Doctor Who_ Placebo Effect Part 4

'I used to think you were a magician, you know. All this c.r.a.p about science - never seen you near a test tube or Petri dish for more than a few moments. Only magicians could create s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps bigger on the inside than out. Only magicians could take me to Victorian London or twenty-second-century Borneo.

And only a magician could create something as beautiful as that in five minutes.' Sam got up and took the sculpture, placing it carefully in her satchel. "Thank you, but I'll tell them it's from the both of us.'

'As you wish, Sam, as you wish.'

Sam suddenly gave him a hug.'I know I'm being selfish, Doctor, but I don't want to be forgotten. By you or anyone. Ever.'

'Immortality often has a high price, Sam. But I'll see what I can do.' He smiled at her. 'Now, let's go and magic up some Federation credits from the TARDIS ATM and hit those stores!'

Chapter 4.

Throw Them to The Lions

'The Foamasi are a legitimate business consortium. There is nothing we can do to keep them out of the Games, sir.'

'Legitimately.'

'Legitimately. And, for that matter, illegitimately. The Foamasi do not make mistakes, sir.'

Chase Carrington sighed and deleted the letter he had been composing from his datapad.

Ms Sox, his companion, personal a.s.sistant, secretary, ma.s.seuse and confidante, tried to look sympathetic. This was not easy because, although she had a great deal of respect and admiration for Carrington, each time she actually looked at him, she felt... well, disappointed. Something to do with his abnormally egg-shaped head with a few tufts of grey... growth (well you couldn't really call it hair) at the apex. He wore silly little round gla.s.ses and had a perfect set of regrown teeth that gleamed unnaturally white and thus made him look more comical than attractive. Couple this with the brown liver spots that dotted his pale complexion and Ms Sox could never entirely shake off the concept of an aging Humpty Dumpty just waiting to fall. He was dressed, as he was every day, in a black pinstripe suit, double-breasted, the lack of collar being his only commitment to current fas.h.i.+on.

Ms Sox had not seen his feet this morning but could guarantee that he wore light-brown loafers which someone had, presumably as a cruel joke, told him went well with the dark suit. No one at Carrington Corp quite had the courage to tell him otherwise. Including Ms Sox. Putting a brave face on things, she punched a couple of things up on her pad.'But there is some good news, sir.'

'Oh, joy.'

'Yes, your acquisition of Grecian Corp has gone through successfully at last. The entire company is now a subsidiary of Carrington Corp. We have absorbed their debts easily, repaid the outstanding consumers and look to make eight times the purchase price from our marketing of their major a.s.set.'

'The Olympics?'

'Indeed, the Olympics.' Ms Sox had allowed Carrington to fill that detail in by himself. It might make his day a bit more bearable to keep repeating those words, like some kind of moneymaking mantra.'We now have all copyrights, trademarks and registrations related to the Olympics. On top of the money we normally make per month simply by renting out this place, we are in for a bit of a windfall over the next twelve months.'

By 'this place' Ms Sox was referring to the planet they were on, Micawber's World, the artificial satellite Carrington Corp had constructed to which thousands flocked every month to use its enormous resort facilities. In Ms Sox's opinion, something of a goldmine.

'What of the Grecian Corp board? I never liked that chairwoman. Did we manage to get rid of any... surplus stock?'

Ms Sox smiled delightedly. She didn't have much time for the Grecian Corp boss either. 'Eight of the board resigned immediately, including Mrs Nikolas. The other four were absorbed into various boards of our other interests. Only...' Ms Sox scrolled down her datapad.'Only Plato Aristotle remained with an interest in the Olympics.'

Carrington nodded. 'Daft name but bright boy. He'll go far. I remember thinking he was the only one who understood the Olympics and all they stand for. Bearing in mind how many times over the years they've been in and out of vogue, I'm glad to have his insights still available. What is he in charge of?'

'Broadcasting arrangements, sir.'

'Oh. So he wasn't responsible for bringing in the SSS troops?' Carrington clearly did not like military types, and the s.p.a.ce Security Service were the lowest of the low as far as he seemed to think.

Ms Sox, however, did not share his distaste. She shrugged. "That was me actually, sir. Can't have too much security at a time like tiiis, Mr Carrington.'

She scratched her nose. 'I mean we'll be playing host to a majority of the elected leaders and representatives of the Federated worlds, the Guardian, the Chair of the Federation and a handful of non-aligned dignitaries. To be frank, I insist on the presence of the SSS.'

Carrington shrugged. 'Ah well, Ms Sox. I know you and your security measures. I'm sure everything will be subtle and invisible. Last thing the d.u.c.h.ess wants to see is jackbooted thugs marching athletes around, eh?'

Ms Sox smiled.'Everything will be perfect, sir.'

Carrington hauled himself out of his chair and turned to look out of his office window, at the summit of Carrington Spire. He looked down forty storeys at the neatly arranged blocks of buildings and parks below. To one side he could see the cl.u.s.ter of churches, to another there was a glut of shopping malls.'In a few days, Ms Sox, Micawber's World will host a huge party, full of beautiful people all competing in an atmosphere of friendly rivalry. Apart, of course, from the drug pushers, the local mafia, some political movers and shakers and, no doubt, a couple of fleeing galactic criminals. The usual kind of stuff you get at these things, I suppose.'

