Doctor Who: Combat Rock (6 page)

When Sabit had finished relaying his particular instructions concerning the mercenaries, the message ended abruptly without any farewell.

‘How many whores this time, Pan?’

‘Uh?’ Pan stirred from his reverie and grinned in a way that could almost have been construed as sheepish if he hadn’t been so obviously proud. He fingered his pulse Luger beneath his jacket as if it reminded him of all the female flesh he’d pressed during his stay on Batu. It had been Clown who had asked the question, and he was not alone in having shown no interest whatsoever in discussing Sabit’s message as soon as it had ended.

‘Enough,’ Pan finally answered.

‘I thought you didn’t know that word: Pretty Boy cut in, blowing him a kiss.

Pan pulled his Luger and aimed it at Pretty Boy’s head playfully. ‘Save all your kisses for the little boys, freak.’

Pan was maybe the only man alive Pretty Boy would take that from. ‘You know that’s Twist’s territory.’

Twist looked up from his daze for a moment. ‘Kiss this,’

he said, scratching his backside.

‘Thing is, Pan,’ Clown said, rolling some hand tobacco, the sunlight filtering through the cabin windport filming his glasses and obscuring his eyes completely ‘You always gotta pay for it.’

‘So? Whores is whores. You always gotta pay.’

‘Paying ain’t a conquest. So what’s to boast about? Now if you had loadsa women ‘cos you were a real frogmagnet, then I’d be kinda proud of you.’

‘Clown, you’re sailin’ close to earning yourself a fresh new smile, baby. ‘Sides, didn’t have to pay last night. The whore done me for free.’

‘You mafiaaaa... I like your face.’

For a moment Pan’s grin wavered. There was a touch of emptiness on his soul. He shook it off. Holstered his Luger again.

‘You’re all man,’ Pretty Boy told him.

‘Ever think to yourself what you’re doin’ to those women?’ Clown cut in, obviously looking for a fight. ‘Whores are people too. They got feelings, want to live a better life.

You, exploitin’ ‘em for your own sleazy benefits, just keep

‘em right where they are. Enjoyin’ women’s misery.

Degradin’ ‘em. Degradin’ yourself. You think they like livin’

the way they do? Being poked by the likes of you just so they can eat and pay the rent? You think that’s the Good Life for them? Don’t that spoil your fun?’

Pan nodded morosely. ‘You’re right: I gotta mend my ways. Just can’t live with my conscience any longer.’

‘Serious. You ever ask yourself those questions?’

Pan caressed the grip of his Luger, but didn’t pull it. ‘You asked me do I think they like living the way they do.

Personally I don’t really give a shit, but I know that some of

‘em do. The ones I do business with only approach marks they like the look of. They get good money, I get a good time. And so do they – you should see some of ‘em begging me to service them. I’ll tell you something, Mister: they always look happy to me, drinkin’ and smokin’ in their whore bars. They don’t like it, they can always work in a shop, serve in some caff. Don’t preach to me about things you know nothin’ about.

And don’t make the mistake of thinking I care one way or the other.’

‘Like I said,’ Pretty Boy repeated. ‘You’re
all
man.’

‘Yeah, well, I got better things to do than swap funny talk with a bunch of gays,’ Pan said and lifted himself out of his seat.

‘Lookin’ for more frog?’ Clown threw at him as he popped open the entry port. ‘Don’t forget to use protection, son’ There was a burst of laughter and the port zipped closed on Pan’s parting gesture.

The cruiser was parked outside a filthy, but importantly anonymous and sequestered hotel. Pan stepped across the weed-clutched courtyard towards the lobby, sun pounding him. He needed a drink.

And Clown was right: he also needed more frog.

Victoria was already rather wet, much to Jamie’s amusement.

‘Och, it’s only a touch of sea water. Don’t be such a wee wet English lassie.’ He obviously found this very amusing.

Wina seemed to understand the joke and joined in his laughter, which only made Victoria sulk even more.

They were sitting in a long, slender motor canoe which was heaving through the ocean towards the dark hulk of Papul, visible on the horizon. Wemus was steering the canoe, the rather dilapidated engine emitting dense gusts of smoke that occasionally obscured him altogether. Sea spray doused the travellers on a regular basis as the canoe cut through the choppy waves at a surprisingly swift pace.

