Fic: Vox et Praeterea Mysteria
Mar. 16th, 2013 11:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
john_amend_allFor the ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
unconventionalcourtship ficathon.
Ace had definitely selected the right destination — Terminal 8 — but as the personal transit pod approached the right stop, it showed no sign of slowing. If anything, it speeded up, shot through the platform, and disappeared once more into the maze of subterranean tunnels that crisscrossed Boris Island. Ace looked around for the emergency stop button, but before she could find it, a chirpy female voice said "Sorry about that."
"What?" Ace looked round. She couldn't see an obvious speaker or camera in the pod's padded white interior, but it certainly wasn't out of the question for there to be one.
"I wouldn't normally do this," the voice continued. "But it's a bit of an emergency and I need your expertise."
"What expertise? And who are you?"
"Sorry, I haven't introduced myself properly, have I? Oswin Oswald, short-order soufflé chef and codebreaking genius."
Ace folded her arms. "Well, I'm Ace."
"Really? It says on the travel manifest your name's Incognita Pseudonym. Though if I'm honest with you, I did have my suspicions about that."
"Professor..." Ace muttered.
"And it says you're a crack FBI agent from the bomb squad." Oswin's tone was casual, but a slight edge had entered it. "Please tell me you're from the bomb squad."
"Nope." Ace leaned back against the wall of the pod, which was presently zipping past a long line of motionless baggage carriers.
Oswin sighed. "That's a pity. I need some explosives help quite urgently. It's for a project."
"What sort of help?"
"Defusing a bomb?" There was guarded hope in Oswin's voice. "The scanners detected nitrate residues on your hands. You must have something to do with explosives."
"Yeah, but I don't defuse them. When I make a bomb it goes off. No two ways about it."
"You're more of an IED girl, then?" There was a short pause, in which Ace could hear the tapping of a keyboard. "You're still the best person I can find. Do you think you can defuse a bomb for me?"
"What sort of bomb?"
"A big one. Listen, I told you I'm a codebreaking genius. Well, I intercepted a signal from a group of Mercian separatists. It's been all over the police frequencies for weeks that they were planning an attack on GlobeNet..."
"Hang on, you listen to the fuzz?"
"Verily and sooth, milady. Anyway, it turns out the GlobeNet thing's a diversion. Their real plan's to blow up Boris Airport."
"Can't you tell the police or something?" The baggage carriers went past the window again; presumably, Oswin was sending Ace round in circles until the conversation reached the right outcome.
"Who's going to believe a minimum-wage catering worker? By the time I'd convinced the duty sergeant we'd all be a cloud of radioactive particles floating over the Thames estuary. We need to get this bomb defused ourselves."
Ace considered the matter. "Where do I come into it?"
"I can't get to the bomb," Oswin said.
"Why not?"
"Reasons. But if I stay where I am, I can guide you there. We'll need to make sure you pick up the right tools on the way..."
"What, like a screwdriver? Wire cutters?" Ace pulled off her rucksack and began to rummage in it. "Got both of those somewhere in here."
"See, I knew you were an expert. Can you keep bending over like that?"
"Why?"
A note of merriment entered Oswin's voice. "Do I have to have a reason?"
Ace deliberately didn't straighten up. "Depends if you want this bomb defused, doesn't it, Hotlips?"
"Ah, efficiency. Just what we need in the present emergency. You're right, of course. I'm routing you to the sub-orbital prep zone." The capsule accelerated, sending Ace tumbling to the floor. "Whoops. Sorry about that, but I can't resist a fast woman. Once you get there, look for the reprocessing bay."
"Hang on. How are you going to talk to me when I get there?"
"Don't you have a portacom or something? Earpod? Mobile telephone?"
Ace bristled. "Do I look like a yuppie?"
"I see. I'll arrange something for when we get there. And you don't look like a yuppie." Oswin's voice was growing fainter, as if she was moving away from the microphone. Her next sentence wasn't quite audible, but Ace found herself with the strong suspicion that Oswin had said "More like a cutie."
When Ace emerged from the capsule, she found herself in what was clearly a service area of the airport, utilitarian and grubby. Most of the people here were wearing unflattering jumpsuits, that seemed to have been deliberately made to look as if they had the underwear on the outside.
Hardly had the capsule glided away than a puzzled-looking fitter approached her, a small cylindrical parcel in his hand.
"Do you know anything about this?" he said. "Came out of the delivery tube just now."
Ace took the parcel. Its label read MISS ACE SEXYLEGS, TRAVCOM STATION PLATFORM 7B, 15:42PM.
"Yeah, it's for me," she said. "Thanks."
As the baffled man walked away, Ace opened the parcel. It contained a necklace, something that looked like an Alice band with blue lights on it, and an earpiece. She donned the necklace, slid the band into her hair — where, to her way of thinking, it looked utterly ridiculous — and clipped the earpiece onto her ear.
