Francine keyed her radio. 'Hey Flash, thanks for the warning.'
Static answered her.
'Flash - this is Angel. Do you copy?'
Nothing. And Francine realized then that Flash Harry was gone, become just another pair of hologram eyes peering out between the bottles of PX beer and moonshine gin.
She got a visual fix on the Jacksonville beacon and corrected her glide path by two degrees.
Olympus Mons lay ahead, silver in the unreal moonlight.
STS Central - Olympus Mons
Ming had Dogface on one of the repeater screens in her office and two Yak Harrises on another. The big holograms above the control pit were showing a lot of weird activity at the far end of the Central Line.
To make things just that little bit more difficult, a drone had cleaned up the office and now she couldn't find anything. Especially the packet of Zap she kept stashed under the throw rug, in case of emergencies.
A third repeater screen was taking telemetry data from Jacksonville Base.
The two Yak Harrises were completely still as the subset personalities ran off on an 'errand'. Dogface didn't look good, his face was pale and strained. Ming reckoned that he couldn't override the medical computer for much longer without doing himself irreparable damage.
Ming never had understood the floozies. Without the engine of ambition they clung to a working-class ethic that had been out of fashion for centuries. Still, it was his funeral.
A fourth repeater screen was taking a security feed from Olympus Mons West. A police drone's fisheyed view of the clean-up operation, images selected according to machine priorities.
'What about the girl?' asked Dogface.
'She's on her way up,' said Ming. 'With an escort.'
'I heard she greased two of those creatures.'
'And half a train,' said Ming. 'Blondie's got a couple of drones trying to reopen the line.'
"And Francine?'
'Still approaching Jacksonville.'
'What are they saying?'
'That in about ten minutes the V Soc's going to be looking for a new godmother.'
'The Doctor, Kadiatu?'
'On board the jet as well,' said Ming.
'Francine's a good pilot ...'
'Forget it. Dogface,' said Ming. 'Jacksonville says she's coming down on manual with no exterior sensors and half a turbine. If she could see, maybe. Blind, no chance.'
Olympus Mons
The forward monitor was covered in static. The Doctor's faceplate had snapped down automatically as soon as the cabin filled with smoke. The HUD projected on the inside informed him that the surrounding atmosphere was almost pure halogen. He presumed it was a fire-suppression measure. That or the humans were getting creative with their materials technology again.
He risked a cautious glance over at Kadiatu. Turning his head could be fatal if Francine pulled another twelve-G turn. It was difficult to tell if she was all right with the faceplate down but the status lights on the suit were unchanged. She was lying still in the embrace of the ejection seat, possibly unconscious.
The Doctor settled his head back on to the headrest and tried to feel what was going on. That they'd been involved in a dogfight was obvious from the violent manoeuvres; that they'd been hit was also self-evident. Francine had remained ominously silent since the combat began and the Doctor didn't want to distract her.
Do not talk to driver while bus is moving, thought the Doctor. Sound advice.
The smoke was clearing from the cabin. Judging from the subsonic vibrations he could feel through the headrest, they were missing an engine.
This cabin has a bad attitude, thought the Doctor. About twenty degrees nose up and we're descending. Definitely a glide landing.
'If I should die,' said the Doctor, 'think only this of me, that there is a corner of a foreign field that is forever Gallifrey.'
He calculated the probable impact velocity.
'All right then,' he said, 'a very large corner of a foreign field.'
To take his mind off the danger the Doctor started a mental list of the hardware he'd caused to be destroyed since he arrived. He used a weighted points system, since he was unsure of the exact monetary value. He wondered whether to include the wrecked dustkart. Normally companions only contributed half scores, but did the ersatz Bernice count?
He hummed something appropriate and calculated what he'd get for a really spectacular plane crash. He always gave himself bonus points for those.
'What's that noise?'
asked Kadiatu.
'Edith Piaf,'
said the Doctor.
'Born on a doorstep and sang the blues.'
'I'd sing the blues,'
said Kadiatu, '
if I'd been born on a doorstep. What's the song about?'
'Regret.'
'What did she regret?'
'Absolutely nothing,'
said the Doctor.
They hit the ground.
The crash unfolded with agonizing slowness, he could have done without that. They were slammed forward in the harness and the cabin slammed flat. There was the sharp rending sound that a sheet of carbon fibre makes when you rip it in half. There was a moment of weightlessness as the jet bounced and then went back to the serious business of tearing itself apart. Rents appeared in the cabin's port wall. Through the hole the Doctor watched in astonishment as sheets of spray rushed past. Torque forces shoved him sideways as the jet slewed to the right. The final impact with the crash barrier was almost gentle.
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.