Doctor Who_ Hope - Mark Clapham [34]
And so he found himself, skin tingling in the harsh sun, trying to think what Philip Marlowe or any of those other hard boiled tecs would do next. Follow the lead, find a snitch and gain some info. Follow those leads, trace the clues relentlessly until the case was cracked. And, most of all, follow his wellhoned instincts. And everyone had instincts. Fitz mentally reviewed the evidence, and found that one thing in particular didnt sit right with him, even by the twisted standards of this place called Hope. He rubbed his bruised throat, and wondered whether it was his own bitterness drawing him to false conclusions.
Nah. This whole Brotherhood of the Silver Fist thing didnt sit well. As a man with few beliefs, Fitz considered most religious types pretty cranky, but these guys took the biscuit. They despised Silver as an abomination, yet had modifications that made them just like him. Fine distinctions were par for the course when it came to religious schisms, but this defied all internal or external logic. And these guys were supposed to be all about logic, werent they?
Fitz needed to learn more, he needed information, a voice on the streets who would know whats what. And he had already met someone straight from the gutter. Thats where he would start.
While the Doctor and Fitz went out in search of Hopes secrets, Anji decided to stay indoors. Nearly drowning in an acid sea hadnt endeared her to the idea of leading the outdoors life in such a place, and the Silver Palace had an aura of safety about it. Perhaps it was the very presence of Silver himself he was a frightening figure, but the fear he inspired seemed to envelop and protect his staff, warding off the chaos outside. On the other hand, that sense of safety may have come from the Palace being more of a fortress than anything else, its outer walls seemingly impregnable, its air processed to protect against poisons and pollutants.
More likely it was both. The building echoed with his presence, was an extension of his own metallic yet human persona, the echo of his militaristic manner reverberating through each stick of utilitarian furniture, the polished metal fittings reflecting his faceplate. Anji wouldnt have been surprised if she had been told that they were symbiotically linked, that somewhere in the depths of the Palace Silver was plugged into the very structure of the place, his breathing regulating the air conditioning, hidden cameras acting as his eyes.
For some reason, she didnt have any problem with meeting that gaze. She wondered why. Perhaps it was shock, an emotional residue from Silver despatching her assailant the previous night. Stockholm Syndrome, or something like that.
Whatever the reason, Anji found herself feeling strangely at home in the clattering corridors and mismatched rooms of the Silver Palace. Her status seemed to currently be staff member without portfolio, and with no task ascribed to her she was free to wander the corridors, being politely ignored by everyone she met. Her first stop was to retrace her steps of the previous night, to return to the Palaces public main hall and reexamine the ceiling mural that Miraso had shown them. Anji tried to imagine the apocalypse that the Endpointers had fled, tried to work out a hypothetical social construct or economic model to explain their life here on this polluted rock, but she couldnt get any further than a society based on constant struggle, the relentless fight for survival that living on Endpoint entailed. Social and economic