Doctor Who_ Hope - Mark Clapham [80]
The problem needed to be resolved if a repetition of Stephenss experiments was to be avoided, said Silver. Once a search for knowledge has begun, it will continue regardless of laws and impediments. Once I have synthesised Kallisti, there will be no need for any more unpleasant incidents.
And how do you intend to do this? asked the Doctor.
By applying my mind to the problem, said Silver. Literally. The batch of liquid intelligence contains a programme created while it was part of my brain, a programme to merge with and synthesise Kallisti. All we need to do is let the sample breed, and then introduce it to a vivactic gland. One superintelligent microorganism will then take over another, merging with it to create a hybrid substance that can be replicated to order. The possible uses for such a substance are vast.
The potential applications could be horrific, countered the Doctor.
That is why we must keep it in safe hands, Doctor, replied Silver. Now, shall we return to the surface and leave these people to their work?
This surface world was a nightmare for Stephens. Wherever he went there were the strange, bald mutations. The quality of the light was unusual, and no one seemed to have control of it. Why else would it be so uncomfortably bright? Then there was the city itself, a mess of recycled garbage built into some form of community. It was disgusting, chaotic and unpleasant in its sprawling disorganisation. There was no order here, only a primitive assertion of dominance. The creature Silver was proof of that a monster whose position was enforced by brute strength, his power lay not in wisdom or leadership but in his physicality, the gun built into his hand, the speed of his electronically enhanced reflexes. Stephens despised the entire situation, was repulsed by this scrapmetal world and its savage inhabitants. Everything he saw reinforced the rightness of his previous actions these creatures were better for nothing more than cutting up. They were cattle, nothing else.
He was taken to something called a watchtower, where what passed for the law enforcement officials in this foul place resided. Stephens was taken to a dank room where he was chained to a metal chair, presumably to stop him from harming himself. His skin crawled as he sat there, unable to scratch the many itches he had under the environment suit.
So, said a saggyfaced mutation who appeared in the doorway. Youre the killer weve been looking for. You dont look very threatening now, do you?
Im not a murderer, replied Stephens indignantly. Im a scientist. Who the hell are you to question me?
Im Powlin, Chief of Militia, said the creature, sitting down opposite Stephens. Ive been investigating your handiwork for some time. Or should I take it from your previous statement that you deny any involvement in the killings?
Killings? spat Stephens. That was a legitimate experiment, authorised by my predecessors and approved of, participated in most of the time, by every human being in that bunker. You cannot single me out for this treatment.
Oh, but we can, said Powlin, leaning to face Stephens, who found this odd, hairless face disturbing. You see, our Mr Silver has use for the rest of your people. Seems to think the last of the human race have potential. So they get off the hook. But someone has to pay for those deaths, and as the big man giving the orders, that person turns out to be you. Silver knows the people want blood, and hes happy to give them yours.