Doctor Who_ Interference_ Book One - Lawrence Miles [79]
‘Bollocks,’ said Sam.
‘You’re a political activist?’
‘Sort of.’ Sam wondered if the woman was trying to trip her up again. ‘I’m on Amnesty International’s mailing list. Not that I expect that to mean anything to you.’
‘So you object to political torture? You object to alien governments killing off their opponents?’
‘Well, yeah.’
‘People die all the time,’ Compassion pointed out. ‘It’s like I said before. Traffic accidents. But there’s no organisation in your entire nation‐state that believes in banning traffic. I know. I checked. You care about foreigners being tortured to death, because the image of them being tortured to death makes you uncomfortable.’
‘Accidents are accidents. Not deliberate torture.’
‘Driving’s deliberate. There’s one inevitable consequence of it, but people do it anyway, even though it isn’t necessary. Isn’t that right?’
‘But people who drive aren’t trying to kill anyone.’
‘So that makes it all right? It’s acceptable to kill millions of human beings as a side effect, but it’s not acceptable to hurt a few dozen on purpose?’
Again, that chilling absence of sarcasm. ‘You’re missing the point,’ said Sam. ‘The point is, at least I care.’
‘Only selectively. The images are everything. The signals you pick up are all that matter.’ Compassion turned back to the controls. ‘Like I said. What the fighter pilots do is their business. They act on the signals, like anyone else. It’s no different from the way you do things on Earth. It’s just as random. We’re not hypocrites, that’s all.’
‘But it’s completely pointless,’ Sam protested. ‘Why do they do it, if they don’t have to?’
‘Because things need to be destroyed. Violence is part of the culture. It’s part of the media.’
‘That’s insane,’ said Sam.
Compassion had evidently finished giving the floating platform its orders, because the dome shook and clearly began to descend, presumably navigating a path down towards the city. ‘You seem to be under the impression that you need peace to build a utopia,’ Compassion told her. ‘Not true.’
‘Where are we going?’ Sam asked, hoping the change of subject wouldn’t be too obvious.
‘We’re heading for the main transmitter tower,’ Compassion said. ‘We use the platforms for retrieval. It’s hard getting anything out of the skin at ground level. Too much interference from the media.’
Sam thought about that. If they were getting closer to the source of the Remote’s signals, would Compassion’s behaviour change? Was there maybe some way of messing around with the signals, getting her too confused to act?
But even if there was, what good would it do? Where could Sam go, on this planet, or whatever it was? No Doctor, no TARDIS. No way back, except for the Cold.
Now, there was an idea.
‘The skin,’ Sam said. ‘When I was in the skin of the Cold, I heard a voice. Was that the Cold talking? It told me all about the Remote. About the Faction.’
Compassion looked startled for a moment, but recovered herself quickly. ‘Background noise. The Cold doesn’t have a voice.’
Background noise? ‘No, it can’t have been. It was talking to me.’
‘Your subconscious must have been making sense of the signals. Just like it did when you had the receiver on.’
‘You mean, that was my voice? I was talking to myself?’ Sam thought about the way the voice had spoken to her, the accent it had used. Suddenly, it clicked.
‘Mark Lessing,’ she muttered. ‘I should’ve remembered.’
The dome shook again. It was different this time, though. The platform wobbled alarmingly, and it didn’t right itself once the tremor was over. Sam found herself sliding back towards the dome wall.
Compassion seemed disturbed by this. She paused for a moment, probably listening to her receiver, then turned towards the door and crossed the dome, clutching the frame to stop herself keeling over. She stopped in the doorway, staring at something in the far distance. Sam made her way across the sloping floor, and looked over her shoulder.
It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the light outside the dome. Then she focused on three dark shapes, framed