Doctor Who_ Original Sin - Andy Lane [38]
‘Searched and found.’
‘Display all data on subject with Imperial Landsknecht prisoner of war identification number five zero three three nine one zero two.’
A pause.
‘I know what it’s going to say,’ Bernice whispered.
‘Information concerning the prisoner of war identified by that number is classified.’
Bernice sighed. The Doctor smiled. ‘We’re on a trail,’ he said.
‘Yeah, but the trail’s blocked.’
‘Then we’ll walk along the grass verge to the side,’ the Doctor said. Bernice was still trying to work out exactly what he meant by that when he said:
‘Computer, how many Imperial Landsknecht prisoner – oh, this is stupid.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Computer, for the duration of this access session, please regard the phrase ILPIN as being equivalent to the phrase Imperial Landsknecht prisoner of war identification number.’
‘Acknowledged.’
‘Nice to know you speaka da lingo,’ Bernice murmured.
The Doctor continued. ‘Computer, how many ILPINs are classified?’
‘Two,’ it said.
The Doctor turned to Bernice and said: ‘Interesting. Our quarry is so important that he is one of two records that have not been declassified.’ Turning back to the desk, he said, ‘Computer, please give the date at which ILPIN five zero three three nine one zero two was issued.’
‘That information is –’
‘Classified,’ he chorused with it. ‘Very well, please – and this is the clever bit – please give the date on which ILPIN five zero three three nine one zero one was issued.’
‘That information is –’
‘Shut up!’ the Doctor barked, then grimaced. ‘Oh, of course. Computer, please give the date at which ILPIN five zero three three nine one zero zero was issued.’
66
‘Tuesday the fifth of June in the year two thousand nine hundred and fifty-five.’
The Doctor clapped his hands together in joy. ‘Smack in the middle of the Hith Pacification. Computer, please give the date on which ILPIN five zero three three nine one zero three was issued.’
‘Tuesday the fifth of June in the year two thousand nine hundred and fifty-five.’
Bernice, who had been following this with interest, was lost. ‘And this means . . . ?’ she asked.
‘It means that, of all the prisoners of war who were given numbers during the Hith offensive, only two were so important that all records of them are still classified four years later. And we were having dinner with one of them a few days ago.’
‘Homeless Forsaken Betrayed And Alone?’
‘I think that we can safely assume so.’
‘Something of an ironic joke,’ Bernice said.
‘I hope the joke consoles you during your incarceration,’ a deep voice said from behind them. They turned, to find two Landsknechte pointing guns at them. Big guns, bristling with matt-black attachments. Beside them stood a portly Landsknecht in a provost-major’s uniform, his hands behind his back.
His skin was blue and wrinkled, his ears were huge flapping sheets and his nose had been elongated into a flexible tube that dangled down across his ample belly. An expensive body-bepple, for sure. He reminded Bernice of something, but she couldn’t remember what.
He smiled at Bernice.
‘I apologize for the inconvenience,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I’m Provost-Major Beltempest, and you’re under arrest for impersonating Landsknecht officers.’
He took his hands from behind his back, and Bernice was oddly unsurprised to find that he had four arms . . . ‘I hope you enjoy your stay,’ he said. ‘It’s liable to be a long one.’
The sound of metal sliding against wood was almost drowned by the soft hiss of rain against the surface of the canal.
Powerless Friendless took a deep, silent breath, and tried to squeeze himself closer to the side of the building. He was standing on a wooden walkway which dangled unsteadily from lengths of rope, wire and discarded fibre-optic cable. As with all the walkways in the Undertown, the cables were attached to the roof of the building above. The wall beside him, and the one across the canal, were sheer faces of polycarbide-reinforced