FIRE DAMAGE

by Rutan

As the two soldiers escorted her to the holding cells, Section Leader
Shaw mused on the problem of the stranger. The Brigade Leader
insisted on calling him a spy . She didn't believe it for a second.
Nobody engaged in espionage would wear such flamboyant clothing,
or act in such an arrogant and high-handed manner - not unless you
counted fictional spies like James Bond. She smiled slightly at the
thought of this "Doctor" in the role of the handsome young hero of "In
Our Leader's Secret Service." Not really much comparison.

The trio halted outside the cell door. One guard looked to her for
guidance, and at her curt nod he fumbled with the large ring of keys at
his belt. She tapped her thigh a few times with the short baton she
carried, and he gave her another nervous glance as he finally located
the correct key. The rank and file had cause to remember that her
patience was an easily exhausted commodity. He swung the door
inwards and stood aside. The prisoner was wrapped up
in the standard grey blanket on the standard hard bunk. He was
sleeping, or at least pretending to.

"Wake him!"

The soldier unslung his rifle and entered the cell, prodding at the
captive viciously with the butt. Before the blow could land, the
supposedly sleeping figure spun around and grabbed the weapon,
pulling it out of the startled guard's grasp. A quick jab to the belly
sent the soldier sprawling to the concrete floor, desperately struggling
to draw breath. 

The second escort raised his rifle and chambered home a round with
an ominous click.

"Wait!"

At the Section Leader's command the rifleman held his aim, finger
poised on the trigger. The prisoner froze, realising there was no way
he could disable the second man without being shot. He allowed the
purloined weapon to clatter to the floor. "I resent being poked being
with guns! A polite cough is quite sufficient to gain my attention."

His eyes burned into hers, recognising her as the authority here. No, it
was more than that - he'd claimed to know her, hadn't he? Certainly
he seemed to have more than a passing familiarity with her
background, though as a spy he would be stupid to have revealed such
knowledge. She'd originally intended to question him alone, but as the
gasping soldier hauled himself upright she was no longer sure that
that would be wise. He was angry, and certainly capable of violence.
She suppressed the thrill that ran through her at the thought of being
alone with such a man. He was *not*  her superior. He was a prisoner
and she would be in charge. All the way. "Secure him."

He glowered as one guard pulled a pair of cuffs from his belt. "I
assure you, that isn't necessary!" He was ignored as his hands were
manacled, the connecting chain running behind one of the bars that
formed the wall, so that he was fixed in place with his wrists behind
him.

"Leave us!"

The hesitation was minimal. "Section Leader!" The soldiers marched
the length of the concrete-floored corridor, one set of footsteps a good
deal less precise than the other. She waited until the echoes of the
closing door died away. All this time he had kept staring into her eyes.
It wasn't simple defiance. That, she would have recognised at once. He
genuinely seemed to be seeking some sort of recognition, meeting her
eyes as would a trusted friend or a confidante - or a lover?

The baton blow caught him completely by surprise, the slash opening
a cut on his cheek and cracking his head back against the bars of his
cell. "You do not raise your eyes unless I order it," she hissed, hoping
that the slight uneasiness he had engendered was not apparent in her
voice.

The prisoner slowly turned his head to face her again, dropping his
eyes only when she began to raise the stick for another blow. "There's
no need for any of that, Elizabeth. I'm more than happy to have a little
chat with you. There's no need for any 'softening up' first."

"Good, Doctor. I'm pleased that you are going to be reasonable. But
before we continue I'd like to make three points. Firstly, you will only
address me as Section Leader. Secondly, you will speak only to answer
my direct questions or when I have given you permission. Thirdly,
your only chance of freedom lies in telling me the complete truth. Do I
make myself clear?"

The Doctor moved as if to bring his hand to his face, the move halted
by the metal restraints. "As crystal," he sighed, "Though I suspect
that the truth is not going to be what you want to hear."

She placed the tip of her baton under his chin and raised his face,
smiling. "Let me be the judge." It was an elementary technique. The
prisoner was supposedly disorientated by the conflicting need to avoid
meeting her gaze while not resisting her apparent command that he do
so. Most men showed their nervousness at this point in the flicker of
their eyes as they attempted to reconcile the paradox. This one's gaze
remained steady. She doubted that pain was the key that would unlock
his mind, but it was not the only weapon in her armoury. "Continue."

"Very well. My name is The Doctor. I travelled here from a similar
project in a world parallel to this one. I am not a spy, and I believe
that you are all in great danger." He halted, as if waiting for some
expression of disbelief, and seemed surprised when none came. "In the
world I came from you are Doctor Elizabeth Shaw, a scientist attached
to me as my assistant."

