It had to be worth thirty-six points at least, thought the Doctor, more if we landed on something expensive.
He looked at Kadiatu who looked back at him.
'Whose doorstep was it anyway?' asked Kadiatu.
'I have no idea,' said the Doctor.
It took the Jacksonville emergency crew fifteen minutes to cut them out. A couple of paramedics climbed in first to run a quick diagnostic on their suits. Satisfied that neither of them was going to decompress, the paramedics allowed them up.
As he was helped out the Doctor got his chance to look at the crash site. Jacksonville had laid down two kilometres of compression foam and the jet had skidded along its whole length, leaving a significant percentage of itself behind. The Doctor could see part of the tail assembly two hundred metres back, protruding from the foam like a shark's fin.
'How's the pilot?' he asked.
'She's alive,' said one of the paramedics, politely waving to indicate that she was talking. Her suit had a major's flash on the left breast. 'But we can't cut into the canopy without compromising her life support. We 're bringing up a gantry to take it out in one piece.'
There was a military ambulance waiting, built along the same lines as the dustkart. The major accompanied them into the rear airlock. Once the pressure had normalized she took her helmet off to reveal scarification patterns on her high Yoruba cheekbones.
Kadiatu started to struggle with her helmet but the major restrained her with a hand on her arm. 'Emergency seals,' she said. 'We'll have to cut it off.'
The inner airlock door slid open. There were two more paramedics in army fatigues waiting inside. The major got them to sit down on a pair of. reclining couches and pulled on a headphone set. 'All right, Muller, back to base,' she said. 'But take it easy this time.'
He felt the ambulance pull smoothly away.
'Bavarians,' said the major, 'always in a rush.'
The paramedics used calibrated laser scalpels to cut away the helmet seals.
'That was some landing,' said the major. She was smiling but her eyes were tense as they started easing the helmets off.
Perhaps she's worried that our heads will come off as well, thought the Doctor. He felt cool air on his face. 'See,' he said, 'it's still attached to my shoulders.'
'Planning in depth,' said Kadiatu. 'My sacred backside.' Kadiatu's face was puffed and swollen by G trauma. Dark bruises surrounded her eyes, giving them a sleepy look. She looked at the Doctor. 'You look like a big bruise,' she said.
The major gave them each a squeezy bottle of orange juice with strict instructions to take small sips only as their suits were cut away. The major was a bit surprised to find the Doctor dressed in his street clothes underneath.
'I was in a hurry," explained the Doctor.
Kadiatu laughed and then winced. 'That hurts,' she said. The paramedics cut away her undersuit to reveal swollen welts around her shoulders, neck and in a line down her front where the fastenings had cut in. At twelve Gs even the weight of your clothes can cause severe bruising.
'All my clothes are back in the dustkart,' said Kadiatu. She leaned forward to let them peel the undersuit off her back. There were vertical welts down her shoulder blades. 'Which is all your fault.'
The Doctor watched as the muscles moved under her skin. The Gallifreyans once looked like that, thought the Doctor, when the world was young.
'What about you?' the major asked the Doctor.
'I'm fine,' he said. 'Trust me.'
The major hesitated for a moment before nodding. She pulled a handscan from a niche in the equipment rack and ran it over the Doctor's body. He waited for the inevitable questions, but they never came. Instead the major shunted the results to a portable monitor and showed it to him.
'That normal for you?' she asked.
'Yes,' he said. I'm getting far too well known on this planet, thought the Doctor. He might have to do something about that soon, real soon.
The major ran the handscan over Kadiatu, starting with her feet. 'Bruising,' she told the paramedic, 'bruising, contusion, get some jam on that.' The paramedic gently applied a clear gel to the welts around Kadiatu's hips and thighs. The major continued scanning. 'No internal damage to the uterus, enlarged vermiform appendix but no sign of infection so I guess that's normal, large liver.' The major smiled at Kadiatu. 'You've got a big heart and lungs. How long can you hold your breath?'
'Never timed myself,' said Kadiatu.
'Sports?'
Kadiatu shook her head.