The Doctor was studying the huge outline of Papul. It was obvious the island was considerably larger than Batu. It extended across the horizon to east and west as far as the eye could see. Mountains reared up from the forest which crept from the shore to strangle the peaks.

‘Have you ever been to Papul before?’

The Doctor turned at the question and blinked at the young Indoni merchant who had spoken. He had quite forgotten about the extra passengers Wemus had managed to enlist to join the little expedition, so excited was he about visiting the jungle island. Jungles had always fascinated him, from the purple rainforests of Kolith, replete with monitor lizards the size of buildings, to the golden swamps of Aerny Dhu, where it was said the Juices of Everlasting Life could be squeezed from certain leaves. And now the unexplored wildernesses of Papul beckoned, teeming (according to Wemus) with the richest flora and fauna to be found anywhere on Jenggel.

‘No. Why, have you?’

The Indoni had introduced himself as Ussman. He was small with a tall head and a tousle of hair. He had rather mischievous eyes that betrayed his playful nature. The Doctor had warmed to him straight away. His friend Budi was more serious and good-looking, although his charm had so far been completely unsuccessful on Wina, Victoria and Santi, upon whom he had tried to use it repeatedly. The Doctor liked him too, despite his insistent flirtatious attempts. The third new member of the party, however, he had taken an instant dislike to.

This was Drew. He had messy blonde hair down to below his collar, a pubic whisp of a moustache, a thin, weak face and watery eyes. He was from Magnow, an Earth colony satellite just outside the Jenggel System. He was slippery and unpleasant, and tried to mask his objectionable nature by minimally shaking hands with whomever he was talking to.

The fact that his palms were always slick to the touch didn’t help his case at all.

‘Never,’ Ussman replied, forcing the Doctor’s attention away from the looming mass that was Papul. ‘But I like a good adventure.’

‘Is that what you’re here for?’

Ussman smiled, but it was Budi who answered.

‘No, we’re here to see if there’s anything good to buy.’

‘And then sell,’ Ussman added.

The Doctor smiled. ‘Ah, I see you are entrepreneurs of a kind’

Budi obviously didn’t know that word. ‘No, just merchants, looking to make some money.’

‘You speak almost perfect English,’ Victoria cut in, trying to ignore the spray that had mottled her clothes.

‘It helps us to be convincing to tourists,’ Ussman said with a cunning but endearing smile. ‘It helps us to be better...

entrepreneurs’ He emphasised the word for Budi’s benefit.

‘What do you think you’ll find in Papul that you could possibly trade?’ queried the Doctor.

Ussman smiled and stared out across the red-coloured ocean towards the island. The palm trees were becoming more defined now as they approached. The mountains varied from titanic peaks to a peculiar succession of mounded protuberances bulging from the greenery like warts on a toad’s back. The trader grinned. ‘Things the civilized people of Batu and beyond would pay good money for, believe me, Doctor.

Accoutrements of a primitive society that would look very good on the wall of an affluent Indoni businessman’s house.’

‘If you not get eaten first.’ This came from Santi. She was sitting next to Victoria and as far away from Wina as the canoe would allow.

‘So we have voracious wildlife to look forward to, do we?’

smiled the Doctor, almost eagerly.

‘Not just animal,’ the girl replied. Her eyes were wide in her broad but attractive face – broader than most of the Indoni people the travellers had met, although she actually came from Javee, albeit a different part of the long island to Wina. Her shoulders, well muscled from much exercising, hunched up into her small frame. ‘Cannibal...’ she added.

Wina stared at her fearfully. Jamie, ever the protective male, put a hand on Wina’s.

‘What do you mean, cannibal?’ asked Victoria timorously.

The Doctor leaned forward. ‘There are anthropophagous tribes inhabiting Papul?’ His eyes narrowed and his brows climbed into dark arches. Jamie noticed the give-away signs immediately.

‘Och, there’ll be no stopping him now.’

‘There
are
reports of man-eating natives, yes,’ Ussman admitted. Before he could say anything else, Wemus interrupted quickly, obviously fearful that his expedition would be frightened off before they’d even arrived on the island.

‘Only on south coast,’ he said, lighting a cigarette and grinning in what he obviously hoped was a cheery and encouraging manner. ‘And we go to north coast. Many, many miles apart.’

