Doctor Who: Big Finish - Bernice Summerfield [008] - Life During Wartime - A Short-Story Anthology by Paul Cornell

Author:Paul Cornell
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science-Fiction - Doctor Who
ISBN: 9781844350629
Publisher: Big Finish
Published: 2003-01-01T23:00:00+00:00

12: The Traitors

By Jonathan Morris

He looked at her. The monitor lit her face softly, her eyes shifting as she read, her head nodding unconsciously. She brushed hairs back from her forehead and moistened her lips, her expression intent and confident. The keyboard clicked under her fingertips.

She noticed his presence, and fixed him to the spot with her pale, green eyes. As she turned her features dipped into the sunlight. Her smile was sardonic but welcoming, and widened as he approached.

‘At ease.’

Radek was not at ease. His mouth ran dry and his heart thudded. He was conscious of the floor pressing against his boots. He faced Mushtaq Anson as squarely and respectfully as he could. As he had been trained to do. He’d seen image-prints of the Marshal but now that they were in the same room together, he seemed somehow more real than life. His dark skin more leathered and lined, his hair thinner and grey-flecked.

The Marshal turned his attention away from the fresco that dominated one wall of his office. ‘You’re a recent arrival… Officer Radek?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Squarely and respectfully, maintaining eye contact. ‘This hour.’

‘Good, good. Seen much of the place, yet?’

‘No, sir.’

‘You should. Shame to miss out, a handsome fellow like yourself.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Radek felt a fluster of nervousness as he realised he had agreed with the ‘handsome’.

‘The Braxiatel Collection.’ The Marshal indicated the paintings and statuettes that filled the room with a casual wave of his hand. ‘The greatest artworks the galaxy has to offer, and now Axis property. And yet, not the entire collection. Certain pieces are conspicuous by their absence. This is something of a frustration to me, you understand. I am a completist by nature.

‘It would seem that moments before our arrival, certain items were removed. Items of particular value and interest. The action of the museum staff, naturally. We have endeavoured to persuade them to return these items, but we do not yet have all that we require. They are holding out on us. I am reluctant to use force against them – coercion is such an unsubtle instrument, and scars heal tougher than skin – and I would prefer to maintain a spirit of co-operation.

‘I need your assistance, Officer. The Axis are rather keen to discover the whereabouts of –’ He checked with his softscreen, ‘– the blade of Galandar. A relic of a long-lost civilisation. The archaeology need not concern you. What should concern you is a curator, name of Mesa.’ He collected an id-print from a coffee table and handed it to Radek.

The glossy print showed the face of a young woman, attractive, in her mid-twenties. Black hair in central parting cut to the neckline, thick, long eyebrows, pale green eyes, a slight blush to her cheeks. Her expression had a touch of cynicism about it, as though she were restraining herself from laughing at a private joke.

‘She had special responsibility for the maintenance of the Galandar relics, and would seem to be the most likely candidate to know their location.

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