Doctor Who_ Interference_ Book One - Lawrence Miles [52]
The service station was a big one, with its own miniature shopping centre and amusement arcade, so Sarah decided to take K9 out for a quick walk. The Remote people wouldn’t be following them, she reasoned. Even if they were, they weren’t likely to try anything at the Happy Driver Rest Stop.
The Remote. It was them, then. Even if their outfits had changed. The same race she’d met on Dust, back in the old TARDIS days, just before the Doctor had…
Odd. Why was that part of her memory such a blur?
She headed straight for the part of the complex that sold chocolate, K9 buzzing at her heels. The assorted customers and bored fourteen‐year‐olds hanging around the building gave the dog some funny looks, but Sarah was used to that by now. If anybody ever asked, she’d just tell them he was operated by remote control, and that he was the mascot for the latest appeal from Guide Dogs for the Blind. Amazingly, so far everyone she’d told that to had believed her. The same way people believed Ogrons were just grubby foreigners, probably.
‘So,’ she said to K9, as she tried to decide whether to go for the mint or the orange Tic‐Tacs. ‘What do we know for sure?’
K9 waggled his sensors. ‘Current size of database twenty googolbytes. Figure inclusive of language and interpersonal protocol banks –’
‘I’ll tell you what we know,’ Sarah continued. ‘We know they’re not aliens. They’re not from another planet. They’re not time travellers. But they don’t come from Earth. Now, what don’t we know?’
‘Impossible to estimate parameters of unknown information, mistress.’
‘We don’t know what they want,’ Sarah told him. ‘We don’t know why they’re so keen on letting us have their technology. We don’t know where Sam is.’ She picked up the orange Tic‐Tacs, on the grounds that they looked a bit like space pills. ‘And we don’t know where the Doctor is.’
‘Affirmative.’
‘So here’s a theory. If we find the Doctor, he can sort out all the other questions for us. What’s the probability of that?’
‘Eighty‐eight point nine per cent, mistress.’
‘Excuse me,’ said an old woman in a duffel coat, who’d presumably just popped into the station for the confectionery.
‘Um, yes?’ said Sarah.
The old woman nodded towards K9. ‘You’re from that television programme, aren’t you?’ She spoke the words carefully and precisely, probably hoping to impress Sarah with her BBC English. ‘You know. With the dogs.’
‘Oh, that television programme. Yes. Yes, we are.’
‘Thought so.’ The woman looked happy, nodded to herself inanely, and shuffled away. Sarah watched her go.
‘What was all that about?’ she asked.
‘Unknown, mistress.’
‘Fine. We’ll ask the Doctor about that as well. When we find him.’ She headed for the pay desk, K9 trundling along by her side. ‘So what’s the best way to find the Doctor, K9?’
But K9 was already way ahead of her, his sensors doing loop‐the‐loops, his tail wobbling like nobody’s business. ‘Artron interference in local vicinity nil, mistress. No TARDIS detected.’
‘Oh well,’ said Sarah. ‘We’ll just have to think of something else. And quickly. Back at COPEX, Kode said something about a ship being on its way. If a whole battle cruiser full of business executives turns up, we’ll really be in trouble.’
‘Are you from that television programme?’ the man behind the pay desk asked.
‘The one with the dogs,’ Sarah told him. ‘Yes. Do you want my autograph? You’ll have to tell me what to write, though.’
* * *
2 May (Research Notes)
Scratch six‐page article. Think big. Much more going on under the surface. Security fairs being used as cover for arms trade, trade in torture equipment? Metropolitan won’t buy it. Publishers in with the government. Maybe try TV. ASK PAUL NEXT TIME SEE HIM.
Make copies of promo video ads from Hiatt’s and Nova. Don’t want evidence ‘accidentally’ disappearing. V. Important Fact: taxpayer’s money used to bring torturers to Britain for COPEX, and guidelines on how to supply torture equipment to foreign states available from DTI. Going up against the government