The Romance Of Crime Part 2

'It'd be safer to check.'

He looked up at her. 'You know your trouble, Romana?'

'Not yet.' She studied the console read outs. The TARDIS's base was firm and there were no traces of harmful substances in an atmosphere that was almost sterile.

'Your trouble is that you can't keep your mind on one thing at a time. Your mental processes are all over the place.'

'Are they?' She turned the scanner control.

The shutters parted to show what appeared to be nothing more nor less than a small cave. The beacon on the roof of the TARDIS swept about, casting blue light over a wall of rock.

'Hmm,' she surmised. 'A cave. Doesn't look very promising.'

She closed the shutters.

The Doctor huffed and turned away. 'Really. K9, I suppose you'll just have to play for her.'

'Master.'

Romana unhooked a grey woollen jacket from the hatstand and shrugged herself into it. She was wearing a white cloth s.h.i.+rt, a bootlace tie, knickerbockers and black boots, an outfit dredged from a remote recess of the TARDIS's enormous wardrobe room. She looked rather like a Victorian street urchin. 'I'm going to take a look outside.'

The Doctor did not reply. Romana shrugged, popped a cap on her head, and pulled the big red lever on the console. The double doors swung open with a soft hum. She walked through and they closed automatically behind her.

Romana emerged into the cave, which was as unremarkable as the scanner had suggested. She dug into the pocket of her jacket and produced the Doctor's yo-yo. She flicked it up and down and frowned. 'Definitely a simulated gravity field.'

She exchanged the yo-yo for a small torch and looked about. About twenty feet ahead the cave ended suddenly in a metal wall. She walked up to the wall and rapped on it. There was no trace of a hidden opening mechanism, and she'd left her sonic screwdriver in another coat.

She looked back at the TARDIS. 'I suppose I'll just have to wait, then.'

The game was progressing. The Doctor's s.h.i.+p was still in jail, and K9's turn had ended in the acquisition of both Whitechapel Road and King's Cross station.

'That girl's got no sense of priority,' the Doctor mumbled.

'Rus.h.i.+ng from one thing to another.' He rolled the tumbler for Romana and a total of nine appeared.

K9 twittered. 'Hat, Master. Mistress Romana acquires Fleet Street and places a hotel.'

The Doctor shook his head in amazement. 'How can she be winning? She's not even here!'

He got to his feet and checked a few instruments idly. 'I suppose I'd better get after her,' he said. 'She's probably already got herself into a mess and needs rescuing.'

'Negative, Master,' said K9. 'Prognosis based on my observation of previous incidents indicates that you are two point four nine five times more likely than the Mistress to need a.s.sistance upon leaving the TARDIS.'

'Oh, shut up, K9.' The Doctor jammed his hat on his head, put on his long, oatmeal-coloured coat and wound his trailing scarf around his shoulders. 'When I want your opinion I'll ask for it.' He operated the door and the metal dog trundled forward eagerly. 'Stay, K9,' he ordered. 'I want you on guard.'

K9's tail sensor drooped. 'Affirmative, Master.'

The Doctor nodded and left the TARDIS. A second later there was an alarming crash and a m.u.f.fled cry. K9 moved forward to investigate. The Doctor reappeared, dusting himself down. He wagged an accusing finger at his computer pet. 'I don't want to hear you say I told you so, K9,' he said and stalked out. The doors closed behind him.

K9's sensors chirped. 'Instruction noted, Master. This unit will never say "I told you so." Linguistic sequence erased from phraseology bank.'

The Doctor joined Romana in the dark cave. He licked a finger, ran it along a wall, and sniffed at the deposits it collected. 'Hmm. Carbonaceous asteroid, I'd say. Traces of refractories, accelerated decay of aluminium-26, et cetera.'

Romana nodded her agreement and produced the yo-yo.

She executed an elaborate double loop. 'And we're on the fringe of a simulated gravity field. I'd say they're using remote gravitic excitation.'

The Doctor frowned. 'Would you?' He s.n.a.t.c.hed the yo-yo and returned it to his pocket.

Romana crossed over to the metal panel in the wall and rapped on it with her knuckles. 'This must be the outer wall of their living s.p.a.ce. It's duralinium, so this is possibly an Earth colony.'

The Doctor was dubious. 'On an asteroid? I think even the human race'd have more sense than that.' He started to tap the wall.