'Ever break any bones?'
'No.'
'Ever been sick?'
'No,' said Kadiatu. 'You're the first doctor ever gave me a scan.'
The major held the handscan over Kadiatu's head for a long time, staring at the monitor.
'Something wrong?' asked Kadiatu.
'No,' said the major. 'You've got a thick skull so it takes a while to build up a picture.'
From where he was the Doctor could see the monitor for himself.
Kadiatu did have a thick skull and a lot more besides.
STS Central - Olympus Mons
'Like that,' said Zamina, 'except with narrower lips.' The videofit face on the screen altered slightly but the nose was still wrong. 'Shorter nose,' said Zamina.
Across the office the Chinese woman who seemed to be in charge was talking on the phone to the ugliest man she'd ever seen. They were using a lot of technical jargon that Zamina didn't understand.
The gist of it was that a jet had crashed-landed at Jacksonville and all the passengers had survived. Something that the woman and the ugly man had trouble believing.
The Chinese woman looked over at Zamina. 'Have you finished yet?' she asked.
'Nearly.'
The woman came and looked over her shoulder. 'Good enough,' she said. Zamina didn't like her. The first thing she'd said when Zamina was shown in was, 'Gods Girl, you want to get them tits fixed sometime.'
Zamina didn't like people she didn't know calling her girl. The woman had style though; when she talked people listened.
'What's this for?'
'You know what pattern recognition is?'
'Course.'
'We'll feed this image into the monitoring system and it should be able to track your friend for us.'
'She's not my friend,' said Zamina. 'I don't think she's anybody's friend really.'
'I wish you'd tell the Doctor that,' said the woman.
Jacksonville
Kadiatu managed a quick shower at the officers' mess. The major lent her some of her off-duty clothes. The selection left Kadiatu wondering what the major must look like out on the town. A pair of red 680s were too tight but serviceable and the only top that fitted her was a luminous canary yellow lurex skintight with EAT FISH AND DIE heat-printed across the chest. The major rustled up a pair of ankle-height service boots from base stores. They were made from soft elephant leather with airwear soles. Kadiatu had to sit down to do up the double fasteners.
The major held out a shoulder holster. Kadiatu stared at it for a moment and then raised her arms so that the major could buckle it on. It was a woman's holster, hanging low so that the gun wouldn't catch on her breast when she drew. When the major leaned forward to reach around Kadiatu's back she saw that raised scars on her face were tinted umber and turquoise.
'What's this for?' asked Kadiatu.
'We found the laser torch in your suit pocket,' said the major. 'It was set on a killing frequency but the batteries were nearly exhausted.' The major opened a ribbed metal case and drew out a pistol. 'One megawatt point zero one-second burst,' she said, 'does six hundred bursts a minute on full auto, but your charge's only good for a hundred, so keep it on single.'
She handed the pistol over and Kadiatu felt the weight settle in her palm. In a single unthinking movement she flipped the gun and slipped it into the holster.
'You've used one before,' said the major.
'It's illegal for me to carry this,' said Kadiatu.
'What does that matter?' said the major. 'You're with him.'
'Maybe, but do the police know that?' asked Kadiatu.
'Turn around,' said the major.
'What?'
'Your hair,' said the major. 'Turn around.'
Kadiatu turned round and the major seized her extensions and started to braid them. She kept the tension up, pulling hair and scalp back from the face. Kadiatu remembered her mother pulling tight when she was young, hard enough to fold the scalp in places. While the major worked she spoke in Kadiatu's ear.
'He strikes a stone in the forest,' she chanted, 'stone bleeds blood. He dances savagely in the courtyard of the impertinent. He sets the liar's roof on fire.'
'Who is he?'
'He is the leopard with flaming eyes.'
'Who is he?'
'He is in the discharge of a laser, in the lightning flash of the semiconductor.'
'Tell me his name?'
'He is the bow wave across the ocean of time.'
'His name!'
'He is Shango, god of lightning,' said the major.
'All things to all cultures,' said Kadiatu.
'Stand up,' said the major.
