Doctor Who_ Transit - Ben Aaronovitch [2]
Lunarversity
Kadiatu was watching The Bad News Show on English 37, lying on her back with the TV projected on to the ceiling. It was hot and her bare back kept sticking to the plastic skin of the mattress. The campus administration had promised that the environment would be fixed soon, but what with recent cutbacks students weren't holding their breaths. Bad News was showing a jumpy video of a security raid in Melbourne, intensified images shot over the shoulder of the lead policeman. Yak Harris, the Bad News anchorman, was making a big deal out of the way the camera operators wore full combat armour, 'Better than the real cops'. Yak chortled ruefully as one of the policemen went down with a bullet in the face. 'Just goes to show, you can't be too well protected,' Right on cue they ran a twenty-second advert for personal armour - 'How safe are you?' - and Yak was back with the latest body count over a slowmo action replay of the cop's death. Vivaldi in the background as the body toppled lazily downwards. 'Let's see that from another angle,' said Yak Harris and smiled his perfect computer-generated smile.
Kadiatu's stomach rumbled.
She turned off the TV and rolled to her feet. At head height the air was hotter and smelt of zinc. Kadiatu wrapped a sarong around her breasts, pushed her moneypen through her braids and opened the door. Some of the students had pulled their mattresses out into the corridor to take advantage of the slight breeze that blew down its length. By the time she reached the refectory sweat was trickling down between her shoulder blades and thighs, and the cotton of the sarong stuck to her skin as she moved. The refectory was deserted, dark and even hotter than her room. On the far wall, opposite the entrance glowed the drink dispenser. 'Solar Cola' in cool blue neon letters. Kadiatu paused at me door and looked round the cavernous interior. Granny bashers sometimes infiltrated the campus. They'd take you apart with their own hands just to get enough for the next fix. Some poor bastard from Sociology had been jumped a week ago and was spending the rest of the year in a vat growing a new spinal column. The entrance cast an aisle of light fifteen metres across the floor to the drinks dispenser - 'Cool Refreshing Solar Cola'. On either side she couid make out the flat shadows of tables stretching away into the darkness. Squaring her shoulders, Kadiatu set out with studied nonchalance. It was silent except for the hum of the dispenser's refrigeration unit and the slap of her bare feet on the vinyl floor,
She was halfway across when she heard the noise, a muffled whirring, snorting sound, somewhere off to her right. She stopped and slowly turned towards the sound. It was low down under the tables and coming towards her, snuffling like a dog.
Except you didn't get dogs on Luna. Or only in restaurants. There were rules. Kadiatu saw movement, just a shape, low slung with close-set red eyes, a prehensile snout weaving from side to side as it advanced. You didn't run from animals, she knew that. She just wished she knew what the other options were. It was too late, the animal was there, darting out between the tables, its snout whipping round to strike at her legs. Kadiatu jumped out of the way and watched the cleaning robot zip past. The two red laser sensors mounted above its suction hose probed for obstacles as it vacuumed the floor.
'Piss off,' shouted Kadiatu as the machine vanished into the shadows again.
I come from six generations of fighting men and women, thought Kadiatu, and I get freaked out by a domestic robot. They'll be doing orbits in the family vault tonight.
Kadiatu walked the last few metres. She was sure that the air was getting hotter in the refectory. She pressed her cheek against the cool plastic of the Solar Cola machine and slotted in her moneypen. Nothing happened. 'Please,' she said softly trying all the combinations. 'I'll drink anything, as long as it's cold and wet.' Kadiatu slid slowly down on to her knees.
You'd think, she thought,