Doctor Who: The Also People (18 page)

'What happened?' she asked.

'According to aTraxi you'd been drinking
flashback
.'

'Is it pink?'

'Yes,' said feLixi.

'Oh,' groaned Roz. 'At the party. What does it do? No, don't tell me – it stimulates the memory.'

'You're supposed to drink it with a mixer. Here,' feLixi held out a glass, 'drink some of this.'

Roz cautiously accepted the glass. 'What is it?'

'Something called
purge
.'

'That's not a very romantic name.'

'It's not a very romantic drink,' said feLixi. 'But it should clean out your head a bit.'

Roz swallowed a mouthful. It tasted of nothing, like distilled water. 'Could you turn up the lights? I could do with a bit of harsh unreality.'

When saRa!qava had said weird she had meant
weird
. FeLixi's house was shaped like a rocketship that had buried itself nose first into the ground. Not like a spaceship, but an honest-to-God, cartoon rocketship the colour of old brass, with three fins sweeping into the air above an unlikely exhaust nozzle and a double line of portholes down the front. It sat between two normal buildings and listed backwards ten degrees. A white picket fence separated it from the street.

There was a gate, and a path made from unevenly laid stone flags led up a short earth ramp to where an upside-down airlock door hung open. FeLixi told her later that the door couldn't be closed.

Inside it was worse, with tilted ceiling/floors on which fixtures and control surfaces were bolted.

You had to climb up a ladder to reach each floor in turn. The whole of the third floor was taken up by a spherical chamber that rotated on gimbals to maintain a level floor. Sensors mounted on one of the fins picked up sounds from outside and relayed them into the chamber. FeLixi called it his

'listening room'. 'I like to listen to the sea,' he had told Roz when she first arrived. 'It's soothing.'

Too soothing, she thought, because it had lulled her into sleep and remembrance. Two things that Roz thought she had little time for, and things that she felt she'd done far too much of since she'd arrived on the sphere. Maybe, she thought, this is what getting old is all about. Perhaps when the years behind outnumber the years ahead the balance of your life shifts; you begin to look backwards. Maybe you should check what's in the glass before drinking.

'Actually,' said feLixi, 'people like us shouldn't drink that stuff at all. It tends to stimulate the intense memories and that's rarely pleasant.'

Roz sat up and swung her legs off the blast chair. 'I feel better now.'

'ATraxi says most of
the flashback
residue has gone.'

'Who's aTraxi?'

FeLixi grimaced. 'My house,' he said. 'I gave it a name. Well, I thought since it was supposed to be a ship and ships have names –' He stopped talking and gave Roz an amused look. 'This doesn't mean anything to you, does it?'

Roz
was
puzzled. 'Why shouldn't you name your house?'

FeLixi sat on the edge of the acceleration chair. 'Only people are supposed to have names,' he said. 'Otherwise it gets confusing.'

'It's not –?'

He grinned. 'Definitely not. In fact I installed the dumbest machine available. I crewed on various ships for ten years and after spending that much time cooped up with a very smart machine like a VAS you want as much stupidity as you can get.'

'Did you know vi!Cari?' asked Roz.

'Are you investigating me?' He looked amused.

'No,' said Roz, 'I'm just curious.'

'I only knew it during the war, although I knew it had taken up residency here in iSanti Jeni. I doubt anybody really
knew
it. You get antisocial machines the same way you get antisocial organics.'

'It wasn't very popular,' said Roz. 'Do you know why?'

'It used to do things that annoyed people.'

'Such as?'

'It used to gatecrash parties it wasn't invited to,' said feLixi. 'Don't laugh, around here that's a stoning offence. I also heard a rumour that vi!Cari caused the
micro-tsunami
that washed away beRut's mural.'

'Why would it do that?'

'Have you seen that mural?' asked feLixi. 'Vi!Cari probably thought he was doing us all a favour by wiping it out. BeRut is another one who doesn't get invited to parties. Actually I'm surprised they weren't friends. They had a lot in common.'

'Except beRut's still walking around.'

'Yeah,' said feLixi, 'except that.'

