Truyện tiếng anh virgin missing adventures 09 dancing the code paul leonard

        DANCING THE CODE Paul Leonard     First published in Great Britain in 1995 by Doctor Who Books an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd 332 Ladbroke Grove London W10 5AH Copyright © Paul Leonard 1995 The right of Paul Leonard to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 'Doctor Who' series copyright © British Broadcasting Corporation 1995 ISBN 426 20431 X Cover illustration by Paul Campbell Xarax Helicopter based on a sketch by Jim Mortimore Typeset by Galleon Typesetting, Ipswich Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser             Acknowledgements First and foremost thanks must go to Jim Mortimore for: getting me involved in Doctor Who books in the first place; loan of videos and books; sketches of Xarax (see front cover); editing, plot suggestions; moral support At least three-fifths of the enjoyment you may get out of this book is due to Jim Secondly, thanks to Barb Drummond for sterling efforts in reading through the text and correcting innumerable bits of unworkable prose (any that remain are strictly my fault!) Two-fifths of your enjoyment is due to Barb — and watch out for her novel, it's going to be good Then there's Craig, who once again made many useful suggestions on Doctor Who continuity One-fifth of your reading pleasure is down to the eponymous Mr Hinton, I believe And one-fifth to be split between: my mother, for use of telly and much needed moral support; Bex and Andy at Virgin, for editorial support and general chumminess; Chris Lake, Nick Walters and Mark Leyland of the writer's circle (comments, suggestions and encouragement); Dr Richard Spence (telling me I wasn't going to die just yet); Peter-Fred, Richard, Tim, Matthew and Steve of the Bristol SF group (enthusiasm); Pat and Martine, Anita and Joe, Anna, Ann H, Helen, Nadia (friendship and support) And if anyone noticed that without all those people, their reading pleasure would have been minus two-fifths — well, that just about says it all, doesn't it? For Anna and Philip may you travel far together     Prologue — sweet sweet honey honey — — sweet sweet good good honey dancing to be dancing honey — Can you speak? — sweet dancing honey dancing good good sweet sweet — Do you understand me? — dancing understanding honey dancing sweet sweet sweet honey to be understanding to be dancing — I am human What are you? — human dancing honey dancing to be sweet sweet honey to be dancing human to be honey — I came here to help to find peace Tell me, how I find peace? — peace to be dancing peace to be honey peace to be good good honey sweet to be making nest to be good sweet honey dancing — They told me you could bring peace! — peace to be human to be honey dancing peace to be honey dancing — I might be able to bring more humans to you — — more humans to be dancing to be sweet sweet honey honey — — but first there are some things you have to for me — dancing to be human to be honey to be — Do you understand? I'm making a bargain I bring you people — humans You bring me peace YOU BRING ME PEACE, YOU UNDERSTAND? — peace to be dancing honey to be dancing peace to be 'dancing the code — Yes Peace At last — honey dancing sweet sweet peace honey honey — — dancing the code dancing the code — — dancing the code —     Book One War Dancing URGENT MEMORANDUM FROM: R.COM Z OFFICE TO: R.COM C-IN-C SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: R.COM STAFF ONLY RE: DANCERS PROJECT NOW READY TO PROCEED NEED 1000 REPEAT 1000 PERSONNEL **URGENT** TO SUPPLY DANCERS SCHEDULE OPERATION COUNTERSTRIKE FOR 1230 TUESDAY REPEAT 1230 TUESDAY I WILL BE READY     One The fire was almost out, no more than a pile of ashes and softly glowing charcoal Its dim red light gleamed on the enamel teapot that stood warming on the brazier, shone more faintly on the guns stacked by the closed flap of the tent Catriona Talliser closed her eyes for a moment, let herself feel the warmth and comfort, the spice and smoke-laden smell of the air 'You are tired? We could speak in the morning, if you prefer it.' Catriona opened her eyes again, fixed them on the shadowy shape of her host, the gleaming eyes in the dark, fire-lit face, the grey, pointed beard The white shirt and Levis he was wearing seemed somehow out of place on him; he looked as if he should have been wearing a traditional burnous, like Omar Sharif in Lawrence of Arabia He probably had done, she thought, when he