Doctor Who_ Interference_ Book One - Lawrence Miles [85]
So the Ogron had followed her back to Croydon, its black (rented?) limo‐type thing tailing Sarah’s car through Camberwell and Dulwich, eventually pulling up on Elgin Road. And now the alien was in her kitchen, for the simple reason that she had, without really thinking about it, offered it – offered him – some food. Ogrons clearly weren’t used to having food served to them, as he’d interpreted this as an invitation to take her kitchen apart piece by piece.
Looking at him now, Sarah had trouble believing the people at COPEX had accepted him as human. The Doctor had once told her that in the twenty‐sixth century someone had tried to start a war by disguising Ogrons as agents of enemy powers, covering up their looks with hypnotic brain beams. Or something like that, anyway. But here in the 1990s? You didn’t need brain beams to do the job. The culture had already hypnotised itself. The transmissions said foreigners were big and hairy and smelled of old meat, and nobody questioned the aliens’ existence.
Sarah’s kitchen and dining room were attached, separated only by a Formica bar, so she rested K9 on the dining‐room table and pretended to talk to him while she kept an eye on her guest. The Ogron gave up on the toaster, and started searching the cabinets instead. It took him a while to figure out how to work the handles, but once he’d got his head around the technology, he spent many happy minutes rooting through the spare crockery and boxes of breakfast cereal.
‘He’s an Ogron,’ Sarah told K9. Almost as an apology.
‘Affirmative, mistress. Sentient simian species, home world co‐ordinates 0110011 by C2. First discovery of Ogron planet by outside intelligences occurred in relative Earth year 1855. First official contact with human species, 2540. Ogrons used as servitor species by seventeen known galactic powers –’
‘Uh,’ said the Ogron in the kitchen.
‘Affirmative,’ said K9.
The Ogron pulled one of the cereal packets out of the cabinet over the sink, and sniffed at it. It was a half‐finished box of Weetos, which Sarah had only really bought because she’d liked the look of the free gift.
‘Plant?’ the Ogron queried.
‘Food,’ Sarah replied.
The Ogron seemed suspicious, but nonetheless stuffed his huge hand into the packet, pulled out a fistful of chocolate‐tainted hoops, and stuffed them into his mouth.
‘So,’ said Sarah, not really sure how to go about starting this conversation. ‘So. You said you wanted to talk to me. And the Remote don’t know you’re here.’
The Ogrons spat the half‐chewed mouthful of cereal on to the kitchen floor. Sarah took that to be a yes.
‘Do you want to change sides?’ Sarah asked. ‘Is that it?’
The Ogron tried the next packet of cereal, so when he finally answered it was through a throat full of muesli. ‘Hardware,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry?’
The Ogron nodded. ‘Good,’ he said, apparently in judgement of the muesli. He poured some more into his mouth before he went on. ‘Hardware. Us.’
Sarah bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, this conversation’s going to be hard enough as it is. Why don’t you finish off that box, and we can talk later? All right?’
The Ogron wiped some of the cereal away from his big fat lips. Once he’d finished, he reached into the top pocket of his jacket, fished something out and tossed it in Sarah’s direction. Sarah caught it with both hands.
It looked like part of an old radio. Or maybe an old TV set. The technology was chunky, but fairly complex‐looking.
‘It’s one of those things your friends wear in their ears,’ Sarah noted, holding the object in front of K9’s nozzle.
‘You wear,’ said the Ogron. ‘We talk better.’
Sarah looked down at K9. ‘Is it safe?’
K9 sniffed at it, or whatever it was he did. ‘Attempting to determine effects of receiver on human neurosystem, mistress.’ He hummed happily to himself for a few moments. ‘Analysis complete. Possibility of hallucinogenic effects even if used for short periods.’
Without warning, the Ogron banged his fist on the table top. The Formica cracked across.