Kadiatu checked in the mirror. Her hair was tied into a severe series of bundled plaits that rested on the nape of her neck. Hair was important to the Yoruba - how they wore it was once a matter of social importance - but this style was severely practical. It kept the hair out of the eyes and protected the vulnerable portion of the neck.
Fighting style, her mother would have called it.
The major gave Kadiatu a leather jacket that clinked when it brushed against a locker.
'Kevlar lining,' said the major.
'He's not a god,' said Kadiatu.
'His temples are the preserve of priestesses,' said the major. 'It's women who dance for the Lightning God. His spirit possesses them through the dance.'
'Why me?'
'Don't ask me that,' said the major. 'Ask the dead.'
Acturus Station (Stunnel Terminus)
The other floozies reminded Blondie that as the youngest he was still honorary dogsbody and sent him off to get food. He didn't mind, it beat welding the barricades together.
They'd all pulled in at least two drones to do the work. When he saw them collected all in one place Blondie realized that over the years more than just the drones' personalities had been taken from their operators. Credit Card's drones were so customized that it was almost impossible to determine the original make. Honda perhaps, from the early 2000 series, but Blondie wouldn't bet money on it.
Lambada's drones were painted a rainforest green and were, well, aggressive. They had to be segregated from the Dogface drones or they spent more time fighting than working.
Old Sam's drones were barely visible, backgrounds sliding across mimetic polycarbon shells. Tools and manipulators emerging from jack turrets when they worked. The drones had more hatches than tools and Blondie wondered what was hidden behind the spares. Maybe they should have brought in a few more of those.
Blondie felt that he should do something about his own unfashionably pristine units. He considered painting a black rose on their flanks. Would she understand that? he asked himself. Would she approve? More importantly: would she notice?
The KGB went in for on-site catering, a portable canteen was set up in one comer of the galleria. Old Sam didn't approve; he'd have been happier if the KGB troops had been eating vacuum-packed Erations. Preferably tearing the foil packages open with their teeth. He called them a bunch of FNGs and didn't rate their chances in a real fight.
Blondie didn't think they looked that bad; certainly their hardware was impressive. Some of the troopers turned to watch him as he picked his way over to the canteen. They were field stripping their pulse rifles, neat rows of components laid out on white linen sheets. A collection of faces above the raised neck guards of their armour.
The canteen was the size of a commercial freight module, the kind that fit on a transit flatbed. When mobile it ran on small rubber wheels, half a dozen on each side, now locked into their up position. A fold-down counter ran a third of its length.
Blondie bought four big bucket meals from a European Muslim woman. Two for him. Credit Card and Lambada, and two for Old Sam. The Muslim woman processed his moneypen and handed over the litre-capacity buckets. Blondie thought she might have smiled at him but under the veil it was hard to tell.
'Have a nice day,' said the woman.
STS Central - Olympus Mons
'There she is,' said Zamina pointing.
The screen showed the view from a scanning security camera on the TransOlympia platform at Olympus Mons. Benny was clearly visible alighting from a train, a pink found icon hovering over her head. The data square in the right-hand comer of the screen put the time at 11:45 GMT, five minutes past.
Ming looked over at Dogface. 'Got that?'
'Where's she going?' asked Zamina.
The internal phone chimed. It was the sector manager from the pit. 'Yes?' said Ming.
'We've got a problem,' said the manager. 'Half the trains in the northeastern sector have stopped.'
'Technical fault?' asked Ming.
'Signalling failure,' said the manager.
Ming put the sector up on her big repeater screen. The affected area formed a rough semicircle around the Acturus Station.
'Work on it,' Ming told the manager and cut the link. 'Do you see it. Dogface?'
'I see it.'
'What do you think?'
'I think someone's fucking with our signalling,' said Dogface,
Ming linked back with the sector manager. 'Try back-up,' she said. 'If that doesn't work go to manual, keep at least some of the trains running.'
'There she is again,' said Zamina. Live feed from a camera in the Rancher's Market area. 'Hey,' said Zambia, 'I've worked that place. It's only six levels down.'
