Doctor Who_ Transit - Ben Aaronovitch [6]
Kadiatu tucked the package under her arm and left.
She got as far as the next intersection before the deal unwound in her stomach and she vomited onto the floor.
Acturus Terminal (Stunnel Terminus)
'Is that it?' The Stunnel gateway was twice as big as its Central Line counterpart at the other end of the station. Accordingly the roof and walls of Acturus Station sloped inwards down its two-hundred-metre length. It was like being in a huge funnel.
Doctor Verhoevan glanced up from his instruments. 'Impressive, isn't it?'
'Why is it that big?'
'Safety margin. On a tunnel of this length there's bound to be some real-space displacement of the carriage. We don't want it scraping the sides when it comes through.'
Close up the gateway was a dull bronze colour, the field boundary had an oily shifting look. It was making her uneasy. 'It's a funny colour.'
'Yes, interesting, isn't it?' said Verhoevan. 'It could be a function of the distance. No one's ever projected a tunnel this long before.' Verhoevan stopped and looked carefully at Ming, sizing her up. 'I'd really like to do a test run first.'
'Nervous?'
'Of course I am,' said Verhoevan. 'The President's going to be here, and the Minister and God knows who else.'
'So?'
'What if I activate the thing and nothing happens?'
Ming looked back at the gateway. 'You're getting the carrier signal?'
'Yes.'
'What's the problem then?'
Verhoevan shrugged.
The problem was power. Establishing the Stunnel was going to take sixty per cent of the total STS grid and the grid was stretched by normal operations as it was. It was the trains that took the power and the trains ran twenty-four hours a day across nine planets and fifty-six time zones.
Constitution Day, the holiday that marked the end of the Hundred-Day War, the only point when demand on the transit system fell enough to release the necessary power.
Tomorrow was Constitution Day.
'Twelve hours,' said Ming, 'and then you turn it on.'
Behind her the Stunnel gateway shone a dark greasy bronze. Ming decided that when Verhoevan cracked it open, she was going to be somewhere else.
Olympus Mons West
The floozies had gatecrashed the clerical workers' party at midnight Greenwich Mean Time. It was always Greenwich Mean Time in the system, it didn't matter where you started from or where you ended up, it could be full bloody daylight outside, but when you stepped into a station and the clock said zero zero zero zero it was bloody midnight, and don't you forget it. It could be hard on the biorhythms but not for Blondie, not for a boy from the Stop. A boy from the Stop could handle anything - right? Blondie was trying to explain this to people at the party but they kept on moving away. In a comer Lambada, dressed in a pink crochette T-shirt, had pinned a trainee clerical officer to the wall. The boy had a startled look on his face which troubled Blondie until he noticed where Lambada's other hand was. Clouds of suspicious-smelling smoke were rapidly overpowering the air conditioners and beginning to form a twisting strata at head height. Blondie thought it was probably now illegal to breathe deeply while standing upright, and probably dangerous as well. A noise box was pumping the latest subsonic backbeat into the floor. The vibrations were making Blondie feel queasy and a little sad. Credit Card bounced past, arms flailing out of time to the beat. The dance style had been obsolete for twenty years but Credit Card didn't care. His manic grin was locked into the memory of parties past as he slammed off people, walls and furniture. Dogface was sitting on one of the room's terminals, telling one of his sick stories to a group of young accountants. He described how two trains on the Millfield Branch line