'Precisely, sir.'

Carrington turned back to her.'I still don't feel comfortable with a Foamasi presence. I don't... Well, I don't trust their motives. They have no one entered into the Games and no obvious reason to be here. We have no Foamasi businesses on Micawber's World - well, none we know of, but with the lax Federation rules on buy-ups and mergers...'

'Similar to the one we did with Grecian Corp,' ventured Ms Sox, possibly unwisely, she thought. Think before you speak, she told herself.

But Carrington just nodded. 'Oh, you're right, Ms Sox. What's good for the goose and all that. Still doesn't explain what the b.l.o.o.d.y Foamasi want.' He shuddered. 'They make my skin crawl, you know. Can't help it. Like Martians. Can't stand reptiles, never could as a child.'

'Really, sir?'

Carrington looked at her.'Not terribly Federally Correct am I, Ms Sox. I'm sorry, it's nothing personal.'

'I understand perfectly, sir.' Ms Sox scratched her nose absentiy and sniffed. 'People on my world were equally sceptical about joining the Federation. There was a large antihuman. indeed anti-everyone campaign.

Fears that the Federation would tell us what to wear, what to do.What shops could and couldn't open on what days. Even what ingredients could go into our confectionery. And as for outlawing any gwampa fruits that didn't have a perfect ninety-degree bend in them...' Ms Sox shrugged.'But we got over it. The benefits outweighed the petty concerns. Without the Federation, Jadea had little chance of commerce or industrial future. There was a limit to how many times we could sell archaic speeders and straight gwampa fruits to each other.' Ms Sox stopped scratching her nose and moved her finger to the corner of her eye. 'So don't worry, sir. Everyone feels a degree of... discomfort around new and unusual species.'

Carrington harmmphed. 'Well, the b.l.o.o.d.y Foamasi have been around for centuries. Should be used to them by now.'

Ms Sox reached over and patted Carrington's arm. 'Yes, but you are confusing their existence with their business habits. I suspect it's the latter you really dislike. There are some very nice Foamasi around, you know.'

Carrington smiled brightly.'I'm sure you are right, Ms Sox. What would I do widiout you?'

Ms Sox laughed lightly. 'Call up the Jadean emba.s.sy and find another secretary from the pool.' She clicked her datapad off. 'Time I was getting back to work, sir. Coffee at the usual time?'

Carrington nodded. 'Oh, and Ms Sox. I seem to recall, on the subject of irrational xenophobia, that the C of E is being hired this morning for a wedding, is that right?'

Ms Sox reactivated her datapad and checked. "That's correct sir. A human lady and Martian gentleman. Scheduled for ten thirty this morning. Flowers as usual?'

Carrington nodded. He always sent flowers to weddings and funerals. Then he stood up. 'You know, I might head down there myself. Invitation only?'

Ms Sox rechecked. 'It appears not, sir. Traditional Earth C of E regulations.

Open to all.'

'Excellent. Fancy going to see a wedding yourself?'

'I'd be delighted. I'll need to change. If I recall my training, human wedding ceremonies are meant to be a bit... posh?'

'Posh will do,' Carrington laughed. 'But don't go overboard. Don't want to outdo the bride, do you?'

'Oh no, sir. Absolutely not.' With a final frenzied scratch at the back of her neck, Ms Sox left Carrington's office.

Sumner was playing with his fork, moving his sausage around on his plate, soaking up the egg yolk and mixing it into the tomato ketchup. The resultant bizarrely coloured goo made him even less hungry.

There was a chime at the door.

'Come in, Madox.'

Madox, as bidden, came in. Talking.'I have no more information of why they are here, Coordinator. Perhaps they are just coming to watch the games.'

Sumner accidentally shoved his sausage too hard and it shot off his plate, only to be neatly caught by Madox, who did not even grimace as his smock was instantly flecked with yellow and ted goo. without breaking his stride, Madox dropped the offending piece of meat into the recycling bin then crossed to the kitchenette area and rinsed his hand.

He was back in front of Simmer's desk in thirty seconds, as if nothing had happened.

A little sheepishly, Sumner silently placed his plate and fork into the same bin and tried to rearrange everything on his desk. As this consisted of a couple of executive toys, a datapad and a fixed communicator screen, that was both difficult and futile.

Madox said nothing, staring intently at his employer with his usual unflinching gaze.

'Are they perhaps entered into the games?' Sumner offered quiddy.

To his surprise, Madox c.o.c.ked his head slightly. Clearly an option he had not considered. 'A good question, Coordinator. I shall go and inquire.'Without waiting for an order, Madox turned around and walked out.

