Shining Darkness Page 15

  ‘Oi!’ squeaked Weiou as he, too, tumbled into one of the padded seats set around the inside of the little vehicle. ‘Nothing wrong with midgets!’

  Kellique shook her head as she buckled up. ‘You sure this is going to work?’ she asked Donna.

  ‘No,’ replied Donna sharply. ‘Of course I’m not sure this is going to work, but if you’ve got a better idea, now might be quite a good time to tell us about it. Mother!’ Donna craned her neck to see Mother, still outside the pod’s hatch. ‘You ready?’

  Mother nodded silently – and with a dull clang the hatch sealed itself.

  ‘Well,’ said Donna, sitting back and smiling. ‘Isn’t this nice? Very cosy. How long will it take her, d’you think?’ she added as they were rattled by another – much bigger, much closer – explosion from somewhere on The Sword of Justice.

  ‘Now there’s no one left on board,’ Boonie said, checking his watch, ‘Mother can just open the bulkhead and get out that way. If this is going to work, we’ll know about it soon. One way or another.’

  Donna took a deep breath. She only hoped she wasn’t condemning them all to death in the escape pod. The realisation that, even if they could get the escape pod free, there wouldn’t be room on board for Mother had been the trigger: in a flash Donna had realised that, of course, Mother didn’t need air. (Neither did Weiou, but Weiou didn’t have the brute strength that Mother did).

  The plan was obvious in its simplicity. Maybe too obvious – which made Donna a bit suspicious of it: the three humans and Weiou could get in the pod, Mother could clamber outside the ship and free the docking clamps before hitching a ride on the outside of the pod. Kellique had checked that the pod’s thrusters were still working, so there’d be no problem in steering it towards the space station that had emerged from Sentilli. Obviously, there was no way to tell what kind of welcome they’d receive when they got there; but it had to be better than staying to be blown up.

  All four of them started as a sudden harsh, metallic clanging sounded through the pod’s hull. And then another. It was like something monstrous was trying to tear its way in.

  ‘Sound worse than it is,’ said Kellique, registering the look on Donna’s face. ‘Trust me. Even if I’m not a doctor.’ She smiled grimly.

  There were more clangs – and then an ominous grinding sound.

  One final clang and a creaking, tearing groan that seemed to drag on for ever before it ended in silence.

  ‘She’s done it!’ cried Kellique. ‘That’s the clamps disengage- whoa!’

  The pod suddenly lurched, and it was only the fact that they’d all belted themselves in that stopped them from being flung around the cramped interior. The lights suddenly dimmed to red.

  ‘What is it with the red lights on spaceships?’ complained Donna. ‘It’s not like we need a status report from them, is it? Oh God, I feel…’

  ‘Gravity’s offline,’ said Kellique.

  ‘Never have guessed,’ said Donna, trying to keep a grip on the contents of her stomach.

  ‘Whoo!’ cried Weiou excitedly. ‘Hang on everyone – here we go!’

  Anyone watching from outside would have been clenching their fists in anticipation: a line of explosions was bursting out from the skin of The Sword of Justice, rippling along it, twisting and warping the vessel’s hull, heading towards the tiny blister of emergency pod eight. And, hugging itself tight to the pod was Mother, spreadeagled on the top of it and clinging on for dear life.

  With a flare of blue light, the pod’s thrusters fired up and it popped free of the ship, as the wave of explosions swept across the mothership. Slowly, but building up speed rapidly, the pod jetted out into the cold blackness of space, a tiny, silhouetted spot against the raging inferno it was leaving behind.

  In mute disbelief, still held in the robot’s steely embrace, the Doctor could only watch as The Sword of Justice slowly accelerated through the Sentilli system, on a collision course with The Torch.

  It was a brave – but futile – hope.

  Streams of gas and fuel trailed out behind the pathetic, battered wreck of a ship, turning it into an artificial comet. All across its hull, lights were going out. Tiny explosions erupted all over its surface, sending clouds of sparkling debris out into space. The absence of a sun made it hard to make out any details, but the Dark Light’s sensors were enhancing the image, showing the death throes of the ship in all their sad glory.

  Donna…

  The Doctor could only hope that she’d either escaped in a lifeboat, or that she’d had the sense to take shelter in the TARDIS. Assuming that his lovely little blue box hadn’t already been blown out into space.

  ‘Target acquired,’ said Ogmunee with relish, catching the Doctor’s eye and flashing him a cruel, toothy smile.

  ‘Finish it,’ Garaman said, almost wearily. ‘We’ve got more important things to be getting on with.’

  From the side of the screen, a thick pencil of deep purple light sprang up, stretching away into space, skewering The Sword of Justice through its flank like it were a kebab. For a moment, nothing happened – the ship continued to move, allowing the beam to slice it open along its side. And then a cascade of explosions started up, glowing boils of gas erupting into the darkness, one after another. Finally, the little ship could stand no more. As the purple ray reached the tail of the ship, its innards began to glow – first a dull red, and then upwards, faster and faster, through yellow and white through to an eye-searing blue. And then the screen flared white and the Doctor closed his eyes.