"Assistant?" There was cold amusement in the word. "Are you trying
to establish a basis for authority over me?"

"Authority? I'm simply relating the situation as it exists, Elizab - ah,
Section Leader, that is."

"So you are a scientist? A senior one?"

"Well, yes. I suppose so."

"Who just happens to be trained in how to disarm soldiers and
penetrate restricted high security installations? Don't treat me like a
fool, 'Doctor'!" He fell silent. She had established that his cover story
wouldn't work - indeed it was so ludicrous that it seemed pointless as a
cover - so now it was time to probe for weaknesses. "This other Shaw,
Doctor. Tell me of your relationship with her." As she asked the
question she ran the tip of her baton slowly down the prisoner's torso.

"We're colleagues," the Doctor answered warily, as if unsure of the
direction the questioning was taking, "Friends, I like to think."

She raised one eyebrow and lowered her voice just a touch. "Friends,
Doctor? Nothing more? You never exploited your position over her,
never made her clear to her that her prospects for advancement
depended on... keeping you happy?"

"Certainly not! And I resent the implication! Our relationship is
purely professional." He was angry, and she'd been taught that anger
was a weakness; that it always masked something deeper. Perhaps she
was on to something here. Of course, since this other Beth Shaw didn't
really exist, the prisoner's response was puzzling. Still, she could try to
take advantage of his obvious emotional response. 

"Rather warm in here." Without taking her eyes from his, she slowly
raised one leg and placed her booted foot on the bunk by his leg. The
short uniform skirt slid up to mid-thigh. She pushed the baton into her
boot top and lowered her leg. Had his eyes moved? She wasn't sure.
With her hands free she began to unbuckle her gun belt. Yes! She saw
his eyes flicker down to watch her hands at work before he caught
himself. Turning, she hung the heavy belt over one of the crossbars
dividing the Doctor's cell from the adjacent, empty one. With her back
to him she risked a small smile of satisfaction. He was just another
weak male, like all the rest. And like all the rest she could control him.
She turned back, unbuttoning her heavy  jacket. The Doctor's eyes
were downcast, apparently absorbed in the pattern of cracks that zig-
zagged  across the concrete floor.  "Look at me!"

Slowly, he raised his eyes. She could feel him taking in the sight of her
legs: the shiny black boots that reached to her knees; then the bare
flesh until he reached the hem of her short, tan skirt. To meet her eyes
he had to look up further, sweep his gaze over her crisply ironed shirt,
the plain tie that held close its loose neck. She slipped out of her
jacket, well aware that the manoeuvre pushed forward her breasts
against the material covering them. She tossed the jacket carelessly
onto the bunk and then locked gazes with the Doctor, hands on her
hips. 

"My dear young woman," the Doctor cleared his throat, "you are
surely not attempting to seduce me?"

"And if I were..?" She smiled down at him, confident in her power.

"The Doctor essayed a tolerant smile. "Well I'd have to admit it's
some improvement over a beating, but it's still not going to change the
story I've been telling you for the last hour or more."

Beth smiled again. "Perhaps not," she reached behind her, pulling a
small hypo from the inner pocket of her jacket, "But then again..."
For the first time since she'd seen him, she saw a sign of real alarm on
the Doctor's face. She felt disappointed at the sight, as if she'd wanted
him to be some sort of heroic figure, immune to human feelings and
failings. The fear vanished almost at once, but there was something
else in his eyes that replaced it. Something timeless and dreamlike,
and she couldn't look away. The rest of the room blurred into
insignificance, and she could only see the Doctor's eyes, could only
hear a strange chanting from his lips.


The floating feeling triggered part of her deep training. Without
conscious thought she lashed out, the blow snapping the Doctor's head
to one side and breaking eye contact. Beth staggered back, reaching
out for the bars to stop herself falling. That had been so close!
Powerful hypnosis. Only her Security Branch training in resisting
brain washing had saved her. She turned away, desperately trying to
regain her composure, feeling icy beads of sweat trickle down her
back. Inwardly she cursed her carelessness. This Doctor was more
dangerous than she had supposed. She steeled herself to turn and meet
those eyes again.

"I told you once not to raise your eyes unless I ordered it. If you
disobey me in this again I will put a bullet between them. Are we clear
on this?" Somehow she forced herself to look straight into his face as
she gave the instruction, desperately hoping her voice betrayed no
hint of the uncertainty she now felt. There was a long pause.

