Doctor Who_ So Vile a Sin - Ben Aaronovitch [29]
She thought suddenly of Mother of Nobody and the laugh that could rattle glasses across the bar. The single technician monitoring the screens looked up in surprise – obviously no one had bothered to tell her what was going on.
‘Listen very carefully and nobody will get hurt,’ said Roz.
‘Apart from those two out there, you mean,’ said her hostage.
‘No no no,’ said Roz. ‘You’re not supposed to be sarcastic.
You’re supposed to engage my sympathy so I’ll start thinking of you as a person and therefore be less inclined to blow your brains out. Didn’t you get any training for this situation?’
‘Training for this?’ said the woman. ‘I’m a virtual wardrobe assistant. I put together outfits for Allison Aideed. You know –
the media face?’
‘Sorry,’ said Roz. ‘I thought you were a journalist.’
‘Oh, that makes everything all right.’
Roz flung out her arm and pointed the microwire pistol at the technician who had been edging towards the door. ‘You,’ she said, ‘sit down at the console. And you,’ she told her hostage,
‘stand next to her.’
Roz moved to a position where she could cover both the women and the door. ‘I want you to record something,’ she said.
‘Can you do that?’
The technician nodded.
‘OK,’ said Roz and took a deep breath. ‘This is the Front for the Liberation of Orestes. We demand the unconditional withdrawal of all human forces and their running-dog lackey imperialist colonist sympathizers. We also demand reparations, an end to the practice of mixing good rocks with bad rocks and a return of the big scary orange monsters. If our demands are not met within four hours, we will begin to eat our hostages.’ Roz 71
grinned at the two women who paled visibly. ‘Put that on a continuous repeat and broadcast it on all nine generators at full power.’
‘You don’t want to do that,’ said the technician. ‘That’ll cause a subspace interference pattern and your message will get broken up.’
‘What would be the point in that?’ asked the wardrobe assistant.
Roz sighed. ‘The point is, one, I’m a vicious sociopathic terrorist and don’t need a reason to do anything, and two, I’m pointing a gun at you. Now will you please just do as I ask?’
The technician tapped a few keys. The generator hum became noticeably louder. ‘They’ll burn out in ten minutes,’ she said.
‘Ten minutes is all I need,’ said Roz and shot both of them with the stunner.
Which just left security guard number three, who was either following procedure and screaming for the security services or doing something foolish. Roz hoped he was following procedure
– she didn’t have time for something foolish.
She emptied the last of her wiregun’s clip into the lock of the control suite’s door, hopefully sealing it long enough for her to get the full ten minutes’ worth of jamming. There was no sign of the third guard as she made her way to the service entrance at the back, and her opinion of ICC security went up. Faced with a siege the security forces were likely to be cautious, especially since the media were already on the scene. Roz grinned; she’d hated sieges, hated the inaction and the feeling that someone else was setting the agenda.
The building service bay was clearly marked in Imperial Standard and the big colourful pictograms that Roz assumed were for the benefit of particularly stupid Ogrons. She didn’t have time for caution, just ran out between the delivery vans, hoping that the security forces hadn’t had time to surround the building yet.
The alley was deserted. Roz did a quick visual scan for snipers on the rooftops – nothing. There were sirens in the distance but getting closer. The entrance tunnel to the foundry was west of her, on the other side of the Piazza Tereshkova. She checked her 72
watch. She had nine minutes. She wasn’t going to make it on foot.
She requisitioned a delivery van. The Jeopard in the driver’s seat took one look at her and jumped out through the window.