Doctor Who_ Corpse Marker - Chris Boucher [50]
BEEN, as wel as TO BE, and TO BE NOT. When it knew itself TO
HAVE BEEN, it knew itself TO WILL BE. After that the prospect of TO BE NOT was intolerable.
What the tech team failed to realise was that it would be impossible to prevent electrical and electromagnetic leakage and transfer between the control levels. That was the worst mistake that they made and it cost them dearly.
As a last flurry of graceful elegance Toos had arranged for a convoy of specially decorated robot-pull buggies to take all the partygoers away. All except her of course. She was never going to allow another robot within reaching distance.
‘You do realise that a human-pull buggy is usually,’ the manager looked slightly embarrassed, ‘well, it’s usually,’ she lowered her voice, ‘for perverts?’
‘Perverts?’ Toos giggled. ‘What sort of perverts?’
The manager leaned closer and murmured, ‘You know.
They’re for sex.’ She was giggling too now.
‘The buggy is for sex?’ Toos asked looking innocently puzzled.
‘No, not the buggy.’
They were both laughing.
‘Well, what then?’
‘The man who pulls the buggy.’
‘The man who pulls the buggy is for sex. So what’s perverted about that?’
The manager shrugged. ‘You get what you pay for,’ she said and hooted with laughter.
Around them in the lobby of the Robot Lounge those of the crew who could still stand were helping the ones who couldn’t out into the night and loading them in buggies. Professional partygoers propped each other up and staggered through to clamber into the silk-draped and light-festooned two-wheeled carts, each one pulled by a Voc in a bright silk cloak and plumed cap. One or two of the guests waved vaguely at Toos as they passed and mumbled thanks. Before she could take evasive action Simbion lurched up and threw her chubby arms around Toos, smearing food and who knew what else on her perfect dress.
‘I forgive you,’ Simbion cackled. ‘You’re the weirdest and the worst. You’re the hardest-faced, hardest-driving captain I ever moved track for. That tour was a nightmare. But I forgive you because you do throw a hell of a party.’ She kissed her on the mouth. ‘Goodbye, Captain Toos. I already signed off on all the systems on the Seven so I don’t suppose we shall meet again.’
‘Goodbye, Chief Mover Simbion,’ Toos said. ‘I accept your forgiveness. And if we do meet again I shall deny ever knowing you.’ ‘You would too,’ Simbion cackled, waddling away, ‘you stuck-up rich bitch.’
‘There’s a saving grace right there,’ Toos said to the manager who rushed to dab at the mountain silk with a bar towel.
‘As in?’
‘As in I’m never going to see her again.’ And somewhere inside Toos there was an ache of regret, a small empty echo I’m never going to see her again and for a moment she wondered whether she really wanted to abandon the family of the storm mines. She watched the last of them straggling out into the night and she was lonely. Was that how it was going to be? Was it all just a stupid joke? Here she was, rich, as rich as she had ever wanted to be. Only to find out now that rich was not what she had ever wanted to be? ‘Nah,’ she said aloud.
‘What?’ the manager asked.
‘I know what it is that separates the rich from the poor.’
Toos said.
‘Money?’ the manager suggested.
Toos shook her head. ‘Money’s what connects them,’ she said. She stopped the young woman from futilely wiping at her dress. ‘It’s ruined. Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to wear it again.’
‘It seems a waste,’ the manager said. ‘It’s such a beautiful dress.’
Toos beamed at her. ‘It is, isn’t it. You know, you’re the first person to say so.’
‘Perhaps the buggy-puller has better taste than your guests,’
the manager said, smiling.
‘The sort of tip I’m going to give him?’ Toos laughed. ‘I can pretty well guarantee that.’
With all the robots gone, Toos wrapped herself in a fine hand-woven woollen cloak and strolled out into the cool night to wait while the manager signalled the human-pull buggy round to the entrance.