Doctor Who_ The King of Terror - Keith Topping [34]
‘Listening to the Pistols . . . ?’
‘One of the lads had some cassettes with him. All there was to do at night.
That and sit and watch the sunset, smoking kif. Which was an experience in itself. You had to take your shovel with you every time you wanted a crap. It was one of the best six weeks of my life!’ noted Paynter.
‘I was doing my basic training in 1981. The first bug-hunt I saw was clearing up after the Ice Warriors fiasco in Northampton.’
‘I remember that. I was with Harry Sullivan’s broadsword team at Porton Down when all that was happening.’
By ten o’clock they had arrived at the elaborate wrought-iron gates to InterCom’s Studio City headquarters.
From a distance the complex looked
like a theme park. An impressive monorail track ran around the outside whilst, within, towering skyscraper blocks battled for prominence with a gar-ish ninety-foot-high representation of the company logo in concrete and glass.
‘Is anybody thinking Nineteen Eighty-Four at this point?’ asked Barrington, parking the car.
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‘No,’ said Paynter flatly. ‘I’m thinking “someone’s got a very small penis”.’
‘ I wouldn’t be so crude,’ said Barrington. But he was forced to agree. Somebody’s ego was clearly being stroked here. ‘What’s the plan, skipper?’
‘Mingle with the tourists. See what presents itself, yeah?’
‘Sounds good. You got the camera?’
‘Check,’ noted Paynter, patting his pocket.
The monorail tour was one of the most frightening experiences of Geoff Paynter’s life. Not the height, or the speed of the train, but rather the inane drivel that spewed out of the speaker just above his head for the entire thirty-five-minute journey. A breathless stream of facts, figures and statistics about InterCom’s worldwide organisation, mixed with a sycophantic eulogy to Paolo Sanger, that was part Disney showmanship and part Nuremberg rally. By the time the monorail finally arrived back at the main visitor centre Paynter felt genuinely nauseous.
‘Could you believe that?’ he asked Barrington as they walked down the ramp to where the guided tour of the facility started.
‘Wasn’t paying much attention,’ noted Barrington. ‘The scenery was quite nice and I was thinking about James Rankin.’
‘Drill sergeant from Devesham? Known to every recruit that’s ever been through there as “Stinker” on account of his considerable pong?’
‘Yes. He was as much a mentor to me as John Benton was to you. He taught me a very basic lesson about alien attack.’
‘Kick ’em where it hurts?’ asked Paynter in total seriousness. ‘Obviously.
But also, never let them distract you with scientific gobbledegook.’
Paynter was horrified. ‘That’s a bit namby-pamby for Stinker Jimmy. He was supposed to be a hard case.’
‘He was,’ replied Barrington. ‘Still is actually, I saw him three weeks ago. He still gives out the same advice, and he’s got a higher avoidance of casualties ratio than any trainer in UNIT history. Very proud of that statistic he is.’
‘Your point being?’
‘That nonsense in there had all the hallmarks of indoctrination techniques.’
‘You are not serious?’ asked Paynter incredulously. ‘They were just being American!’
Barrington halted Paynter and indicated towards the herd of people filing past them from the train. ‘Look at them,’ he urged. ‘They’re brain-numbed.’
‘I’m not surprised after that.’
‘Exactly. They’re like sheep now. Malleable. Open to autosuggestion. It’s exactly the same technique the Time Meddler used in the Seventies with that pop concert malarkey. Come on, Geoff, you were around then . . . ’
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‘Yes,’ said Paynter slowly. ‘I can see the validity of your argument.’ He stared blankly at Barrington, with a fixed smile on his face. ‘You make a persuasive case.’
‘Geoff . . . ?’
Paynter laughed. ‘You soft tart. I had you going there! Autosuggestion my foot!’
‘I hate you,’ said Barrington, turning away from Paynter. ‘If I ever win the lottery, the first thing I’m gonna do is have an Islamic jihad put out on your arse.’
‘Oooh. Touchy,’ said Paynter, putting a consoling arm around Barrington’s shoulders.
‘Get knotted,