Sumner looked out of his window at the reflection of Carrington Spire in the SSS Administration building opposite. Somewhere above him, the mighty Chase Carrington had pretty young women to run around and do his bidding. Humans, Zonians, Jadeans... ah, Jadeans. Beautiful, green-skinned sirens whose merest glance could turn his legs to jelly... He shook his head. And what was he stuck with? Ten Teknix and, back home, Mrs Sumner with her blasted mother.

One day, Algernon Sumner would rise above the twelfth floor. Above the shared coffee room and snooker hall. Above the cupboard-sized WCs.

One day, he would be CEO of Carrington Corp. Or Sumner Syndicate as he would rename it. Then he would marry some Jadean beauty and live life to its fullest, doing as little work as possible and having no worries, no problems and no headaches. Except wondering where he was to play the next round of golf or quoits. Oh yes, Chase Carrington upstairs had it so easy.

SSS Commandant Ritchie was not having a good day. hi fact, it was currently hovering just below 'pretty d.a.m.n c.r.a.p, really' and marginally above 'absolutely b.l.o.o.d.y disastrous'.

According to the reports he was staring at, Quartermaster-Sergeant Dallion had returned from her squads' exploration of the artificial cave system minus sixty-five per cent of her agents. And she offered no rational explanation for the disappearances. The same report also stated that various damaged lights, tools and one undamaged blaster had been recovered from the last recorded positions of Agents Salt and Cartwright.

He tapped his pad and the data vanished. Swallowing, he looked across the room.

Quartermaster-Sergeant Dallion looked back at him, impa.s.sively. Poor cow - Ritchie could tell that she guessed her career was finished, but she kept a stoic face on it. She, her family, her dependants were about to be deprived of SSS housing, education, everything. Her parents were in an SSS care home, being looked after by the best nurses and occupational therapists.

All that should be gone by 1800 hours. Her kids would be collected from their school on Phobos and transported back to Earth, probably on a cargo shuttle.

'Well, Quartermaster-Sergeant, it's not very good, is it?'

'No sir.'

'Any comments?'

'No sir. I wrote the report exactly as I believe it to have happened. Sir.'

Ritchie nodded and glanced behind Dallion. Her agents stood alert and to attention, not catching his eye. Loyal, of course, to their QMS.

'Agent McCarrick, do you have anything to add to Sergeant Dallion's report?'

A flicker of puzzlement flashed across Dallion's face, Ritchie noted.

McCarrick, to his credit, did not falter. 'No, sir. The sergeant's report must be right. Sir.'

'Have you read the report, Agent McCarrick?'

'No, sir. Of course not, sir.'

Ritchie sighed. 'So, how d'you know that the sergeant's version of events is correct?'

'I trust my sergeant, sir. Implicitly.'

Ritchie stood up and walked around his desk, snapping,'At ease, agents,'

as he pa.s.sed Dallion. He waved them all towards him, creating a sort of conspiratorial huddle. Although he noted with a wry smile that even when 'at ease', Dallion's agents were as tense as ever, even if not at attention.

'Agents, eight of your compatriots are inexplicably missing in a series of man-made tunnels. They may be forty-odd-year-old tunnels, but I find it hard to believe anyone can get lost in them so completely. This isn't some unexplored Federation newcomer world, you know. I want an unofficial 'let's get together and talk about this entirely off the record' kind of kick-around of ideas. Frankly, this close to the Olympics, I could do without headaches like this, OK? Now, ideas anyone?'

For a moment no one spoke and Ritchie realised they were all looking to Dallion.

'At ease, guys,' she said quietly, and this time the five agents really did relax. Ritchie filed this observation away for future reference.

'If I followed the rules set down by the Guardian,' Ritchie said quietly, 'Sergeant Dallion here would be on a cargo barge back to Earth, the five of you spending the next six or seven years cleaning toilets and scrubbing floors.' He cleared his throat conspiratorially. 'Unfortunately for the Guardian, I don't give two tosses for rules and regulations where good agents are concerned. Now I don't pretend to know any of you very well, but I recognise Sergeant Dallion's commitment to her charges, and yours to her. Basically, the six of you have until the opening of the Olympics to discover what happened to your friends. As far as the SSS is concerned, you are all on report, pending an investigation due to begin in five days.

What you do in that time is, of course, entirely up to you.'

He straightened up and walked back to his desk, sat down and reactivated his datapad. After a few seconds, he looked up, feigning surprise at their continued presence. 'h.e.l.lo? Can I help you, agents?'

Dallion almost smiled. 'No, sir. Sorry, sir, we came into the wrong room.

Just leaving, sir.'

Ritchie nodded as a muted but relieved chorus of 'Sir's echoed through the closing door, and then they were gone.

He sat back in his seat.'Have I done the right thing?'

To his right, a panel in the wall slid back. Even to the most observant of people, the panel was well disguised. No one could have seen the join in the flat wall unless they knew exactly what they were looking for. Ritchie could not see the small corridor beyond, but knew it ran behind the small executive toilet block next door.

A Foamasi shuffled into his office, a clawed hand scratching just beneath its right eye.'I think that went fine,Commandant.We will monitor them carefully and they will lead us to our prize.'

'At which point your promise will be carried out.'