'It's all right, Doctor, I've already tried that.'

He stopped tapping and turned to face her. 'I think I'd better come out first next time, yes?'

'If you say so.'

He ferreted in his pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver. A couple of adjustments converted it into a powerful cutting tool. The sonic beam started to cut a sparking line through the metal.

Pyerpoint sat behind his desk in the s.p.a.cious, oak-panelled office of his chambers. Spread before him were a variety of reports and papers awaiting his attention. A small desk lamp illuminated the pinched features of his heavily lined face. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man in his late fifties. Now out of his wig and gown, he wore a glistening gold blouson with elaborately puffed sleeves beneath a dark brown tabard.

A skullcap of golden beads had been woven into his uplifted peroxide blond hair. As was the custom for the senior echelon of society at this point in history, his high cheekbones were dabbed with a hint of red cosmetic.

The office reflected his personality. The drinks cabinet, leather-b.u.t.toned chairs and green carpet were all spotlessly clean. A tall grandfather clock ticked noisily in a corner.

Volumes of law were ranged against a far wall.

The only other ornamentation was a bronze figure beneath a gla.s.s dome, which had been brought from Earth. It depicted Liberty as a woman balancing the scales of justice. A window carved into the back wall displayed the infinite s.h.i.+fting starscape.

Pyerpoint inspected a chart marked for distribution to senior staff only. It showed the course suggested by the station's security computer for the days ahead. This would take them close to Planet Four before veering off to the outer worlds. He took a fountain pen from a drawer in his desk and signed his approval.

There was a knock at the door. 'Come,' he ordered.

Margo entered the office. If anything, she looked even more efficient than Pyerpoint. She was tall and dark-haired.

Her hair was braided with silver beads and she wore the long red coat and black trousers of the security division. A sparkling green sash tied about her waist indicated her rank as chief of security. Her face was stern and unattractive. She carried a bundle of papers bound with green string under one arm.

'Sir,' she began. 'Today's terminations. The notice requires the seal.' She handed him the papers.

He unpicked the green string with accustomed ease and flicked through the papers. 'Naomi Blakemore, Seldin Vranch.

And Jarrigan Voltt. Yes, that all appears to be in order.'

'Voltt was sentenced only this afternoon, sir,' Margo said with a hint of puzzlement.

'I p.r.o.nounced sentence myself. There is a problem?'

'It is irregular for termination to be scheduled so soon after sentence, sir,' Margo pointed out. 'There may be religious objections from Five.'

'There was a gap in the schedule,' Pyerpoint said smoothly.

'I ordered Voltt's termination brought forward to fill the gap.

And you know well that I have little time to spare for liberal opinion. The victims of crime have no time to reflect. You have an objection?'

Margo smiled. 'No, sir. I am impressed as ever by your devotion to the efficiency of the station.'

Pyerpoint took a large stamp from his desk, rolled it in an ink pad, and thumped it down over each name on the list. The stamp left the seal of the Rock. He replaced the tape and handed the bundle back to her. 'Thank you, Margo.' He picked up the course chart. 'And these are the new course details, approved and signed.'

She took them. 'Very good, sir. And there's a Mr Spiggot waiting to see you in the lobby, sir.'

Pyerpoint frowned and looked up. 'Spiggot? I've never heard of the fellow. Has he an appointment?'

'No, sir,' said Margo. 'He is an agent of Five police.'

Pyerpoint sighed and slapped his palms on the desk. He was accustomed to police officers appearing unexpectedly, usually with a warrant to interview somebody in custody. 'Tell him to wait. I'll send for him when I've finished with these reports.'

Margo nodded and left the office.

A few minutes later, the door of Pyerpoint's office was thrown open and a man entered. He wore a fas.h.i.+onably cut black suit, a black sweater, and expensive black shoes with pointed heels. His long dark hair flowed over his collar. His face was long, scarred and stubbled, with a prominent broken nose. He carried a thin plastic case.

He extended a hand to Pyerpoint. 'Spiggot. I'm with capital police on Five.' He spoke with a broad North Nation accent.

His manner was conspicuously informal.

Pyerpoint looked up from his work and tapped his pen on his blotter with irritation. 'My chief of security instructed you to wait in the lobby, Mr Spiggot.'

