Doctor Who_ Corpse Marker - Chris Boucher [65]
‘It’s quicker,’ Con explained. ‘Taking the direct route back to Company Central. Find out what’s going on.’
‘Why don’t you use your communications unit?’ the Doctor suggested, thinking as he said it that the noise might be a problem for the technology on display.
‘It’s not always reliable, not top of the range.’ Con looked slightly sheepish. ‘Not what you’re used to, I suppose?’
‘Not exactly,’ the Doctor said.
Con frowned unhappily. ‘And anyway...’
‘What?’ the Doctor prompted.
‘Nothing.’ He shook his head.
‘You’re afraid of asking the wrong questions, is that it?’
‘I’m afraid of asking any questions,’ Con said. He snorted. ‘If they don’t know who did that back there, they might decide whoever was back there did that.’
The Doctor said, ‘I’ll vouch for you, Con.’
‘Thanks but no thanks.’ Con’s unhappy frown did not change. ‘I’m not supposed to know about you.’ He was beginning to fight the controls a little as the flier approached the limit of its climb.
The Doctor grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell them you don’t.’
He looked back down at the ground again. It suddenly seemed a very long way away. ‘Are we high enough yet?’
‘I want as much air as possible between us and the ’pits,’
Con said. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ the Doctor said, far from sure that he did.
‘We can squeeze a few hundred more.’
The Doctor went back to examining the corpse marker. He found it had a tiny insignia in the centre: a ‘C’ with a smaller ‘T’
inside it. ‘CT,’ he murmured. ‘What does that stand for, I wonder?’ He shouted to Con, ‘What does "CT" stand for, any idea?’
‘CT?’
‘In these robot deactivation discs. Or "TC" possibly. It might be "TC"?’
‘Taren Capel,’ a voice hissed in the Doctor’s ear.
The Doctor turned round in surprise. ‘Where did you spring from?’ he asked.
‘Who in hell are you?’ Con demanded.
The thin man with wild hair and a disconcerting array of facial tics never took his glaring eyes from the Doctor’s face and repeated loudly, ‘Taren Capel.’
He must have been hiding under the rear seats, the Doctor realised. He looked oddly familiar. ‘Don’t I know you?’ he asked, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring way. ‘We’ve met before, haven’t we?’ The man was clearly distressed and from the way he was behaving he did not seem like the sort of passenger you would choose to have with you in a cramped and uncertain flying machine a couple of thousand feet up in the air. ‘We have met before, haven’t we?’ he repeated, smiling even more broadly.
‘I’m Ander Poul,’ he said.
‘Of course you are,’ the Doctor said, realising. ‘We met on -’
‘Storm Mine Four,’ Poul interrupted triumphantly. ‘Taren Capel.’
‘Why does he keep saying that?’ Con demanded. ‘Who’s Taren Capel?’
‘He is,’ Poul declared. ‘Finally I’ve found you.’
‘I’m the Doctor,’ the Doctor said, still trying to keep it calm and friendly.
‘I don’t care what you call yourself,’ Poul sneered.
‘Taren Capel is dead.’
‘I’ve been after you for years.’
‘Don’t you remember, Poul?’
‘You thought you’d get away with it, didn’t you?’ Poul was smiling suddenly. ‘You thought you’d kill me and get away with it. That’s what was happening to me. It was you doing it all along.’
‘What’s he talking about, Doctor?’ Con was having problems concentrating on the controls and watching the Doctor and Poul at the same time. The flier tilted abruptly and he switched his attention back to flying and righted it shakily.
‘Taren Capel was killed on the sand miner,’ the Doctor told Poul firmly. ‘The storm miner, I mean.’
‘Tell me what’s going on!’ Con shouted, not looking at them this time.
‘Bit of a misunderstanding, that’s all,’ the Doctor said. ‘Keep calm. Let’s all keep calm, shall we? I think our friend Poul is suffering from a combination of Grimwade’s Syndrome and what used to be called post-traumatic stress.’
Poul was crooning with delight. ‘You sent your robots to kill me.’ He reached carefully and deliberately towards the Doctor’s throat as if he thought the movement might not be noticed if it was slow enough. ‘But your robots