have factored them in. Nothing was beyond a Federation puppeteer in possession of all the relevant variables.
But he was not paying attention and he did not adapt his strategy.
That was the point at which the design began to unravel a little and the inevitable stopped being inevitable.
The Doctor peered closely at the robot which stood unmoving inside the door of the small cell. The alloy figure had a highly polished, elaborately sculpted and stylised face and hair. Its electronic eyes were quite expressionless. The upper body armour was designed to look like a long-sleeved quilted jacket and the powerful legs were encased in matching leggings and slippers. It was all much as he remembered: the same perversely artificial humanoid design. Nothing seemed to have changed in the intervening years. He was not sure exactly how many intervening years there were but, judging from Uvanov’s appearance, enough time had passed for the technology to have moved on. The change should be noticeable. But there was no change. Why was that? the Doctor wondered.
‘Are you a Voc or a Supervoc?’ he asked.
‘I am a Voc class robot,’ the robot said in the same eerily calm voice that the Doctor remembered so well from his adventures on the doomed sand miner. ‘I am designated Vee two thousand seven hundred and thirty-four.’
‘How long ago were you built, do you know?’
‘I am not required to know the answer to this question.’
The Doctor cast about for a machine-friendly way to rephrase the query. ‘How long have you been functioning?’ he asked finally.
‘I have been in this doorway for half an hour.’
‘Really?’ said the Doctor. ‘Seems longer. Tell me, Vee two thousand seven hundred and thirty-four - or may I call you jailer for short? - tell me, why have you been standing there in the doorway for half an hour?’
‘Those are the instructions I have been given.’
‘You’re only following orders,’ the Doctor said grinning.
‘The classic excuse for robots everywhere. But what is your exact function?’
‘I must stand here until I am told to leave.’
The Doctor stood in front of the robot and looked directly into its eyes. ‘All right, Vee two seven three four, you may go.
Leave. I’m telling you to leave.’
The robot did not budge.
The Doctor nodded to himself. ‘That’s what I thought,’ he said, still staring into the robot’s eyes. ‘Very well, if you won’t go, I will.’ He stepped over to one side of the doorway. ‘If I try and escape have you been told to restrain me?’ he asked and reached round behind the robot and pushed at the door.
The robot did not move. Neither did the door.
‘Obviously not,’ the Doctor said. ‘So your function appears to be decorative.’ He felt in his pocket for the jelly babies. ‘Or perhaps you’re supposed to remind me of my triumphs in days gone by,’ he went on and was about to put a sweet in his mouth when the robot reached out and took hold of his wrist.
‘That is not allowed,’ it said and carefully removed the jelly baby from the Doctor’s hand.
‘Regulations,’ the Doctor said. ‘It’s so hard