A moment of stillness – then gravity takes you in her arms and pulls you
down
. The Doctor reached across his chest with his right hand for the handle marked PULL ME, caught hold and pulled. He heard the ripping sound of unfolding silk; at least he hoped that's what it was. If it was the unfolding sound of ripping silk, the trip to the ground was going to be much faster than he'd anticipated. The harness grabbed him under the armpits and shook him about – just to get his attention. And then he was floating under a rectangular canopy of silk. He glanced downwards.

ISanti Jeni was a jumble of white blocks a long way below. He'd asked Chris to climb to two thousand metres before bailing out. That way if the parachute had failed he would have had plenty of time to think of something on the way down. Last words probably.

The Doctor had just got his bearings sorted out when the parachute started talking to him. It was, he had to admit, a good voice, a rich and comforting voice. If a St Bernard could speak it would speak with a voice like that. 'Good afternoon,' said the parachute. 'Although I am generally classified as a class twenty technological device I'd like to take this opportunity to assure you that I incorporate a full range of modem safety features to make your descent to the ground as safe and as pleasant as possible.'

If only, thought the Doctor, Chris had chosen something a bit more practical than a biplane, something with VTOL capacity that could land directly on the esplanade.

'Our altitude is now fifteen hundred and sixty-one metres and our rate of descent is twelve kilometres an hour. Did you have a particular landing site in mind or would you rather just splash down any old place?'

'The esplanade if you don't mind.'

'I'm easy,' said the parachute.

The biplane buzzed past. The Doctor waved at Chris to show that everything was fine.

Interesting set of priorities, thought the Doctor. The biplane is thicker than two short planks but the parachute is practically sentient.

'Would you like some music?' asked the parachute.

'Do you have anything by Duke Ellington?'

'I'm afraid not.'

'Play me something soothing and appropriate.'

The music when it started sounded like a chamber piece scored for woodwinds, strings and drum kit. There was an echo in the melody line that was hauntingly familiar. The Doctor found himself thinking of lyrics but they belonged to a rougher age and an alien planet a long way away.

That he's all right in the city/he's just hanging around
. One of Ace's bands, he thought, the Garrotters or something like that. A lot of strange noises used to blare out of Ace's room in the early days.

I should fall out of the sky more often, he decided. It was very peaceful and it gave him a chance to think.

The parachute informed him when he got below eight hundred metres. At that height he could easily make out Benny sitting outside a bistro with saRa!qava. People on the esplanade were looking up and pointing.

'I've changed my mind,' said the Doctor. 'I want to land on the beach.'

'The one currently covered in half a metre of water?'

'That's the one.'

'You do know that there are a number of aquatic surface craft in the vicinity?'

'Well, land me in one of the gaps.'

'You're not making this very easy.'

'I can do it on manual if you like.'

'No, no,' said the parachute. 'Getting the bloodstains off the spidersilk is such a pain. I'll do it.'

'Thank you.'

'Your feet will get wet.'

'I'll live.'

'I'll get wet.'

'You'll . . . continue to function at optimum levels.'

'Oh well, that's a relief.'

'Can I ask you a personal question?'

'If you must.'

'Aren't you a bit smart to be operating a parachute?'

'It's a hobby.'

'Oh.'

'I'm with the Esoteric and Useless Genetic Manipulation Interest Group. I spend most of my time designing totally redundant types of tree. I have a remote-drone available for when I want to get about.'

'Why not get a drone body full time?'

'Well,' said the parachute, 'people expect you to do stuff when you've got a full-time body. I'm only rated a one point three so they try to take advantage.'

'So you're happy being a parachute then?'

'It feels good to be needed,' said the parachute. 'Watch out, ground coming up.'

The Doctor went in up to his knees. There was a boat on either side of him and he could touch both the keels without straightening his arms. 'Good shot,' he said.

'Give us a moment to repack.' The straps tugged at the Doctor's shoulders as the parachute folded itself back into the pack. 'You can take me off now.'

'Can I drop you somewhere?' asked the Doctor.

'Ha ha,' said the parachute. '
Drop
me somewhere. That's very funny. Up on the esplanade will be fine. I'll call in my remote from there.'

'It might take a while. There's somebody I want to talk to first.'

