Doctor Who_ Interference_ Book One - Lawrence Miles [32]
It didn’t work. She had too many freckles. Besides, her face wasn’t the right shape. Not really fat, more like… what did they call those rodents around here? The ones with the big cheeks?
Compassion sniffed at him. ‘It’s not my fault they don’t let women into the exhibition.’
‘Then how come Bland got to go there?’
‘They do admit women,’ said Guest.
Guest was still standing by the door, his hands folded neatly behind his back. But then, everything about Guest was neat. He didn’t so much move as resculpt himself into different positions. Which, combined with his height, his muscles and the way he stared at you as if you were the only thing in the world when he talked to you, freaked Kode out like nothing else in creation.
‘Compassion would be… too noticeable,’ Guest went on. ‘In the circumstances.’
‘There, you see?’ said Compassion.
‘Oh yeah?’ said Kode. ‘And what about those two thugs we’ve got working for us? Aren’t they “noticeable”?’
‘Standard security,’ Guest told him.
‘Where’ve they got to, anyway?’ Compassion asked.
Guest stared at her, which gave Kode a moment’s satisfaction. Deal with that, snotty. Hah. ‘The Cold,’ said Guest. ‘We had to stage a demonstration for our business contacts. I’ll retrieve them soon.’
Compassion looked down at her feet. Kode smirked for a couple of seconds, then turned his attention back to the TV. As ever, the transmissions running through the receiver in his ear were mixing with the local TV signals, causing brilliant flashes of interference across the screen. Better. Much better. The transmissions on this planet were still new to him, and the local signals still far too slow, but the interference was amazing. The local programme was some kind of emotional drama, all sex, betrayal and secrets. The data from Anathema modified the images, adding fluorescent streaks of despair and paranoia to the signals.
‘There’s more than one medianet here,’ Kode mumbled, more to himself than anyone. ‘How can you have more than one medium? There isn’t even anybody regulating it all.’
‘There used to be,’ said Compassion. ‘It was in the history transmissions. There was some kind of Marshal whose job was to clean up the television networks. McLuhan, I think his name was.’
But Kode wasn’t listening. He was already tuning in to the images.
Deceit. (Flash.) Hope. (Flash.) Hopelessness. (Flash.) Broken marriages. (Flash.) Mouths opening to scream, but never making a sound. (Flash.) Trying to explode, trying to escape, but trapped under the skin of the darkness. (Flash.) Hope. (Flash.) Hopelessness. (Flash.) Hope. (Flash.) Hopelessness. (Flash.) Hope…
‘Kode,’ said Guest.
Hope and hopelessness. The target had to be reached. Trapped under the skin for three billion years. Flash, flash, flash.
‘Kode,’ Guest snapped.
There was another flash. The TV set blinked off. Kode looked up, and saw that Compassion was standing over him, with her finger on the switch.
‘Every time you do this, all the sets in the building go haywire,’ Compassion said, looking down her nose at him.
Kode scowled at her. ‘There’s going to be interference whatever we do. We might as well make it interesting.’
‘Be quiet, both of you,’ barked Guest.
They both turned. Kode hadn’t heard Guest snap like that in all the time they’d been here. There was something funny about the way he was standing as well. He looked tense, maybe alert, like he was listening for something.
Then Kode listened, too. And realised.
There was a sound inside his head, a low buzzing, shaking the neural connections at the base of his