Doctor Who_ Interference_ Book One - Lawrence Miles [27]
When the guards had gone, and the door had been locked behind them, Badar tried to focus on the prisoner again. The man lay sprawled beneath the window, breathing heavily. Badar couldn’t quite make out his expression. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his broken arm stretched out at an awkward angle.
‘Breaking me in,’ he said. His voice was cracked, but he was trying to hide it. ‘They don’t want anything from me. They don’t want information. They just want me to know who’s in charge.’
‘Yes,’ said Badar.
The man raised his head. ‘This is what they did to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then timing is everything. If I stay here too long, I won’t be able to concentrate. We have to leave.’ He tried to stand, but obviously couldn’t manage it. ‘Soon,’ he added.
‘Why are you here?’ Badar asked. It was a sentence he’d been saving up all day.
The man let his head sink back down to the floor. ‘You mean, why did they lock me up? Oh, the usual reasons. Because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because I was nosy. They were involved in certain dealings they shouldn’t have been involved in. I wanted to stop them. They found me before I could find them.’
‘Police? Religious police?’
‘Possibly. I’m afraid I don’t know enough about your culture to say for sure. They came out of nowhere. Some kind of short‐range teleportation device, I’d guess.’
‘Their advantage,’ said Badar.
‘What?’
‘Device. Their device. Their advantage. Technical expertise.’
‘Oh, I see what you mean. Well, I wasn’t expecting it, it’s true. But teleportation isn’t that advanced a technology. You should see the TARDIS.’
‘TARDIS,’ repeated Badar. It was a good new word. It was an idea word. The kind of word you could build worlds out of, pink or otherwise.
‘My advantage,’ the man said.
‘TARDIS,’ Badar said, again.
The man paused, as if wondering how much to say. ‘T‐A‐R‐D‐I‐S. It’s a spaceship. A power source. A small‐scale model of the universe, if you know what corners to look in. But mostly it’s a time machine.’
Time machine. Yes. There was an idea. Somehow, though, it didn’t seem as feasible as being able to change the colour of the world.
‘Turn back time?’ Badar asked.
‘Not exactly,’ said the man.
‘Take over the world,’ Badar persisted. ‘Easy. With a time machine.’
‘Hmm. “You can’t rewrite history. Not one line.”’
‘Rewrite?’
‘Just something I once told a friend of mine. It’s not true, of course. The lines are easy to change. It’s making sure the grammar’s consistent that’s difficult.’ Finally, the man managed to sit upright, putting all his weight on his left arm. Badar got the feeling the prisoner was staring at him again, although his face was still blurred, especially with the sun glaring through the window. ‘It just occurred to me. We haven’t been introduced.’
‘No,’ said Badar.
The man held out his one good hand, and somehow managed not to fall flat on his back. ‘How do you do? I’m –’
‘No,’ said Badar.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘No names. Not here.’ Badar raised his arm – the first time he’d moved any of his limbs in a long, long time – and pointed at the window. ‘Dead soon. No names.’
The man lowered his hand. And his eyes. ‘If we don’t have names, it makes life easier for them.’ He nodded towards the door. ‘They want us to lose our sense of individuality. Our sense of being. It’s a standard technique. All part of the process.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Guards do. Guards do what they want. Dead soon. Makes no difference. No names. No names. Please.’
‘All right. But can we still talk?’
Badar tried to smile at him, but the effort made the muscles in his face crackle and tear. ‘Where are you from? Not here.’
‘Ah. I come from… a lot of places. Via Swanley.’
Badar hadn’t heard of it, and said so.
‘No. You wouldn’t have.’ Once again, the prisoner seemed to be considering the possibility of getting to his feet. ‘What about you? Why are you here?’
So Badar told him. The man actually looked shocked by the answer.
* * *