Doctor Who_ So Vile a Sin - Ben Aaronovitch [126]
Instead the robot continued polishing the floor of corridor 15
(cultured marble: cleaning fluid ec682, size seven pad –
vigorous). It completed the task as scheduled, thirteen minutes later, and proceeded to the main computer room.
A pair of booted feet stumbled over Dozy Floyd as it rolled into the room. It started to clean the floor, paying special attention to the skirting boards (acetic acid solution 50 per cent).
A map of the computer room’s physical layout had surfaced in Dozy Floyd’s mind. It rolled gradually in the direction of a box outlined in red in its limited mind. Someone else stepped over it, cursing.
Someone said, ‘What’s that bot doing in here? We’re trying to work, goddamnit.’
Dozy Floyd rolled up to the red box in its mind. It bumped against the real thing.
A moment later, it sent its cleaning fluid recycling system into reverse, and initiated a series of cascading overrides in its power grid.
Operating imperative one kicked in as smoke started to pour from its ventilation slits. ‘This unit is about to undergo massive combustion,’ it warned, in a high, shrill voice. ‘Please move to a safe distance, minimum twenty metres, and preferably behind cover.’
It repeated the message, over and over, until it was aware that every pair of feet had walked or run out of that radius.
Deep in Dozy Floyd’s synthetic mind, a small subroutine wished someone would step back within the boundary. Not 292
because it wanted to take one of its masters with it, but because if they had, it would not have to –
Mimas
Chris looked at the Nexus. He had the awful feeling it was looking back at him.
It didn’t look like much. He had been expecting a major special effect, or something hidden behind massive shielding, or something that the human brain could not comprehend, or whatever.
Instead, he saw a tiny, shimmering light, hanging in midair.
Like a tiny piece of a curtain made of some thin, silvery material.
Perhaps a third of a metre high, less than that in width. It looked as though you could fold it up and take it home in your pocket.
It moved very slightly, this smear of light, wobbling in the air.
Chris supposed that had something to do with the movement of Mimas, or something.
‘Wow,’ he said.
The Nexus was the centrepiece of a… cocktail party? Chris held on to the Doctor, looking around the narrow chamber.
This room hadn’t been excavated by machines. The walls were smooth, white, spotted with miniature versions of the TARDIS
roundels. The ceiling rose to a conical point, high above the Nexus.
The chairs and the tables, with their fine lace tablecloths, were a recent addition. The Grandmaster stood around the room, in twenty of its twenty-eight bodies, nibbling hors d’oeuvres and sipping champagne.
They were a mix of people, different heights, different looks, different clothing styles. Each of them had the same blank look as Iaomnet.
‘I don’t think any of these are the originals,’ murmured the Doctor.
‘Goddess,’ said Chris. ‘The bodies die, and the gestalt just keeps going. Like a program moving itself around in puterspace.’
‘No wonder it’s so patient. It’s effectively immortal.’
‘That must be what they promised Walid,’ said Chris. ‘Not just the weapon. Immortality.’
293
We want what’s best for everyone, said the Grandmaster. The voice was overpowering, coming from all around them. We’ve been greedy. It’s time to share our power.
‘Yeah, right,’ said Chris loudly. ‘What you want to do is gobble everyone up. Make everybody join your exclusive club.’
That club has been exclusive for centuries, said the Grandmaster. Previously, we had no effective way to create new telepaths.
‘You had the SLEEPY virus,’ said Chris.
You had the cure. Chris saw a subtle rhythm to the way they plucked their crackers with caviar from the table, the way they all seemed to drink at the same time, or not all of them, waves of identical movement rippling