was younger 'I have to leave early in the morning,' she said 'I need —' I need to be back in Kebir City by two-thirty tomorrow, to interview Khalil Benari, the leader of your enemies But she couldn't very well say that 'My editor needs my story in before eleven,' she lied The Sakir Mohammad nodded 'More tea, then?' Catriona almost said no — she found the strong, sweet, minty tea of the Giltaz all but undrinkable — but she knew it would help her stay awake, so she nodded The Sakir clapped his hands 'Tahir! Light the torch!' There was a movement in the near-darkness For a moment, Catriona imagined that Mohammad's son was going to light a real torch, a wooden brand dipped in sheep's fat, like the ones she'd seen in the flicks when she was a kid But there was a disappointing metallic click, and ordinary electric light filled the tent, throwing sharp, swiftly moving shadows against the grimy camel-wool walls She saw that there were more guns than she had noticed at first: as well as the Kalashnikovs stacked by the entrance, the light caught a rack of hand guns, and a leather belt with small, black grenades She made a mental note for her report: 'The Giltean Separatists are well armed, and their equipment is modern.' Tahir put the torch down, and Catriona saw that it was in fact a battered bicycle lamp, emblazoned with the logo 'EVER READY' Tahir sat cross-legged in front of the fire, poured the tea from the enamel pot into the tiny glasses; poured it back again, and out again,     then examined the decanted fluid by the light of the torch He added some sugar to the glasses, some tea to the pot, poured back and forth a few more times, examined the results once more, then, satisfied, passed one of the glasses to Catriona She sipped the tea — too sweet, too strong, too hot — and smiled 'It's wonderful.' She was conscious of her own awkward, English politeness Tahir drank his own tea in one gulp, said nothing Catriona looked at him: broad nose and lips, narrow black moustache, dark, watchful eyes She wondered for a moment if it was Tahir that she should be interviewing, rather than his father The young man of action, rather than the Old Man of the Desert Tahir caught her eye and smiled slightly Catriona had the unnerving sensation that he knew exactly what she had been thinking She turned her gaze quickly back to Mohammad 'Sakir,' she said, 'may we begin now? I'll use the cassette recorder if you don't mind.' The old man waved a hand, murmured, 'Of course, Monsieur.' Catriona frowned at the 'monsieur', then remembered the little ceremony Mohammad had insisted on making before she could enter the tent with them, when he had declared her to be an honorary man That had happened to her before in her dealings with desert Arabs; but she hadn't expected Mohammad to take it literally, to the extent of calling her 'monsieur' The feminist in her — the woman who had quite literally burned her bra, on a hot day in London in the crazy summer of '69 — resented it bitterly Why couldn't the Giltaz let her into their tents as a woman? Why couldn't they treat her as what she was — a human being, who happened to be female? With an effort she suppressed her annoyance, turned away and unshipped the cassette recorder from her rucksack She held the microphone a foot from her lips, and rather self-consciously tested the level The miniature VU meter flicked back and forth with a series of faint clicks 'Three — two — one — go.' She took a breath 'I'm in the secret desert headquarters of the Giltean Separatist movement, the FLNG With me are the Sakir Mohammad Al-Naemi, acknowledged leader of the resistance movement, and his son Tahir.' There would be no audience for the recording except herself, when she typed up her story in Kebir City tomorrow, but Catriona liked to keep her tapes clearly labelled She paused, then looked the old man in the eye and began     ... to be dancing honey to be dancing peace to be 'dancing the code — Yes Peace At last — honey dancing sweet sweet peace honey honey — — dancing the code dancing the code — — dancing the code —...    DANCING THE CODE Paul Leonard     First published in Great Britain in 1995 by Doctor Who Books an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd 332 Ladbroke Grove London W10 5AH Copyright © Paul Leonard. .. face on the grimy black-and-white TV above the bar in Burrous Asi: 'The revolt has been crushed.' And the broken bodies on the road outside the town The children, flies crawling over their wounds