Doctor Who_ Sleepy - Kate Orman [44]
‘I’ve been telling your lieutenant,’ says St John, ‘and now I’m telling you. The colony’s medical records are private and confidential. I will not release any information to you without the express permission of the patient. And since you’ve been pointing guns at all of my patients—’
‘We’ve already downloaded the colony’s medical records,’ I tell him. He thinks I think it’s a little victory. It’s just a fact. ‘But we’ll be performing our own tests.’
‘Very thorough,’ says the little man. He’s still wiggling his hands at that woman, surreptitiously. ‘But the real question is, why did the Company — or someone at the Company — put the virus in the colonists’ inoculations in the first place?’
I’m not going to let him draw me into a conversation, or worse, a debate. The truth is, I’m not that interested. We’re only here to get the situation under control. Lock it down, do the tests, report back, wait for orders.
‘You don’t know what’s going on here, do you?’ he says.
‘If you have any information,’ I tell him, ‘now is the time.
And if you don’t stop making those signals, I’m going to have you killed.’
Not dealt with. Not punished. He folds his hands in his lap. We understand one another.
‘As you may have gathered,’ he says, ‘Dot is deaf. I was translating our conversation for her.’
The woman watches me. She’s telepathic, barely. I’m not interested.
‘What are you here for?’ says Summerfield.
‘Turn your lab and equipment over to my staff,’ I tell St John. He glares at me, but can’t see a way out of it.
‘You know about the missing people?’ says the Doctor. I suddenly realize I now know his name. Someone must have mentioned it in the conversation.
‘We’ll find them.’
‘There’s an archaeological site in the forest. I’m reasonably certain they’re heading for there.’
‘Doctor—’ says Summerfield, but he silences her with a glance.
‘You’ll find the coordinates in the mainframe,’ he tells me, stepping right up to me. He knows he’s not a threat. He’s just like all the other ones, underneath. They can scowl as much as they like, they can make their little shows of resistance.
Point a gun at them and it all peels away.
‘Go on,’ he says, looking up at me with those mismatched eyes. ‘You know you want to.’
I peep him.
Christ.
Christ Jesus.
Jesus Christ Almighty.
I realize I’ve stumbled back; I’ve fetched up against the wall; I’ve knocked something made of glass onto the floor of the infirmary.
I grab hold of the nearest trooper. The boy gapes at me.
‘Take him out and shoot him,’ I tell him.
10 J’ adoube
The trooper looked about seventeen. His pimply face emerged from his armour like a turtle from its shell.
The armour’s design struck the Doctor as awkward, more showy than practical. It had a high collar, broad shoulders, geometric edges. That was it — it was all made up of triangles. He imagined the young man had often cut himself on one of the sharp bits, getting dressed in the morning.
The armour was laser-reflective white, brilliant in the early sunlight. It wasn’t as pale as the youth himself. He held his gun as though it were an animal which might twist in his hands and bite him at any moment. He was scared stiff of the little man on the other end.
And why not? It’s not every day you get to kill someone.
The Doctor walked away from the dome, feet sinking into the dewy grass. He had a strange urge to take his shoes off.
When was the last time he had walked, or better still run, on wet grass? He didn’t remember.
The trooper walked behind him. The poor boy didn’t have a clue what to do. There was, after all, a protocol to these things, whether you planned to be brutal or to linger. The Time Lord pushed his hands into his pockets, strolling, making the trooper’s stiff march even more awkward.
‘Stop,’ said the boy, at last.
The Doctor stopped. He turned around, keeping his hands in his pockets.
‘Take your hands out of your pockets,’ said the trooper.
‘What’ll you do if I don