Santi narrowed her eyes into slits and directed her next words to Wina purposefully. ‘Cannibal... eat only nice little girls who think they beautiful...’

Wina wasn’t having any of it. ‘You OK then. You not nice or little. You have face of servant and body of babi.’

Wemus sniggered. Santi went for Wina. Luckily, Jamie managed to catch her midway and hauled her back into her seat. ‘What’s a babi?’ he asked as Santi spat in Wina’s direction.

Wina was laughing, haughtily defiant of this further demonstration of Santi’s low upbringing. ‘Pig! Babi is pig!’

‘Um, yes, well, if we could all try to get along,’ said the Doctor appeasingly, rubbing his hands together as he turned from one Indoni girl to the other. He frowned at Victoria who was positively beaming. Budi chuckled.

‘Don’t worry, I don’t think you look like a pig,’ Drew slimed, putting a hand on Santi’s bare thigh. She removed it instantly and pulled her leather mini-skirt as far down over her legs as the brief garment would allow. Drew smiled at the rebuff and shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. Just remember I tried to help when the cannibals are coming for you.’

‘We soon there,’ Wemus announced, effectively ending the bickering. The Doctor looked up and the coastline was indeed tantalisingly nearer. He could see a long white beach dotted with what looked like fallen coconuts, caressed by the dark red surf.

Distant jungle birds called from the seemingly impenetrable wall of vegetation behind the beach. Eerie, vibrant, alien sounds. Every one of the mixed group of travellers heard the calls and felt the same beat of what could have been excitement, but could just as easily have been fear.

The usually bustling Jayapul market square was now almost completely hushed. Save for the subdued sobbing of a few women and children, the throng of traders, customers and general townspeople was bullied into silence. Everyone’s attention was on the line of Papul men standing against a bullet-pocked wall, smeared with market vegetables and darker stains.

The men waited, as if indifferent to their fate. A woman started to cry more loudly in the crowd, her voice lifting into defiant fury, and an Indoni soldier barked out a harsh command in the Papul language. The woman was plucked from the crowd and positioned next to the husband whose imminent fate she had been bewailing. Now too shocked to cry again, she shivered against the wall and waited alongside her man.

The leader of the Indoni squad gestured to his subordinates. A clatter of safety catches being pulled back.

Pulse rifles were shouldered. The leader scrutinised the unreadable faces in the crowd. To show any emotion was inviting death. Satisfied he had their complete attention, he gave the order to fire.

The hot afternoon became abruptly hotter still, as fifteen pulse rifles sang together as one.

Sabit watched the execution on a monitor fixed to the arm of his plush leather chair. He adjusted the volume and wriggled back into the leather like a child seeking the comfort of its mother’s body. A cup of hot, spiced tea steamed on the other arm of the chair.

He watched the line of Papul locals fall into the dust of the market square. Seared clothes smoked lazily. The soldier filming the execution panned across the faces of the audience for the benefit of the President, to allow him to see for himself if there were anyone amongst the crowd who should be joining the heap of the seared. Now the cameraman focused on a large projection screen situated at the north end of the square, focused on Sabit’s giant features themselves as he began to address the populace in a recording he had made earlier that morning.

‘I, President Sabit of the Indoni Republic, entreat you, the law-abiding citizens of Papul, to betray those who would betray you. The OPG are not your friends. They are not sabotaging our utilities, and by definition,
your
utilities, to create a more beneficial society for you to live in. They just want to disrupt the Indoni attempts to bring you a better way of life. They want power and they don’t care if you die or suffer as a result of their cowardly actions. If you know anyone who is an agent of this despicable organization, reveal their identity to us now, so that Indoni people can live hand in hand in peace with their Papul friends. We will not tolerate sedition or any who would sympathise with those who commit it. Terrorism will not be suffered in a democratic society. I hope you will join me in defeating those who would threaten the right of every individual to enjoy a peaceful and secure lifestyle.’

It was marvellous stuff of course. And would be beamed across the system and beyond, justifying the much-criticised Indoni ‘expansion’ into Papul as a peace-bringing crusade into a troubled land. Military presence had to be accounted for in the eyes of offworld hostility.

Of course the video of the executions that had preceded the speech would never see the light of day outside his palace.