Doctor Who_ Hope - Mark Clapham [65]
Then there was the other man in her life, the one she had known long before the alien and the cyborg. Thinking of Dave, putting him next to the Doctor and Silver, made it all seem like some soap opera romantic dilemma. Who would poor Anji Kapoor choose; the modest boy from down the road, the eccentric academic or the tall dark stranger with the bewitching red eye? Of course, it was nothing like that at all. The Doctor and Silver were both people who had, to differing extents, won her trust in the face of extreme circumstances. The Doctor was a friend, someone she liked and respected. Silver was someone she looked up to, and she had to admit she was slightly in awe of. Neither relationship was particularly personal.
Whereas what she had with Dave had been the keystone relationship of her adult life. OK, maybe not the love of her life she had been far too young, and way too cynical to think it would last forever, and had been on the verge of leaving him at the time of his death but it had certainly been a defining relationship in her emotional life. Her loyalty and love for Dave wasnt forged from being thrown into trenches together. They hadnt become close due to escaping from some alien prison together, or facing some similar adversity. Passion had not been ignited while dodging bullets. They had been together because they wanted to be together, because they had trust, and affection, and lust and hope and warmth. Anji could have done anything; she was young, smart, talented. What she had chosen to do was be with Dave, and he had chosen to be with her. And ultimately that was more important than the Dunkirk spirit of travelling through the most dangerous times and places in the universe, a bond stronger than that between people saving each others lives in the face of war and disaster. It had been love, freely entered into, without secrets and barriers.
Torn between her friend and her lost lover, Anji sat through the night, unable to walk away from her thoughts, unable to go and sleep.
Dawn came, and Miraso had not slept. Her mind felt worn, exhausted, while her body was running on caffy and sulphshakes, eyes wide open with a stimulant rush, unconsciousness artificially suspended. The world around Miraso was starting to take on an unreal, dreamlike state. Welcome to the land of the half awake, thought Miraso.
She entered Silvers office to find him surrounded by redclad underlings, who were scurrying about carrying bits of equipment and sealant guns. Silver was being sealed, bit by bit, into a makeshift survival suit to allow him to survive in the toxic oceans of Endpoint. His feet were up on a stool, clad in more flexible boots which could act as flippers. Someone was checking the boosters attached to the back of the heel, little bursts of flame threatening to singe the carpets. Layers of protective, rubbery shielding were being attached across Silvers vulnerable areas, wherever the skin showed. The gaps between shielding and whatever implant protruded from the skin were then covered in sealant glue fired from a gunlike device, gas hissing as the sticky substance was liberally applied. A length of tube stretched from Silvers chestplate, at the end of which an oddly moulded breather mask was being tested, specifically designed to click into Silvers faceplate, covering up the human side of his head.
You dont need to do this, said Miraso. We could send an expedition down there, rebuild one of the hab capsules and use it as a diving bell. Im sure we have enough equipment to build a robot probe or two, something suitable for deepsea investigation.
And how long would these plans take? asked Silver. Days, weeks, all with unreliable results and a likelihood of death for all concerned. I am the only person capable of undertaking this mission with a high chance of survival, and who can resolve the situation immediately.
But youre too important for something like this, complained Miraso, realising how plaintive she sounded. Like