'Doesn't bother me. I can work on my trees anywhere.'

The Doctor waded towards the harbour wall. 'What kind of trees?'

'I'm designing one that will grow on an asteroid.'

'Sounds simple enough,' said the Doctor. 'An atavistic silicon outer shell, gallium arsenic solar cell leaves driving a pico-electric systolic pumping system.'

'That bit's easy enough,' said the parachute. 'It's getting it to look like an apple tree that's a bugger.'

The Doctor reached the point on the harbour wall where the artist was working and looked over his shoulder. 'I don't know much about art,' he said, 'but I know a mural when I see one.'

'Go away,' said the artist, without looking away from his work.

'My name's the Doctor and this is my friend – Parachute. We're conducting a survey on behalf of the Worldsphere Society for the Promotion of Interesting and Slightly Expressionistic Wet Mural Interest Group – thingy.' The Doctor paused for a moment to get his thoughts back on track.

'We're interested in finding out whether artistic types are really more observant than other people. We're especially interested in transitory events like – thunderstorms, yes, there's a good example. For example, you didn't happen to notice anything unusual the other night, did you?'

'I'm not interested,' said the artist. 'Go away.'

'Well, we'll leave you in peace then,' said the Doctor, 'although I must say I particularly like the striking cloud formations over there, such a moody brown colour. Dust
storm
, is it? Right, I'll be going.' The Doctor splashed towards some nearby steps.

'What a charming conversationalist.'

'You know,' said the parachute, 'I don't know how you people can put up with you people.'

'It's all part of the way we're hardwired,' said the Doctor.

'May I ask you a personal question?'

'Of course.'

'You're a bit too smart to be running on carbohydrates, aren't you?'

'It's a hobby,' said the Doctor. 'Now, how do I get up to the esplanade?'

'There's a flight of steps to your right.'

He dropped the parachute at the top of the stairs and took a moment to shake some of the water from his shoes. Bernice and saRa!qava waved at him from their table and raised their drinks in an ironic toast as he walked over.

'Nice of you to rush over and help me,' he said.

'We assumed,' said Bernice, 'that you landed in the water for a good reason.'

Since it was the truth he didn't have a good answer for that so instead he sat down and tried to ignore the squelching sounds from his shoes.

'Did you discover anything useful?' asked the furry terminal on the table.

'Is that you, God?' asked the Doctor.

'The one and only,' said God.

'It just turned up while we were working,' said Bernice, 'and now we can't get it to leave.'

'The Doctor hasn't answered my question,' said God.

'Haven't you got something better to do?' asked saRa!qava. 'Sewage recycling systems to monitor perhaps?'

'Well, I'm certain it was murder,' said the Doctor, 'and I think I know how it was done.'

'Means,' said Roz, 'opportunity, motive.'

The Doctor nodded. 'We know the means.'

'Is that really possible?' asked feLixi. 'Could you really introduce that kind of harmonic structure into a lightning bolt?'

Bernice surreptitiously studied feLixi over the rim of her glass. He wasn't quite what she'd expected; somehow he seemed too innocuous, his face just a little too forgettable to be the object of Roz's interest. Still, a forgettable face was probably a good asset in a secret agent and Roz was too long in the tooth to be interested in mere surfaces. Bernice smiled as she noted the set of the older woman's shoulders, the way she leaned ever so slightly towards feLixi when she was speaking. Roz was interested all right, her body language was unmistakable, but Bernice was just as certain that Roz herself didn't know she was interested.

'Yes,' said the Doctor, 'but the source of the electrical discharge would have to be artificial.'

The Doctor's theory was that some person or persons unknown had hit vi!Cari with a specially modulated electrical discharge. He claimed that with the right type of harmonics such a discharge would have not only broken down the drone's defensive shields but also turned it into a flying lightning attractor. The very next bolt would have been sufficient to blow vi!Cari's brains out. God was sceptical: a defensive drone's shields were made up of interlaced force-shells, each set with a different modulation, a set-up designed specifically to resist that kind of attack.

'It wouldn't have to be artificial,' said feLixi. 'A natural static discharge could have been manipulated to provide the harmonics.'