Doctor Who_ Match of the Day - Chris Boucher [8]
‘What did you quarrel about?’
On the screen the mesmerising pattern coalesced and the word REPLY flashed in his eyes.
‘Status.’
On the Controller’s screen the computer registered TRUE: POSSIBLE EVASION.
‘Whose status?’
‘Mine.’
TRUE: PROBABLE EVASION. The Controller made a note to return and develop that line if he hit a block on the main attack.
‘Did you kill Jon Michaelson?’
Fanson allowed himself to relax very slightly. He was back on safe ground. Since he hadn’t killed Michaelson the machine was bound to register the truth of his denial. That should give them all a sudden rush of blood to the panic button. REPLY shone into his eyes. No. I did not kill Jon Michaelson,’ he said firmly.
On the Controller’s screen the computer’s evaluation was unequivocal. FALSE: DIRECT LIE. Despite a small surge of triumph, the Interrogation Controller was careful to maintain a neutral tone. I repeat. Did you kill Jon Michaelson?’
The Doctor peered more closely at the stains on the wood of the arena fence. ‘It certainly looks like blood. And there seems to be a lot of it.’ He walked further along, examining the wall as he went. ‘In fact it’s everywhere.’
‘Do you think it is human?’
He shook his head and shrugged uncertainly. ‘Anything’s possible. But if it is, someone’s had rather more than a nosebleed.’ For some reason he could not quite fathom, the light coming through the dome seemed colder suddenly, less bright.
‘This is not a good place,’ Leela said, frowning. ‘This cannot be a place for sport . Why would there be blood shed? To shed blood for sport is not reasonable. This,’ she gestured at the bloodstains, ‘this tells of much killing. What would be the point of such killing for sport?’
A matter of instinct; the Doctor said. ‘It often overrides reason. You should certainly understand that.’
‘Why?’
‘The Sevateem always killed for a reason?’
Leela glared at him. ‘Warriors never kill for pleasure.’
‘Never just for pleasure perhaps,’ the Doctor suggested.
‘There is no pleasure in killing,’ Leela said flatly.
Behind them a voice, heavy with shocked outrage and menace, said, ‘What in the name of all the gods do you imagine you’re doing?’
The Doctor turned and smiled at the heavy-set man in the one-piece black uniform. He had ‘security’ blazoned across his chest in fluorescent yellow, and low on his hip a handgun hung in an open holster. ‘I don’t do anything in the name of gods,’ the Doctor said, ‘but if you’re the cleaner you’re not doing a very good job.’ He gestured vaguely round at the blood-spattered fence. ‘You missed a bit.’
‘Those are sacred death marks,’ the security man snarled.
‘Sacred death marks, how very jolly,’ the Doctor said. ‘So much more civilised than plain old guts and gore.’
The security man stepped forward and thrust his face threateningly close to the Doctor’s. ‘Have you defiled them?’
he demanded.
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ the Doctor said, still smiling politely.
Define defile?’
‘Have you touched them?’
‘No.’
The security man leaned even closer, so that he and the Doctor were almost nose to nose. ‘You’re lying,’ he accused.
‘You have touched them.’
The Doctor did not move back from the confrontation or change his tone of voice. ‘No.’
‘You’re lying. I can tell by your voice that you’re lying.’
‘To tell someone’s lying by the sound of their voice is a rare and remarkable talent,’ the Doctor said. ‘Obviously it’s not one of your talents but it would be difficult to find fault with the ambition.’ He reached into the pocket of his long coat, rummaged about and pulled out a battered paper bag.
‘Would you like a jelly baby?’
‘You’re a liar, a blasphemer, a defiler of the holy arena,’ the security man intoned.
‘I take it that’s a no,’ the Doctor said.
The security man stepped backwards never taking his eyes from the Doctor’s face. ‘Are you looking for a fight?’ he asked