Doctor Who_ Transit - Ben Aaronovitch [120]
'Are you telling me that the Greenies are samurai?'
"Actually the bushido code is quite a bit different from Xss kskz, the 'path of correct behaviour in most situations', but close enough for our purposes. Symbols are very important, that's why you have to use this particular sword.'
'How will they know?'
'They'll know.'
Inside the museums the burglar alarms were just starting to go off.
Old Sam held the sword horizontally before him at shoulder height. He switched on the suit's external speakers, digital gain should make him audible in the thin air.
'I am Samuel Robert Garvey Moore of the Second Battalion Third Brigade of the United Nations Armed Forces, I have killed more people than I can count.'
Old Sam broke the ancient sword across his knee.
'I come in peace,' he said.
Piraievs
The ferry's sun deck was made from closely fitted planks of hardwood and had a fifteen-degree list to port. Zamina remembered it was called port because that's what they'd been drinking at first. Kadiatu had placed the empty bottle on its side and let it roll towards the rail. Rust had eaten holes in the rail, and the aim of the game was to get the bottles to roll through one and into the sea.
'Port off the port bow,' Kadiatu had shouted and then had to explain what it meant. It was one of those drinking jokes. The more you drank, the funnier it got.
There was a lot of broken glass where the rail met the deck and the occasional intact bottle. The game was harder than it looked.
They'd arrived at dawn, climbing up the rotting gangway in the half light. A carrier bag of reinforced paper was slung over Kadiatu's shoulder, clinking with every movement. The ferries were vague industrial shapes against a lightening sky. Kadiatu said that they would have been cut up for scrap years ago but the European Heritage Foundation kept getting restraining orders.
Now the sun baked the white and blue superstructures. It cooked the deck until it was too hot to touch. Kadiatu had unwound her dress and spread it out for them to lie on. A breeze blew in from the sea, snapping the remains of a tarpaulin sunshade around its posts. It alleviated the heat and made it just bearable to lie under the sun.
Zamina must have slept because when she opened her eyes the Doctor was walking up the companionway towards her. At first she thought he was a mirage, a vision brought on by heat haze and too much alcohol. Even when she was sure that he was solid she retained a persistent sense of unreality.
The Doctor strolled towards her, a wickerwork hamper in one hand, his red-handled umbrella in the other marking time on the deck. Zamina realized what it was that bugged her about him. The Doctor wasn't compensating for the ferry's fifteen-degree list, he was walking as if the deck were level. Only the hamper hung true to vertical.
Zamina sat up quickly, pulling on a top to cover her breasts. Beside her Kadiatu stirred in her sleep, lips moving.
The Doctor doffed his hat.
'I thought I'd find you here,' he said. 'May I sit down?'
He sat down next to Zamina who pulled the hem of her top down over her knees as she drew them up to her chest. The Doctor opened the hamper and produced a bottle of clear water.
'I brought you this,' said the Doctor. 'I assumed that what with the sun and the alcohol you might be getting dehydrated.'
When he handed it to Zamina it was so cold she almost dropped it. 'What about Kadiatu?'
The Doctor looked over. Kadiatu lay on her back, forearm over her eyes. There was a sheen of sweat running down from her neck between her breasts to her midrift.
'Don't worry about her,' said the Doctor. 'She'll probably just reabsorb her urine or something.'
Zamina opened the water and took a long swig.
'What else have you got in there?' she asked.
The Doctor produced a small orange bottle from the hamper and put it between them. 'Sunblock,' he said, 'and a light lunch.' He pulled the handkerchief