"Other way round," Oswin's voice said in the earpiece. "The headband, I mean. At the moment I can only see where you've been."
"OK." Ace removed the band, turned it around, and replaced it. "That better?"
"Brilliant. And the throat mike's working too, I can hear you loud and clear. Turn to your left. You see the door?"
"The one that says 'Strictly no admittance'?"
"That's where we want to go."
"Got it." Ace started walking. "By the way. 'Sexylegs'. What was that about?"
"The system won't send a parcel without a surname, and I didn't know yours."
"I'm not telling you it, neither."
Oswin didn't sound at all put out. "Fine by me. I'll just stick with 'Sexylegs.' It suits you."
By now Ace had long since passed through the forbidden door, and was being guided through a network of corridors, workshops and offices. She tried to walk confidently, as if she had every right to be there; it worked surprisingly often when the Doctor did it.
"Like your style," Oswin's voice said in her ear. "Walking round like you own the place."
"How d'you know I don't?" Ace replied, quietly.
Keyboard clicking. "I've got the title deeds here. You don't, unless you're the legendary lost heiress of Lord Boris." More clicking. "Which... I wouldn't put past you. Or him. Are you?"
"Probably not. Hang on a moment, Hotlips. This is a dead end. Now what?"
"Ventilation grille. On the right, down by your knee. I don't know how it's fixed."
"Screws." Ace pulled out her screwdriver. "Easy enough, as long as no-one walks in on me."
"I'll distract them." There was a distant pop, followed by shouting. "Power surge in the autokitchen. That'll take them a few minutes to clear up."
"How are you doing all this?" Ace asked, still unscrewing the grille.
"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm a genius. A gorgeous genius in a tight red dress, just in case that's any encouragement."
"Might be a distraction."
"Nice to know."
"Nice to know what?" Ace asked, removing the last screw.
"That you find lovely girls in red dresses distracting."
"If I don't get to that bomb in time you can keep that for your last thought, Hotlips."
"Don't worry, we've got a few minutes in hand. The bomb's in a disused cold store on the next level down. And you'd better keep quiet. I don't have any cameras down there but the door's been opened recently. The throat mike'll work even if you whisper."
"You mean there's someone on guard?" Ace whispered.
"Almost certainly."
On knees and elbows, Ace wriggled through the network of ducts until she reached another grille. Through it she could see a dimly-lit room, its bare concrete walls streaked with algae. A steel box, the size of a large desk, sat in the middle of the floor.
"All clear," Ace whispered. "Can you stop anyone coming in?"
"I'll lock the door." There was a clunk from the left-hand side of the room.
It took Ace precious seconds to force the grate open from inside and clamber out, then retrieve her rucksack. She hurried across to the box, which gave the impression of having been hastily converted from some more mundane appliance, perhaps a chest freezer.
"That's not good," Oswin said in her ear. "If it was stolen military hardware I'd have schematics and procedures. This looks more like something home-grown."
"Should I open it?" Ace whispered.
"I suppose you've got to."
Cautiously, Ace lifted the lid a few centimetres.
"Can't see a thing in there," she whispered, rummaging in her rucksack for a torch.
"That's a thought." Tension was building in Oswin's voice. "You know the thing about the light coming on when the door opens? What's the betting with this one, it isn't the light that comes on?"
"Onto it." Ace felt around the edge of the lid until she found the concealed switch for the light. Holding it down with one hand, she opened the freezer fully and looked down into the interior. A jumble of wires and unidentifiable components clustered around a featureless black cube that was easily a foot on each side.
"What a mess," Oswin said. "Just keep looking at it, will you? I'll try and work out what's what."
The door handle rattled once, then again. Angry voices were heard outside.
"Hotlips?" Ace whispered. "I think we've got company."
"That's a pain. I'm not sure what we can do about it. Actually, on second thoughts..." Oswin tailed off, sounding as if she was contemplating a risky course of action. "OK, I've thought of something. Let's hope there's enough time."
"What, before I end up as a shadow on someone's wall a mile away?"
Someone was hammering at the door — by the sound of it, several people. From the splintering noises, it was clear that it wouldn't hold for long.
"Oh, you mean the bomb." Oswin's tone suggested she'd entirely overlooked that minor matter. "See the green sphere? Take hold of it. Turn it to the left a quarter turn, and lift it out. That's the neutron core."
"And now it's safe?" Ace asked, stowing the core in her rucksack.
"Safer. It won't blow up the airport, but you don't want to be standing anywhere near the rest of the bomb in about... two minutes' time."
Ace closed the freezer, again taking care that the light switch in the door wasn't triggered. Then she snatched her rucksack, and made for the ventilation duct, though it was far enough off the ground that she had grave doubts about being able to reach it.