The Doctor and Romana had emerged from the cave into a long metal corridor, at the end of which they found a door.

The sonic screwdriver made short work of its electronic lock and they walked through into a crowded concourse. The walls and floor appeared to be made of stone. People dressed in simple coveralls and tabards chattered in small groups. Some were seated on leather sofas and nibbled at bowls of nuts, others sucked at frothing drinks through curled straws. The revellers' skins were pasty and pale. On the far side of the large room was a long bar. Ambient music was being piped through concealed speakers.

'A recreational area,' surmised Romana. She wrinkled her nose. 'Rather drab.'

The Doctor pushed through the crowd to the bar. 'Two gla.s.ses of water, please,' he ordered. The barman nodded pleasantly and broke open two bottles of mineral water.

'No till,' the Doctor whispered to Romana as he took the drinks. 'No point of exchange.'

They made their way to a vacant couch. 'Should that matter?' asked Romana as she brought her gla.s.s to her lips.

The Doctor stopped her. 'Wait, wait.' He sniffed suspiciously at his own drink and then looked around at the cheerful chatting crowd. 'How very odd. They haven't even noticed us. Don't touch the nibbles, Romana.'

Romana dipped a finger in her water and dabbed it on her tongue. 'A suppressant? Some sort of neural inhibitor?'

The Doctor nodded. 'Has to be. The question is, who's doing the drugging?'

'And why.'

He put his gla.s.s down. 'We'll worry about why later. First things first. I'd still like to know where.' He stood and tapped one of the other drinkers on the shoulder. 'Excuse me, yes, h.e.l.lo. I'm a stranger to these parts and I was wondering if you could perhaps remind me of the name of the nearest star.'

In a small darkened room on a higher level, a range of monitor screens relayed images from cameras positioned at points around the complex. Deputy security officer Shom was on duty, eating a nutrition bar and reading a bookscreen. He was a young man, bright, alert and destined for promotion. Only occasionally did he look up to check that all was proceeding smoothly, as always, within the Rock of Judgement.

Something odd caught his eye in the refreshment zone. He put down his book and squinted at the screen. What he saw was impossible. He reached for a communicator b.u.t.ton and opened a channel to his superior.

'Ma'am,' he reported urgently. 'There are two unauthorized personnel in the refreshment zone.'

The voice of Margo asked, 'Intruders?'

'Yes, ma'am. A man and a woman. They're talking to the admin staff.'

The man the Doctor had chosen to talk to stared back at him with large dulled eyes. 'You don't belong,' he said slowly. 'I don't recognize you.' He smiled at Romana. 'Either of you.'

The Doctor shrugged. 'Well no. As I said, we're travellers.'

The man shook his head and laughed. 'Don't be silly. There are no travellers here.'

'Really?' said the Doctor. 'How unwelcoming.' The man smiled again and wandered off to join one of the small chatting groups.

'That wasn't very productive,' Romana observed as he rejoined her on the couch. 'If this is a relaxation centre, what work do these people do? Could they be miners?'

'Oh no, no, no. Look at their clothes, their hands, their posture.' He broke off and stared more closely at the nearest group. 'Yes, their posture. Slumped shoulders, cricked necks, knock knees.'

'So they are miners.'

'Office workers, more like. These people have been sitting behind desks all day. In uncomfortable chairs. It's really very unhealthy.' He smiled at her. 'Romana, do you realize that we're surrounded by doped civil servants?'

Before she could reply, a gong sounded and the lights in the large room dimmed. The crowd quietened. The wall facing them slid open slowly with a low hum and two figures, a man and a woman, emerged. They wore blank red masks and skin-tight red leotards. The ambient music was replaced by a tribal drumbeat. The two figures began to strike poses as the rhythm changed.

The Doctor grimaced. 'This must be the turn. I don't like it.'

Spiggot ran a glance over the High Archon, whose duties also made him station administrator. The file on him back at HQ had got him right. He was a man accustomed to being bowed and sc.r.a.ped to. Called to the bar at twenty, first brief at twenty-one, criminal barrister of repute for twenty years, confirmed as High Archon aged forty-five. A man used to giving orders. Well, in Spiggot's line of work, there was no time for that sort of thing. He treated everyone the same, beggar or minister. Gave them the same chances, dealt to them from the same deck. That was how he got results. By breaking the rules.