Doctor Who - The 8th Doctor - 55 - Trading Futures by Lance Parkin

Author:Lance Parkin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Investments & Securities, Doctor Who (Television Program), Space Opera, General, Science Fiction, Business & Economics, Doctor Who (Fictitious Character), Fiction, Time Travel
ISBN: 9780563538486
Publisher: BBC
Published: 2002-04-07T07:00:00+00:00

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123

Every alarm in the museum was ringing.

The huge entrance hall was knee deep in water – you took half a dozen steps down from the street to get in, and so the whole ground floor had acted as a reservoir for the floodwater.

The Doctor and Malady waded through.

‘Where are we headed?’ Malady asked.

‘In here, Cosgrove’s lot can’t use surveillance satellites or helicopters to locate us. And Jaxa and Roja won’t be able to hit us with sniper fire, they’ll have to get closer. They’re trained, but – well, the boy didn’t last long fighting hand-to-hand, did he?’

Malady still felt guilty about beating up a child. She had his raygun in her hand, and he had been firing at her – she had no doubt she’d be dead now if she hadn’t. But there was a basic belief hardwired into her brain that you don’t hurt children.

She hadn’t hesitated last time. She hoped she wouldn’t hesitate next.

They were wading towards a large staircase at the end of the entrance hall, one that curved up to the upper galleries. It was mid-afternoon, and sunlight poured through the small windows lining the ceiling, like golden spotlights, casting deep shadows.

This hall was full of enormous sculpture. Malady was no expert, and all the signs describing the exhibits had been washed away, but she recognised Greek gods when she saw them.

‘I guess these must have stood in the temples,’ she said.

The Doctor looked back at her. ‘Yes. Don’t worry, they’ll survive a bit of water. They’ve survived worse than that over the centuries.’

Most were sitting. They’d have been twenty feet tall standing up, Malady guessed. What was knee-high water to her barely lapped their ankles. They were perfectly white, perfectly proportioned – idealised forms of beauty. It wouldn’t be difficult to worship them, she thought, particularly before they’d been dwarfed by the office blocks outside, and had stood taller than a house.

‘They aren’t going to stop coming after us,’ Malady said.

‘No.’

They could already hear more helicopters overhead.

124

‘Normally we could make an escape through the sewers,’ the Doctor said. ‘Out of the question for the moment, of course.’

‘We’re cornered.’

‘We’re alive, and as soon as we step outside we won’t be.’ They’d reached the stairs. Seven steps up, and they were on dry land again.

It felt odd not to feel the water dragging against her shins.

The Doctor paused for breath. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘it’s been quite a busy day. Let’s get up to the galleries upstairs, we’ll come up with a plan there.’

‘So who are you?’ Anji asked Baskerville.

‘I was surprised you hadn’t heard of RealWar. That is my little em-pire. I’m sixty years old, Anji. Too young to have lived through the Second World War. My parents could remember it. And we were the first two generations in human history where the young men didn’t expect to be called up to fight. Yes, there were wars – Afghanistan, the Gulf, Mexico – but they were fought by specialists. Professional soldiers, not conscripts.’

‘You joined up.’

‘I did.

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