So Vile a Sin by Ben Aaronovitch & Kate Orman

Author:Ben Aaronovitch & Kate Orman [Aaronovitch, Ben & Orman, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Science Fiction, Doctor Who (Fictitious Character)
ISBN: 9780426204848
Google: l8agBAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0426204840
Publisher: London Bridge
Published: 1996-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Cassandra

164

1

Janus

3 June 2982

Isotank technology had been pretty much the same for centuries.

A large container of water, maintained at a steady thirty-five degrees Celsius. A form-fitting suit which flared out to encompass the nose and mouth with a comfortable, soundproofed breathing apparatus. In a well-designed tank you couldn’t even hear your own pulse.

Genevieve’s psychoanalyst had recommended regular dips in the tank for their relaxing effect on the brain. The relaxation usually lasted about fifteen minutes before she got bored enough to switch on the biode in her left eye, the text flowing across her field of vision against the soft reddish-black background.

She had been in the tank for thirty minutes, moving through a maze of security protocols, selecting her route with a glance. If her shrink noticed the REM on his monitors, he probably thought she’d just fallen asleep. If security noticed her poking around, she wouldn’t receive more than a formal caution. The material she was searching through wasn’t actually above her clearance level.

Not much was. It just wasn’t meant for general distribution. Need to know, that was their slogan. Seek and ye shall find, that was hers.

There – she selected the securicam playbacks she wanted. A cascade of images, one lens after the other, tracking a quartet of 165

figures through the wide hallways of the Imperial Palace.

Genevieve imagined she was an insect, floating lazily along the roof of the corridor. She selected audio on.

THE DOCTOR: Nice art collection.

WSZOLA, IAOMNET: Thanks. I’m particularly fond of the Mogarian sculptures. It’s a shame they have to be kept in those gas containers: they’re meant to be touched.

He was a short white man in a tweed jacket; she was a tall, dark-eyed agent of Imperial Intelligence, imposing in her uniform. Genevieve could have looked at her service record with a flick of her eye, but for now she concentrated on the securicam playback.

THE DOCTOR: I saw a museum like this in Paris.

WSZOLA: Where’s that?

DOCTOR: Europe. Once upon a time. The spoils of conquest, treasures from Egypt and Europe. Very impressive, while it lasted.

WSZOLA: Why? What happened to the museum?

DOCTOR: The English came and took most of it away. The spoils of conquest.

WSZOLA: Aren’t you going to ask me where we’re going?

DOCTOR: Well, the list of possibilities seems pretty short.

You’re taking me to a dingy and purportedly escape-proof cell.

WSZOLA: Or?

DOCTOR: You’re taking me somewhere to stick electrodes in my head.

WSZOLA: Or?

DOCTOR: (pause) I suppose you could be taking me to your leader.

Genevieve’s point of view gently rolled to a stop. Wszola and her prisoner came to a halt before a huge, rococo door. An error message apologetically explained that Genevieve didn’t have the clearance to look inside.

DOCTOR: Oh.

WSZOLA: You’re lucky, Doctor. Very few people outside the Council and a few select staff get to go through that door.

DOCTOR: It doesn’t look very secure. Where are the guards?

The elaborate security devices?

166

WSZOLA: We’ve passed all of them already. That’s why there’s no lock on this door. If we weren’t cleared to be here, we’d already be dead.

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