Doctor Who_ The Algebra of Ice - Lloyd Rose [41]
‘Prank?’
‘One of those crop circles,’ said the solicitor without much interest.
‘But what an extraordinarily minor thing for which to call out the army.’
‘’s not the army,’ said the bartender. ‘It’s UNIT, like. They handle all the weird stuff. UFOs and that. You know.’
‘Complete rubbish,’ said the solicitor irritably. ‘ This is what I pay back-breaking taxes for.’
‘It’s a government plot,’ said the farmer, ‘like that damned dome. They use money for daft projects and then haven’t any for the countryside. Bring in agribusiness, that’s what they want. Hire Yanks as managers. Course, the Yanks have got their own farm problems now.’ He and the solicitor chuckled.
The bartender apparently had no quarrel with America and went on quietly polishing glasses. Brett laid some coins beside his glass and took his leave.
That had been easier than he expected. Yokels.
86
The Algebra of Ice
‘Prat,’ said the farmer as the door shut.
He and the solicitor and the bartender snickered.
The rest of Brett’s day wasn’t as fortuitous. He roused Unwin and put him to work breaking into various files until he turned up a list of UNIT personnel and, after some more work, their biographies. Brett read through all of these carefully. He couldn’t for the life of him see anything out of the ordinary about any of them: mostly British, some Indians and Pakistanis and Islanders, same sorts of educational backgrounds, same areas of expertise. These were in some cases a bit unusual, but what would you expect from a department of UFO
spotters? He was in the right place, no doubt about that. But the right man wasn’t there.
‘What’s all this about anyway?’ said Unwin irritably. He was extremely hung-over and in no mood to be working out ways through firewalls.
‘I think our man may be connected with UNIT.’
‘What? The circle chap?’
Brett nodded, eyes still on the screen. ‘Perhaps he’s classified top secret. Push on a bit farther.’
Unwin groaned and kept going. After a number of false starts, stops and reroutings, opening what seemed to him like a hundred files that were of no use at all, he pulled up one that was peculiarly short. ‘Two kilobytes,’ he said curiously. ‘It’s practically empty.’
‘But not entirely empty. Open it.’
Unwin did. He and Brett stared at the following information.
The Doctor
Birth date: n/a
Nationality: n/a
Personal statistics: variable
Education: unknown
Employment history: unknown
Address: n/a
Contact: none
There were no photographs.
Unwin stared, his jaw slack. ‘But this is mad. What do they mean, variable personal statistics? Is he immaterial?’
‘He’s something,’ Brett said grimly. ‘But I don’t yet know what.’
A noise shrilled up the stairs, startling them both.
‘The phone.’ Unwin looked at Brett in alarm. ‘Who can it be?’
Chapter Ten
87
‘Any number of people,’ snapped Brett. ‘Fools wanting to sell magazines, pleaders for charitable donations, the newspaper asking me to subscribe again.’
He hurried down to the landing, and picked up the receiver. ‘Yes?’
‘Mr Brett? Mr Sheridan Brett?’
‘To whom am I speaking?’
‘It’s about the crop pattern.’
Brett’s eyes flicked to Unwin at the top of the stairs. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The crop pattern. I saw your car there.’
‘What? Who are you, please?’
‘Oh. Yes. Sorry. My name is Adrian Molecross. I’m a journalist.’
‘Oh really? A journalist.’
Unwin’s eyes widened in panic, but Brett motioned to him to stay calm.
‘Yes.’
‘For which publication?’
‘ Molecross’s Miscellany of the Mysterious and Misunderstood.’
‘I don’t believe I know it.’
‘Well, it doesn’t have a large circulation. It’s esoteric.’
‘Ah.’
‘I’m investigating that crop pattern.’
‘I wish you’d explain what you’re talking about.’
‘You know – in the field.’
‘In the field?’
‘The field. I saw your car leaving there.’
‘When?’
‘Four days ago, about an hour before dawn.’
‘I was leaving a field?’
‘That’s right.’
‘With a – what? A crop matter?’
‘Pattern.’
‘Pattern. I see.’
‘Laid out in the field,’ Molecross