In the event, she didn't make it. The door burst open, and she turned to see three young men burst into the room. They were wearing camouflage jackets and trousers, and holding pistols. They were hardly any older than her, she realised — not the ruthless fanatics she'd been imagining. Their guns and clothes had a worn, second-hand look. The explanation came to her almost immediately. These men were on a suicide mission; when the bomb went off, they'd be sure to die too. Whoever had planned this wouldn't risk valuable men or material. He'd send cannon fodder, the sort of twerps who'd tried to make her life a misery in school.
The thing was, she reflected, knowing people were twerps didn't stop them from being dangerous. After what had happened to Manisha... she clamped down on that line of thought. She'd better try and give them a reason not to kill her.
She dived behind the bomb, as bullets passed through the space where she'd been, and pulled two objects out of her rucksack: the core, and a grey deodorant can.
"If you want your bomb back in one piece you'd better listen to what I say!" she shouted, during a momentary lull in the firing.
The guns fell silent.
"What d'you mean?" one of the men asked.
"I've got your neutron core here." Ace slowly raised her hands, expecting them to be hit by bullets at any moment. "And this can's Nitro-Nine. You try anything, I'll drop it and it'll go off. You try putting your precious core back together after that."
"Stand up or we shoot." The voice came from one side; her captors had spread out so that the bomb was no longer an obstacle to them.
Trembling, but with her jaw set, Ace rose to her feet.
"You're crazy," the same man said. Presumably, he was the ringleader of this particular group.
"You're trying to blow up this island and you think I'm crazy?" She glared at him, trying to hide her fear behind contempt. "What's the matter, bog-brain? You think you're the only people allowed to blow yourselves up? Don't like it when someone does it to you, is that it?"
"Shut up!" She'd hit a nerve there; he looked like a spoiled brat whose favourite toy had been taken away. "You're bluffing."
"You want to bet your bomb? Oh, and that bum-fluff really doesn't suit you. Seriously, get a shave."
Her palms were slick with sweat; the deodorant can slipped, and she almost lost hold of it. It couldn't be that long before the bomb went off, and even without its neutron core it was close enough to kill her.
Then someone caught her wrist from behind, and the core was snatched from her grasp.
"Nice work, Toby," the ringleader said. He took a step toward Ace, aimed his gun at her forehead, and then slowly began to lower it. "Where should I shoot you, you ugly bitch? If you beg me maybe you'll get a quick death."
"Fat cha—" Ace began.
There was a horribly familiar whine, and the flare and crackle of high-energy plasma cutting through the air. The ringleader's body flashed, his skeleton briefly visible through his uniform and flesh. Another whine, and a thud behind her of a body hitting the floor. Ace turned her head to face the door, and recognised the shape standing there — one that had haunted her darkest nightmares. The third terrorist had also turned to face the threat; his gun was in his hand, and he was firing wildly, but the bullets made not the slightest impression on the advancing Dalek.
"Ace," two voices said, in perfect unison: Oswin's voice in her ear, and the Dalek in its usual mechanical rasp, its lights flashing in time. Its weapon flared again, cutting the last terrorist down. "Grab the core and let's get out of here."
"Oswin? What's going on?"
"Tell you later," the voices chorused. "Now get moving or there won't be a later!"
Ace snatched up the core and her rucksack, and ran for it, ducking past the Dalek. At full pelt, she ran through the next room, which looked as if it had once been a kitchen, and into the corridor beyond. Casting a hurried glance over her shoulder, she could see that the Dalek was still following.
"What is it?" she asked. "Some sort of remote control?"
"No." The two voices still matched perfectly. "Take the next left."
Ace briefly wondered if she ought to be trusting what Oswin — if it was Oswin — was telling her. But she didn't have much of a choice. She took the next left, finding herself in a bare room. Faded printouts on the wall announced that at some time in the past, this had been the headquarters of the Boris Island Model Railway Club.
The Dalek stopped in the doorway.
"Any second now," it — and Oswin — said.
Behind it, the corridor was filled with golden-red light, and the room shook around Ace. In normal circumstances she'd have felt a surge of triumph at the sight, but at the moment she was more concerned about the Dalek that was blocking her only way out. It seemed that Oswin was controlling it somehow, but suppose that control slipped and the Dalek reverted to its homicidal instincts?
"That's it," Oswin said, the Dalek's voice still echoing hers. "Detonation was contained, damage minimal. Security forces are responding. We'd better make ourselves scarce." The Dalek's body turned away, but its eyestalk remained fixed on Ace. "Come along, Sexylegs."
Ace stood her ground. "I want to know about the Dalek first."
"I am the Dalek." For the first time since Ace had heard Oswin's voice, there was defeat in it. "I was in a spaceship crash. The Daleks found me and they put me in this thing. Well... bits of me. I'm guessing a lot went in the bin."
