Doctor Who_ Match of the Day - Chris Boucher [15]
‘Scuffling right I’m not.’
The Doctor nodded knowingly. ‘I thought not,’ he said and was waiting to hear what the alternative was when Leela put in, ‘What is a freelance operator? Is it a warrior code?’
Fanson looked at the Doctor and raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Your fighter taken the odd blow to the head?’
‘She comes from a warrior tribe,’ the Doctor said. ‘She can be a bit obsessive. And aggressive. Obsessively aggressive on occasions.’
‘All the best ones are,’ Fanson said. ‘But they’re not usually that simple-minded.’
Leela prowled towards Fanson. ‘I dislike being talked about as if I was not here,’ she said.
‘She moves well though,’ Fanson commented.
‘If it is a fighting discipline,’ Leela remarked to the Doctor,
‘he is clearly not in any shape to be a freelance operator. The question would not have been asked. Therefore it is not a fighting discipline.’
‘It isn’t a fighting discipline, Leela,’ the Doctor assured her, trying to get her to shut up. The trouble was, he knew, if she realised you were trying to shut her up it usually made her that much more determined to be heard.
Fanson snorted. ‘It undermines any sort of discipline if you ask me. How in gods’ names are we supposed to get standard contracts, proper league structures, an insurance fund that isn’t a joke, while freelance agents are running around the place making whatever deals they feel like.’
‘How indeed?’ the Doctor agreed.
Fanson looked at Leela. ‘Is she quick?’ he asked the Doctor.
‘I’ve got a fighter who is quick. I mean this kid is really quick over the ground. And gaudy.’ He grinned to himself, for a moment lost in recollection. ‘Some of his coups have been spec-scuffling-tacular. I’m talking Prime. Prime in everything but coverage and cash of course. But that was coming. I had seriously high hopes for the both of us until it all started to go TTU.’
‘TTU?’
‘Terminally tits up.’ For a moment Fanson looked uncertain. Watching his face the Doctor had the feeling that uncertainty was not something the man was familiar with.
Fanson sighed abruptly and smiled. ‘Like the fighters say: in this game you only get to lose once and you’re the only one who doesn’t know you came second.’ The uncertainty was gone as if it had never been. ‘So what are you, Guild or freelance?’
The alternative was some sort of guild then, the Doctor thought - some sort of agents’ organisation presumably. And if he wanted this man’s good opinion and help then ‘Guild’
was the correct answer. But supposing there was a badge, or a password, or some sort of secret handshake - you never knew what sort of nonsense was involved in membership of such groups - and anyway it wasn’t the truth, it wasn’t even true, so how would it help... ‘I haven’t been accepted yet,’ he heard himself saying. ‘It’s my ambition to join as soon as the details can be sorted out.’
‘You wouldn’t be lying to me now would you,’ Fanson said wryly.
‘I’m new to all this,’ the Doctor said, ‘but when I know what the right thing to do is I will try to do it.’
Fanson looked amused. ‘You didn’t answer the question did you.’
The Doctor said, ‘I’m sorry I thought it was rhetorical. No I’m not lying to you.’ Not technically anyway, he thought.
Technically what I’ve said is true.
‘Not even a technical infringement of the truth?’ Fanson asked, as if he had read the Doctor’s mind and was deliberately echoing his thought.
He hadn’t, of course, the Doctor could see that much from his face. It was just probability in action again, another coincidence waiting for the gullible. ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.
Fanson grinned. ‘I heard you talking to your fighter.
Something about theft as a technical infringement?’
‘You misunderstood.’
‘That’s what you told her.’
‘It was true,’ the Doctor said, and thought: as opposed to truth, which is technically more rigorous.
‘Technically,’ Fanson suggested.
He did it again, the Doctor thought. ‘Technically,’ he agreed. Not so much a coincidence then more an instinctive understanding of what the other