"Perfectly." The Doctor lowered his gaze. "You have so much in
common with your counterpart on the world I come from, Section
Leader. Not least your strength of will: very impressive indeed. May I
tell you why I tried to control you just now?"

Beth considered the request. It was an obvious attempt to engage her
curiosity, but at least it also started the process of providing her with
information. "Please, feel free." She raised the small hypo and
squirted a thread of silver into the air.

"It's because I'm concerned that if you attempt to inject me with that
substance I may very well die!"

"It's perfectly safe, I assure you." She pulled the collar of his ruffled
shirt down to expose the artery in his neck."

"For a human, possibly!" His tone was urgent, his voice hoarse with
the effect of making his point without shouting. "Look, I assume you
must have basic medical training?"

"Of course."

"Then check my pulse, Liz! It will just take a few seconds. Go on!"

The intensity of his plea didn't seem like an act. She paused with the
needle an inch from the surface of his skin. "Very well." It wouldn't
hurt to check his heart beat before continuing, anyway. She didn't
want a hospital case resulting from this. The fingers of her free hand
pressed against the throbbing vein in her prisoner's neck. There
*was* something odd.

"I have a non-human cardiovascular system - two hearts!"

Beth resisted the urge to make a sarcastic remark about the
atrociously stupid claim. She pressed her fingers over the spot where a
normal heart should be, and then again, on the opposite side of the
body. Then she ripped open the ruffled shirt, sending pearl buttons
bouncing around the cell, and repeated the test, this time on the
Doctor's bare flesh. He was apparently telling the truth, however
bizarre it seemed. She straightened and stared down at him,
forgetting not to make eye contact. 

"Am I to infer that you are an alien?" She almost giggled hysterically
at the precise way she spoke the absurd question. Up until now her life
had constituted a carefully planned series of events, mapped out from
her early teens. There had been no room for the unexpected. She had
always known exactly what she had to do to reach the next stage -
always known exactly where she stood in relation to everything and
everyone else around her. It was quite a shock to have an event so
jarring that it called into question so many of the truisms she lived by. 

"That's right. I told you before that I travelled here from an alternate
Earth, parallel to your own. Well that's true, but I'm not native to that
Earth."

The words washed over Beth without really registering. She couldn't
accept this. The man had two hearts. "You're a freak - some sort of
mutation. That's it!"
        
The Doctor sighed. "You aren't listening to me. I am not a human
being." Beth was ignoring him, readjusting her mental map of the
predictable world she lived in so it could accommodate a man with
two hearts.

"Yes, of course. If someone can be born with six fingers, or three
nipples then why not two hearts. You must have been specially chosen
so that it would back up your absurd story. I'm not listening to any
more of your lies!" The last words were spat into the Doctor's face as
she plunged the needle into his neck and squeezed. The clear fluid was
injected  into his bloodstream. She half-expected the Doctor to start
struggling or raving, but he simply sat on the bunk with a distant
sadness in his eyes. 

His eyes! "Look down!" She realised that she was panting slightly, and
steadied her breathing as the prisoner obediently lowered his gaze.
She licked dry lips while waiting for the first signs of the drug taking
effect. He'd rattled her. This wasn't how she'd been trained. She tried
to relax, letting her mind fall into the pattern appropriate for the next
stage.

When satisfied that she was fully back in control she opened her eyes.
Several minutes had passed without a word from the Doctor. She gave
him a careful examination. His breathing was deep and shallow, pupils
slightly dilated, his muscles relaxed. All as it should be. Her hand
touched his cheek expecting to find it warm to her touch, but instead it
was slightly cool. She hesitated for a second, but told herself one
slightly abnormal response to the drug was no cause for concern.
Follow procedure. "Doctor? Can you hear me?"

He twitched slightly and his eyes slid sideways as he tried to focus on
her. "Liz? What are you doing here?"

She bit back an angry response. Let him believe her to be this fictional
'Liz' if her chose. In fact it could prove to be something she could work
with. If he was delusional she could operate within that delusion - twist
it to her advantage, perhaps. She bent forward to whisper
conspiratorially in his ear. "Yes Doctor, it's Liz.  I'm here to help you.
But I need you to tell me something."

His speech was slightly slurred, and the hesitations before he spoke
implied that brain function was mildly distorted, just as expected.
"Liz, they must stop the drilling! Great danger." The manacles rattled
as he attempted to grasp her arm for emphasis. He looked at the
restraints in mild bemusement.

"Is that what you want, Doctor? You want the drilling to stop." He
nodded blearily. "Who told you to stop the drilling, Doctor? Where
did your orders come from?" He frowned. "Orders? No orders. Don't
agree with orders. Orders. Hors'douvres. I'll have gazpacho,
Brigadier."