"You mean all that time we were talking, you...?"
"All that time, I was really a Dalek. Yes." The Dalek began to move again. "You can do what you like, but I'm getting out of here."
Ace hurried after the Dalek, and found she had to run; it was travelling at a fairly rapid pace.
"What about the red dress?" she said. "The soufflés?"
"They're just dreams, I suppose. But it's how I still think of myself. Can't face up to reality."
To her considerable astonishment, Ace found herself patting the Dalek on the top of its dome.
"I'm sorry, Hotlips," she said. "I knew something like this would happen."
The eyestalk swivelled to look at her. "What do you mean? You didn't do this to me."
"No, but any time I meet someone I reckon I could really get on with..."
"Yes?"
"Never ends well," Ace said, with an air of finality. She cleared her throat. "Got to admit, none of them's been a Dalek before. Hang on, if you're really a Dalek why did you even need me?"
"If you think this thing would fit through an air vent I want some of what you're smoking. It's worse than a bustle."
"Yeah, but you could've just gone in the front way and blasted everyone."
"And while I was blasting my way in, one of them could have set the bomb off." Oswin raised her sucker arm. "Also, this thing's pretty good but I've only got one of it. You never know when another pair of hands might come in useful."
"Pretty good?" Ace repeated.
"I reckon I could undress you in about twenty seconds." The sucker flexed alarmingly. "If you asked me to, of course."
Ace looked around at the bare, chilly concrete service duct. "Can we come back to that later?"
"I'll hold you to that." Oswin's voice in the earpiece was positively seductive, though it still came out of the Dalek's loudspeaker as a stentorian rasp.
"However we do it, it'll be pretty weird." Ace shrugged. "I'm up for it if you are."
"Great." As they approached a lift, its doors slid open. Oswin spun on her axis and headed into it. "By the way, Ace. You were bluffing about that can being explosive, weren't you?"
"How did you know?"
"SCANS DE-TECT NO SIGNIFICANT QUANTITIES OF EXPLOSIVES," Oswin replied, the voice in the earpiece matching the Dalek's intonation for the first time. Without being conscious of how she'd got there, Ace found herself pressed against the wall of the lift, her heart racing and her ear full of Oswin's laughter. "If you could have seen your face."
"That wasn't funny," Ace protested. "But no, it was empty. The Professor said I shouldn't take explosives into an airport." An accusing note entered her voice. "He said they'd be picked up by the scanners."
"Chances are, they would." The lift glided to a halt and they emerged into another corridor, warmer and better lit but no less grim. "Unless you'd been planning your bombing for months and worked out how to bypass them all."
Ace looked around. "Where are you taking me, Hotlips? 'Cos I'm guessing you don't have a flat or nothing."
"I wish. The nearest thing to a home I've got is a cable duct under the Terminal 3 departure lounge. I'm just getting us clear of trouble at the moment."
Ace stuck her hands in her pockets. "Can't you hack us into a honeymoon suite somewhere?"
"That sounds like a challenge to— Wait. Ace. Stay where you are."
"Why?"
"There's something stuck to your right sleeve, just below the elbow. A label, I think. Can you get a look at it?"
Ace twisted her arm, and peered at the scrap of plastic. "Looks like a shipping label of some kind. Consignment of salami for Io City."
"Let's see that." The sucker shot out and daintily plucked the label from where it was sticking. "You must have picked this up when you were defusing the bomb."
"Because any earlier, and it'd have got knocked off in the air vent."
"Right. So these guys were mixed up in something on Io. Hang on while I do some traffic analysis." In Ace's earpiece, the keyboard was clicking again. "Do you think you could take your jacket off?"
"Why?"
"Give me something nice to look at while I'm working."
Ace obligingly unzipped her bomber jacket, and adopted an exaggerated parody of a pinup pose.
"Hello, boys," she breathed. "Or girls, depending."
"Nice." More keyboard clicking. "Ace, I don't know what their game is on Io, but this much encrypted traffic, it's got to be big. We need to get out there and look into it. I'm booking us passage on the next flight... Done. We get a stateroom to ourselves."
"Of course." Ace shifted her position. "Can I stop posing now? It's doing my back in."
"I didn't ask you to in the first place. Oh. We'll have to hurry, the ship's boarding right now. Get on my back and hang onto whatever you can." She waited while Ace clambered onto her casing. "Whatever you do, don't fall off."
With a hum of power and an unsettling vibration, Oswin rose slightly off the ground and began to accelerate down the corridor.
"Io, here we come," she said. "Oh. I suppose I should've asked. You weren't doing anything important when I found you in that transit pod, were you?"
Ace tightened her grip. "It'll keep," she said firmly.
