Doctor Who_ Hope - Mark Clapham [61]
A question had become an argument, an argument a schism, and soon that schism turned into a punch up. Limbs, cybernetic and otherwise, flew in anger. Faces were bruised, heads were knocked together, and a lynch mob tried to sacrifice Fitz on the altar. The only thing that stopped a raised microblade from being plunged into his chest was the appearance of the Brotherhoods Queen, her digital visage floating above the altar, staring out across the melee.
My followers, you must not fight! declared the holographic face regally. What has brought you to this sorry state?
The newcomer, our Queen, said one Brother, prostrating himself while pointing to Fitz. He questions our sacred tenets.
Newcomer? said the face of the Queen, metallic voice echoing around the chamber. The face turned to Fitz. There was something terribly familiar about that tone of voice, the curve of the Queens silver face...
The Queen blinked when she saw Fitz, and he could swear he saw that godlike face appear slightly thrown by the whole situation.
Cast out the infidel from this sacred place! declared the Queen, returning her attention to her followers. He is not worthy of a clean death from you.
For once, Fitz was glad to be looked down upon.
Im getting very sick of standing around on this roof in the cold, thought Anji. It was like being in a play, rotating between two or three settings, with flat backgrounds lifting up into the rafters and props being wheeled on and off as required.
The latest bit of set decoration was currently being prepared by Silvers lackeys a wide satellite dish seemingly constructed from tinfoil and spit. Apparently SatNet could only be activated by a focused energydata stream transmitted at a certain time of day to the primary satellite. The primary satellite would then pass the data and energy around the chain, step by step, creating a global network covering the whole of Endpoint. A fairly straightforward business on any other advanced world with Endpoints environmental and resource problems it was a Herculean task. Technicians were checking the satellite dish, while Miraso had emerged from the depths of the Palace in communication with the power plants via her headset.
Silver monitored progress through a flat console he held in the palm of his metal hand. Cables trailed from the console to the dish, and Silvers human fingers raced across the keyboard, tapping in coordinates. The collar of his greatcoat flapped in the wind, partially concealing his face.
Nearly there, he said, his voice carrying in spite of the wind. The satellite dish adjusted itself, whirring loudly, as Silver tapped the keys. We will have contact in five minutes. Miraso, are power levels ready?
Ill check, replied Miraso, turning away to mutter instructions into her headset. Finally she turned to Silver and nodded. On your signal.
Silver turned to Anji.
I suggest you step away from any live power lines, Silver said. They are likely to be severely overloaded, and there may be a breach.
Anji didnt like the sound of that, so she made sure to step away from anything that resembled a cable or power line. Difficult to do with so many snaking across the roof to plug into the base of the dish.
Nearly there, said Silver again, tapping away. Activate primary power feeds.
Miraso passed on the command. A steady hum began to build up. Anji began to feel slightly woozy. There was a dry taste of ozone on her tongue. Electricity in the air.
Feed in the secondary and tertiary power sources, said Silver. The energy levels began to increase, the sound coming from the dish rising. Anji could swear it was beginning to glow. She felt her skin crawl, tickling like tiny electric shocks. She rubbed her arms, felt static on the fabric.
Seconds to go, shouted Silver over the