Doctor Who_ Trading Futures - Lance Parkin [12]
‘Careful,’ Anji warned, as the Doctor leaned in.
‘It’s all right. It was obviously on some sort of timer.’ He held out his pocket watch. ‘It opened at exactly ten a.m.’
He opened the case. After a quick search, all he had found was a piece of card, and a small arrowhead.
The Doctor handed Anji the arrowhead. ‘Recognise it?’
Anji turned it over in her hand. ‘It’s old.’
‘It’s from eleventh‐century Scotland.’
‘It’s in good condition.’
‘Yes… yes, it is. Almost as good as new. Not what I was expecting to find. Not that I knew what I’d find.’
‘So what does that card say?’
‘“The bearer of this card is invited to…” and then it’s in code,’ the Doctor told her. ‘Give me a minute or two and I’ll work it out.’
He handed that over, and took the arrowhead back. Anji saw a string of numbers.
‘It’s a map reference,’ Anji told him. ‘You know, like a GPS uses. I’ve got a GPS database on my organiser, we can look it up.’
‘What about the equation on the second line? Three, slash, seven, space, nine, colon, zero zero?’
‘It’s a date and time.’
‘Oh yes, of course it is.’
Anji had fished her Psion organiser out of her bag and was waiting for it to boot up.
‘The seventh of March.’
‘More likely it’s the third of July – tomorrow. So, where do we have to be?’
‘Hang on.’ She entered the numbers on the card. ‘Athens.’
‘Athens? Not that far, relatively speaking.’
* * *
‘So, I’m Fitz.’
‘Malady Chang.’
‘Is that Chinese?’
‘It’s English. It means “disease”. I’m not sure my parents knew that. Do you think your parents knew what “Fitz” meant?’
Not knowing what her name meant made him look dim, but not knowing what his meant would make him look like a complete idiot. Fitz settled for offering her a cigarette.
‘You still smoke tobacco?’
Fitz was holding out a cigarette. ‘Well, yeah.’
‘I’m amazed. I suppose if anyone asks, you tell them it’s hash.’
‘Yeah, that’s the one,’ Fitz said. Long experience of time‐travelling had taught him that you answered questions by politely agreeing with the person asking them. Anji had said once that she never asked a question she didn’t know the answer to. It hadn’t occurred to Fitz until then, but most people followed that rule. So, on his travels, when people asked ‘do you know this is a restricted area?’ or ‘what shall we do with you, rebel scum?’ or the like, he’d learned to shrug and let them carry on with whatever they were going to do anyway.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a nicopill?’
‘A what?’
She handed him a small bottle of yellow pills.
‘Nicotine oil capsules. Gets rid of the craving, doesn’t leave you with bad breath. Or cancer.’
‘What do they taste like?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
He popped one of the pills, swallowed it. And then realised he didn’t want the cigarette he had in his other hand any more.
‘Not much fun.’
‘Ten years ago they marketed them as a way to help people give up smoking. But people got addicted to them instead. There wasn’t tax on them – not at first. And you can use them in restaurants.’
‘Can I have another?’
‘Be my guest.’
‘They’re very more‐ish.’
‘That’s kind of the point. It’s an addiction, but it’s not an antisocial one.’
‘When I smoke, it relaxes me. And I like the taste. These pills – they’re killing the craving, but they don’t do anything else.’
‘That’s right.’
‘It’s a product that serves no purpose?’
‘It does what all products should do – it makes you want to buy it again. It just doesn’t do anything else. It’s capitalism in its purest form. Create a need, then exploit it.’
She checked her watch.
‘Do you want these back?’
‘No, you have them. You don’t think I take them, do you?’
‘Then what…?’
‘Helping the US export drive.’
‘Ah, what if I buy British?’
‘That pack in your hand is Region One. You’ll only want to add to the US balance of trade from now on.’
Fitz glared at her, then popped another pill.
‘Do you see those men over there?’ she asked.
Fitz looked round.
Two heavyset men in trenchcoats. They looked so much like secret policemen that they couldn