Ming turned to her phone and punched in the direct line to the Nueva Lubyanka. 'KGB,' said their reception program in an unnaturally bright voice, 'Sword and Shield to the people since Nineteen Seventeen.'
'This is Ming, armed response team to Rancher's Market. . .'
'She's gone into a lift,' said Zamina.
'Fugitive now in one of the passenger lifts,' said Ming. 'I'm downloading the likeness.' She pressed a button and shot the videofit image to Nueva Lubyanka. 'Down or up?' she asked Zamina.
'Down.'
'She's going for Fusion Corp,' said Dogface.
'You must contact the Doctor,' said one of the Yak Harrises
'You're back,' said Ming. 'You call him.'
'There have been difficulties,' said the construct.
'Isn't that Yak Harris?' said Zamina.
'No,' said Ming, 'it's a Yak Hams.'
'You must contact the Doctor.'
'I'm on it,' said Ming, raising Jacksonville. 'Give me a break.'
The Doctor wasn't at Jacksonville, but Ming managed to trace him to a VIP shuttle on its way to Olympus Mons. Kadiatu answered the phone.
'Benny's back,' said Ming, 'and heading straight for Fusion Corp.'
'He's way ahead of you,' said Kadiatu. 'That's where we're going.'
There was a squawk from the Yak Harris monitor.
'Hey people,' said one of the Yak Harrises, 'I think you've been compromised.'
The monitor screen imploded.
The Doctor appeared on the phone. 'It's penetrated your computer network. It'll try to prevent anyone getting to the Stunnel gateway.'
'You were expecting this?'
'I suspected it.'
'Well, thanks for telling me.'
'I can't be everywhere at once.' The Doctor looked out of shot. 'This is our stop. Whatever you do don't panic.' The link terminated.
Out in the control room the big holograms derezzed into clouds of silver static.
'That's easy for you to say,' said Ming.
Fusion Corp - Olympus Mons
'Have you noticed,' said the Doctor, 'h
ow much time we've spent in lifts recently?' He kept his eyes fixed on the level indicator.
'Back there,' said Kadiatu, 'the major seemed to think you were Shango.'
'Who's Shango?'
'Yoruba thunder god.'
'Oh, Shango,' said the Doctor. 'Did you know the Yoruba have over two hundred deities?'
'Are you?'
'Mind you, Shintoism has thousands.' The Doctor turned to look at her. 'Do I look like a thunder god?'
'How would I know?' said Kadiatu. 'I've never met one.'
'Faced with the unexplained,' said the Doctor, 'people have a tendency to let their imaginations run wild. There are no gods. I should know, I've met a few.'
'The Shango cult is almost exclusively female.'
'People get the wrong end of the stick.'
'I'll bet.'
'It's true,' said the Doctor. 'I was in Ife during the tenth century and there may have been some static electricity involved. I was also in Mesopotamia in the time of Gilgamesh and I've visited all three Atlantises. It's not my fault. It's the planet, things happen there.'
'Why?'
'I don't know,' said the Doctor. 'Your planet just seems to be a major time-space nexus.'
'Lucky us,' said Kadiatu.
She realized that the Doctor was staring intently at her.
'Shadows,' he said, 'forced evolution. Spirits, demons, gods. Coincidences. I'm missing something. Do you dream?'
'Of course I dream, everybody does.'
'Your father didn't,' said the Doctor. 'Any that reoccur?'
'Some,' said Kadiatu, 'when I'm stressed out.'
'Describe one.'
'Beach,' said Kadiatu, 'dead people dancing.'
'No, not that one.'
'I can't remember any of the other ones.'
'Look at me,' said the Doctor.
Kadiatu looked into his strange eyes.
'Basket,' she heard herself say. 'Old woman in a basket over a big pit. Something's wrong with her eye. I think she's a witch.'
'Does she say anything?'
'She's cursing, about children, it's a bad curse.'
'Then what?'
'She cuts the rope that's holding the basket up and falls into the pit.'
The Doctor clicked his fingers. 'The Pythia,' he said. 'Interesting. You and I might have more in common than I first thought.'