Doctor Who_ Original Sin - Andy Lane [96]
Martle had just been vanishing into a null-grav shaft. She had ducked back in case he had seen her, then, after his feet had vanished upwards, she jogged across the lobby, avoiding various human, beppled human and alien guests, and dived in after him.
And here she was, standing outside the open door of the hotel room, personal vibroknife in her hand, listening to him shouting. A tiny bud of worry was flowering inside her chest. The moron obviously needed backup, but had been too proud to ask Forrester to come with him. He’d be glad she was there.
Wouldn’t he?
‘You should be careful who you speak to like that,’ a calm, sardonic voice said.
‘I might just have you killed.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Martle snapped. ‘I’ve been doing your dirty work for so long that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to get your hands soiled. I’ve set everything up for you. If you kill me, who’ll protect you from the Adjudicators?’
‘What makes you think you’re the only Adjudicator on my payroll?’
Forrester very deliberately tried not to think about what was being said. She didn’t analyse the words for their meaning. She didn’t dare think about Fenn Martle, fairest Adjudicator on the force, taking bribes.
She didn’t succeed.
She had to see who Martle was talking to. Edging closer to the door, she tried to peer round the jamb.
‘Someone else?’ Martle sounded shaken. ‘Who?’
‘No harm in telling you, I suppose,’ the voice drawled. ‘Your Adjudicator Secular. Rashid, is that her name? Expensive, but she’s worth every penny.’
‘But –’
‘Why? Because I needed the extra protection. We have the Hith ship, thanks to a pilot who was open to bribery, and we’ve shipped it here to Earth. A fascinating vessel. Exploitation will start any day now. We tortured the navigator for information, and we were about to do the same with the pilot until they both 163
managed to escape. The pilot left Earth, but I’ve traced him to Oolis. No doubt if I pay enough money to the local militia, they’ll kill him for me. The navigator is still on Earth, somewhere in the Undertown. I wouldn’t be concerned about him, except that he took a vital control nexus from the ship before he went. We can’t operate the engines properly without it. We need to find him.’
‘I can do that for you.’ Martle sounded as if he was pleading. Forrester couldn’t believe it. Through the doorway, past Martle’s expensively dressed figure, she could see a large picture window, overlooking the hole in the Overcity where the Scumble spacecraft had crashed. Far, far below, the fires of the Undertown glittered.
‘But you’re unreliable,’ the other man said. ‘And you are becoming increasingly expensive. Rashid can give us far better protection if we find this pilot and kill it.
You, I’m afraid, are yesterday’s news, Mr Martle.’
Forrester edged an inch further into the doorway, and saw the figure Martle was talking to. It glistened like metal, but it looked like a man. A man in an old-fashioned suit, with a round-collared shirt. Its head had been moulded to resemble a face: a middle-aged face with a stern frown, a supercilious droop to the eyes, a sneer. The sort of man you wouldn’t want to cross in business. Or anything else.
A bot built to resemble a man? There were laws against that sort of thing. And why was it giving Martle orders?
It saw Forrester.
‘My dear,’ it said affably, gesturing her into the room, ‘please join us.’ It turned to Martle. ‘You see,’ it said. ‘You’re getting to be a liability, my boy. You were followed.’
‘Please . . . ’
‘No, Mr Martle, I’m afraid my mind is made up.’ It shook its head in mock sorrow, but Forrester could sense an undercurrent of dark humour in its voice.
‘Fenn . . . ’ she said uncertainly. ‘I don’t understand. Why are you taking orders from a bot?’
Martle looked away, unable or unwilling to meet her gaze.
‘I’m not a bot, my dear,’ the bot said, striding forward surprisingly nimbly.
‘Yeah, sure,’ she said, ‘and I’m the Draconian ambassador. Well, if you’re for real, then I’m obliged to inform you that your