  Donna.

  ‘This must have cost a small fortune,’ the Doctor whispered in awe as they made their way through the darkened space station. He was in a grim mood after the destruction of Boonie’s ship.

  The Torch, it became clear as soon as Garaman, Mesanth, the Doctor and the blonde robot had transmatted aboard it, was more than just a spaceship.

  ‘Several fortunes,’ said Garaman proudly. ‘And none of them small. You’d be surprised how many philanthropists are behind us, even if they can’t come out and openly admit it.’

  ‘And what have you promised these philanthropists? What do they get out of whatever little nutjob scheme you’ve got planned?’

  ‘Satisfaction, Doctor. The satisfaction of living in a galaxy where organic beings are where they should be – at the top of the heap.’

  It was like strolling through a vast warehouse: huge, open spaces, unlit and echoey, were all around them. The ceiling was so high it was lost in the darkness. And there was a cold fustiness about the air. Like a tomb, unopened for centuries. The smell of metal and electricity surrounded them, and their footsteps clanged and echoed on the floor as they walked.

  ‘You’re going to keep me guessing, aren’t you?’ said the Doctor as they passed through into another chamber the size of an aircraft hangar. Several spangly new spaceships sat side by side, silent, waiting to be used, their hulls the same pale green as The Torch.

  ‘About what? The purpose of all this?’ Garaman chuckled. ‘Yes, I think I probably am. Humour me. If it helps, this –’ He waved a hand around him ‘– is all a bit of overkill really. Before her death, Khnu was constantly scared that she’d be caught, brought to trial on some trumped-up charges by the promechanicals. She wanted to make sure that if she ever had to go into hiding that she’d have somewhere decent to continue her work. To spend the rest of her life, if necessary.’

  ‘So she designed her own prison, did she?’ The Doctor was unimpressed.

  ‘Oh, far from it. Just think how sophisticated this place must be to hide itself inside a black hole, Doctor, without being crushed into the singularity at the heart of it. It’s a masterpiece – the perfect bolt-hole. Not a prison.’

  ‘You say tomato,’ sang the Doctor without much enthusiasm. ‘I say to-may-to. A prison’s a prison, no matter how chintzy the curtains are. Still, she’ll never get to find out now, will she?’

  ‘Sadly,’ said Garaman – although his face showed anything but s
adness, ‘she won’t, no.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me that it was you that engineered her accident, are you?’

  ‘Doctor!’ Garaman looked genuinely shocked. ‘Of course not! I worshipped that woman. She was a genius. Without her, none of this would have been possible.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ murmured the Doctor. ‘But at least now you get it all to yourself, don’t you? And what about you, Mesanth? What d’you think of your new home?’

  ‘It’s not a home,’ Mesanth said primly. After the destruction of The Sword of Justice, some of the fire seemed to have gone out of him, and he’d hardly spoken two words since they’d beamed aboard The Torch.

  ‘Still worrying about all those dead people, are you?’ the Doctor said mildly, with just the hint of an edge to his voice. ‘The ones that died because of you. The ones that burned, out in space. Those people.’

  ‘Their deaths were unfortunate,’ Mesanth said, avoiding looking at him, ‘but necessary.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the Doctor. ‘Just like Garaman said. You keep telling yourself that. Doesn’t make it true, but it might make you feel better. And whilst you’re thinking about deaths, necessary or otherwise, remind yourself that they aren’t going to be the last.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, there’ll be more deaths to come, mark my words. There always are with people like Garaman in charge. Whatever little plan you two are cooking up, whatever revolution you’re bringing to the galaxy, it’s going to involve death. Lots of it. Buckets and buckets of it. Organic and inorganic, human and machine. And I wouldn’t be surprised if a few energy and gas beings get caught up in the crossfire.’ The corner of his mouth tightened. ‘Bad business, war. No one comes out of it unscathed.’ He paused. ‘Believe me.’

  ‘It’s necessary to break eggs,’ said Garaman, ‘to make omelettes.’

  ‘Oh,’ retorted the Doctor, rolling his eyes. ‘That one. I’d have thought someone of your intelligence could have come up with a slightly better justification than that.’

  ‘I don’t need to justify myself to you.’

  ‘So why are you? Feeling a bit guilty? Trying to make sure Mesanth here stays on-side right until the end? And what’s your part in all this, Mesanth? You just along for the ride? I don’t know much about your species – where are you from, by the way?’

  ‘I am a Lotapareen – from Lota.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about the Lotapareen, but I’m surprised that you’ve got much in common with Garaman. Well, apart from the hatred of machines. It’s a great thing, hatred: sits very well with fear. And that’s what all this is about, isn’t it? Fear. Fear of difference, fear of the unlike, fear of things you don’t understand. Fear of things that aren’t like you.’

