Doctor Who_ Halflife - Mark Michalowski [53]
‘So, what, you can change your appearance? Make yourself look like anyone?’ From the taciturn, little boy lost, he seemed suddenly transformed –
thoughtful, adult. Cool.
‘Within reason,’ Reo said, a smile playing on his lips in the sodium gloom.
Trix felt the weight of her bag, slung over her shoulder. In it was an assortment of bits and pieces, her ‘disguise kit’ – a disguise kit that Reo’s little trick, assuming she could do it herself, could make completely redundant.
Since she’d been on Espero, since she’d left the TARDIS with Fitz and her bag, she’d been totally and utterly frustrated by the fact that she had no choice but to be herself. She could have changed her name, taken on any one of a hundred life histories, but, ultimately, it would have been a waste of time. As long as she had to stay Caucasian, she might as well stay Trix. She knew that she occasionally got a bit obsessed about the role-playing that she enjoyed so much – took on a new identity when her real one (whatever that was!) would have done the job just as well. But it was sometimes such a chore – the make-up, the wigs, the tinted contact lenses; remembering the details of her new history, practising the voice and the accent until she’d got them automatic, perfect. But there was only so much she could do with the little that nature had given her: lifts in her shoes could give her an extra couple of inches of height; padding and artful dressing could add a few pounds. And make-up, wigs, hair dye and contact lenses could ensure that even people who knew her well would pass her in the street unrecognised. But beyond that, she was 97
stuck: she couldn’t – convincingly or comfortably – play a six-foot Amazon, or a four-foot child. She couldn’t play a strapping man. Or a black woman. She’d learned to live within those limits, much as they irked her (and boy how they irked her at the moment!). But whatever Reo had just used to change his size and make his face light up. . . The possibilities buzzed around her head like excited wasps.
‘OK,’ she said cautiously. ‘Show me how you do it, and I’ll help you find your toy.’
Reo’s eyes narrowed, weighing her up. Eventually, he nodded, and reached up to the neck of his shirt, where a button had popped loose. He unfastened a couple of the other ones and pulled the material aside.
Nestled on his chest, just below his clavicle, was something strange. Trix gently turned him into the light so that she could see it.
Y-shaped, and about the size of an outstretched hand, it looked blue or black – ribbed, sort of metallic, but in an organic way, as if the fine grooves that ran across the legs of the Y had grown into it when the metal had been still molten. She found her fingers reaching out to touch it and pulled them back, keen not to appear too eager.
‘That’s it? That’s the shape-changing device?’
Reo nodded and started to close up his shirt again.
‘No, wait,’ Trix said, clenching her jaw. ‘If I’m going to help you instead of looking for Fitz and the Doctor. . . can I have a demo?’
‘A demo?’
‘A demonstration. Can I try it – just to make sure it works for me.’
‘I don’t know. . . ’ Reo looked nervous, unsure. She wondered if he thought that she might not give it back once she’d tried it.
‘Come on, it’s reasonable,’ Trix said. ‘What if we go and find this toy, and then your device doesn’t work for me?’
‘It’ll work,’ Reo said.
‘Just a quick go – and then I’ll give it back to you. Honest.’
She meant it. Stealing from kids – even the most miraculous, magical device in the whole universe – wasn’t something she thought she’d be very good at.
Or at least she hoped she wouldn’t.
Reo took a breath, and as his little hands moved back up to his neck, Trix tried not to punch the air in triumph.
‘You promise you’ll give it back?’ Reo said, unfastening the buttons. She nodded.
‘Scout’s honour,’ she said, and realised that that probably meant very little to him.
‘OK