Beth noted the stream of consciousness speech with satisfaction. As the
drug took hold it suppressed the normal censorship function of the
higher brain. The prisoner would start to respond with the first words
that came to mind. An unfortunate side effect was increased paranoia.
If left unchecked it made the prisoner completely uncooperative,
believing the questioner to be his worst enemy. But there was a
technique to counter it. She took the duplicate key to the manacles
from the pocket of her jacket and unfastened them, freeing the
Doctor's wrists.

"Thank you m'dear. Most uncomfortable. Comfy table. Of equations."

She pulled his shirt loose and undid the few remaining buttons on it.
The Doctor gazed at her uncomprehendingly as she slipped the
garment off his shoulders and left him stripped to the waist. "There
Doctor, that's better isn't it?"

"Better Doctor? Doctor Shaw. Washed up on the shores of space-time.
For a cuppa Mike?"

There was a name he hadn't mentioned before. Beth pushed his
unresisting form down on the bunk and slid her hands slowly up his
torso. She leant closer and whispered the question a husky octave
lower than her normal voice. "Who is Mike, Doctor?"

"Hmm? Mike. Mike Yates. Slouching towards bedlam. Sane as a
hatter is old Mike."

She sighed. Another part of his briefing on the personnel at the
project. What would it take to get at some of the background. She
switched to Russian. "Report your mission status! We need to know
what you have accomplished."

"What! No more missions. No more dirty jobs, you said!" The Doctor
began to struggle upright, and Beth pressed herself close to him,
stroking his belly and brushing his lips with her own. She vibrated
with triumph - his reply was in the same language! She calmed him
with slow, gentle caresses and whispered endearments until he relaxed
again, still mumbling. What was that? Something about the CIA giving
him orders? Now she was confused. Could he be an American? One
who spoke fluent Russian? She supposed it was possible. It was true
that the US administration had no particular liking for the current
regime.

"Washington, Doctor. Have you ever been to Washington?"

"Good old George. One more river to cross, I told him. Wore a brand
new jersey. Cold day that was, Liz. Not miniskirt weather. Don't your
legs get cold?" One of the Doctor's hands slid up under Beth's skirt
and began stroking her thigh. She shivered slightly at the chill of his
hand, but did nothing to discourage him. Calmly she attempted to put
his babbling back on track.

"I feel warm and safe with you, Doctor. Can you help me?"

"Anything for you, Liz. After all, I'd be dead except for you. Lose my
head completely. Autonomic nervous system. Shock. Well, it's a bit of
a surprise anyway." One hand seemed content to trace abstract
patterns on her thigh, while the other explored her face, lightly
touching her lips, her neck, her eyelids as if searching for a
correspondence that wasn't there.

"That's good, Doctor. It's important that I know this. Do you work for
the CIA? Did they send you here?"

"CIA, yes. Sent me here. Stuck here now. Can't go home. Home is
where the hearts are. Polly in the sky like diamonds..."

"That's good, Doctor. That's what I need. That's what Liz needs to
know." On impulse she pressed her lips to his, cutting off his
continuing stream of nonsense. This was actually getting her
somewhere now! "Who sent you, Doctor? Who was it in the CIA that
sent you here? You can tell Liz."

His brow clouded. "Addle-brained nincompoops. Sit on their behinds
forever while I do their dirty work for them!  Goth and Malduron and
Opticale. No more. No more do you hear!" Once again he became
agitated, his hand gripping her upper leg painfully. Beth murmured
reassurances, clung desperately to avoid being pitched to the cell
floor. Obviously that line of questioning had dredged up painful
memories. It sounded like he'd had a falling out with his original
paymasters. 

It took several minutes for his grip on her to relax. She was now very
conscious of the strength that resided in those deceptively slim hands -
she would certainly have a large bruise tomorrow. The idea that she
was in control of that strength, that she could direct and subdue it
with her intellect as she chose, was a sensation that she lived for. She
brushed a strand of hair, disarrayed by the struggle, out of her eyes.
The Doctor had her crushed to his chest and as it rose and fell she
could feel both hearts pounding away. His rigid penis pressing against
her stomach told her that the secondary side-effect of the drug had
kicked in. She glanced at her watch. She still had an hour before it
started wearing off. It was obvious that the man harboured a
good deal of hostility toward his employers, and combined with the
heightened paranoia that the drug induced it made her line of
questioning quite dangerous.


...to be continued...  and I've been saying that for a long time now :(
-- 
Rutan