  ‘I don’t fear machines,’ Mesanth replied levelly as they stepped into the wire cage of a lift that began to sink into the depths of the space station. ‘I simply want organic life – true life – to take its rightful position in the galaxy. I have nothing against machines.’

  ‘Of course not,’ mocked the Doctor gently. ‘Every home should have one. They’re great at building things and picking up heavy weights, but they really need to know their place, don’t they? Don’t want them getting all above themselves. Where does it stop, though, eh? First it’s machines. Then what?’ The Doctor threw at glance at Garaman. ‘Got a thing against tall people, maybe, Garaman?’ He pulled a dismissive face. ‘Get rid of ’em, eh? Oh, and then there’s thin people – don’t like thin people, do we? Ship ’em all off to an island where they can be with their own kind. And reptiles. What about reptiles, eh, Garaman?’ He looked Mesanth up and down. ‘Shifty lot, reptiles. Like it hot and dry, not like us humans. Can’t be trusted, I say. Let’s get rid of them, too, shall we?’

  The Doctor saw Mesanth’s eyes widen, just momentarily.

  ‘And before you know it,’ finished the Doctor, folding his arms, ‘all we’re left with is a universe of Garamans. Little, scared, power-mad Garamans. All the same, all with a chip on their shoulder, all blaming everyone else for how the universe has turned out.’ He leaned forwards and peered down at Garaman. ‘And when you’ve done all that, and you look around and find that the universe isn’t any better after all, what d’you do then, eh?’

  ‘It won’t work,’ said Garaman through gritted teeth. ‘Trying to set Mesanth against me. We’ve worked together long enough to know what we both think, what we believe. A few clever-clever words from you aren’t going to upset that.’

  ‘Are they not?’ The Doctor sighed. ‘Oh, well, I won’t bother, then.’

  He plunged his hands into his pockets and stared at the ceiling as, in silence, the lift fell along the length of The Torch towards the control centre.

  As they dropped through the roof of the control room, the Doctor mused on how much effort – how much machine effort – must have been involved in constructing the station. It was the size of a small town, and to build something so huge without anyone outside suspecting, was an enormous achievement. But like so many achievements, it would be how it was put to use that would ultimately define it, and he wasn’t hopeful. He hadn’t said anything to Garaman and Mesanth yet, but the spines at the rear of the station looked suspiciously like Bishop converters, designed to extract energy from black holes. What could they need so much energy for…?

  They stepped out onto the floor of the control room, and lights flickered and flared around them. They were on a broad, circular platform, darkness receding on all sides. Curved banks of instruments and controls were arrayed around them, each in its own little pool of light. It felt more like a museum than a command centre.

  ‘Nice, don’t you think?’ said Garaman.

  ‘As hunks of metal go – no offence,’ he added to the supermodel robot that hovered at his side, ‘it’s very nice. But what’s it for?’

  ‘Liberation!’ said Garaman dramatically. ‘Think of it as the pearl in the oyster of this station.’

  ‘Abandoned your light-and-dark metaphors, have you? Don’t blame you really – they were getting a bit strained. So we’re onto the seafood ones now, are we? Don’t be shellfish, Garaman – tell us what it’s for.’ He grinned at his own joke, but no one else did. ‘Suit yourselves,’ he grumped. ‘Why’s this place so important?’

  Garaman dropped his shoulders mockingly.

  ‘Oh, very well,’ he said. ‘If I must…’

  ‘Oh you must,’ encouraged the Doctor. ‘You really must.’

  ‘You don’t want to have a guess? Oh come on, Doctor, you must have some idea. After all, you’re a clever man.’

  The Doctor was surprised.

  ‘You mean this whole station isn’t just a place for you lot to hide? Not a nice little pied-à-terre for you to hole up in whilst the galaxy goes to hell in a hand-basket?’

  ‘You really think I have the patience to wait for that?’

  ‘Well,’ mused the Doctor. ‘Considering it’s been hiding in a black hole for all these years, you must have some pretty good temporal and gravitational shielding. You could gather all your little followers together and sit inside Sentilli, waiting for the galaxy to go to war, the machines to be defeated, and then come out – and, what, barely a month would have gone past.’

  ‘It’s always an option,’ Garaman conceded. ‘But no. I’m not that patient, Doctor. Nor am I that convinced that, if such a war between organics and inorganics came, that our side would be victorious.’

  The Doctor thought for a moment and then pulled his face into a shrug.

  ‘Nope, you’ve stumped me there. Come on – spill the beans. What’s this place for?’

  ‘I’m disappointed, Doctor, I really am.’

  ‘Oh, stop gloating,’ the Doctor snapped. ‘It’s very unattractive. We all have our off days.’

  Garaman thought for a moment and then nodded, beckoning to the supermodel robot. It stepped forward, silently.

  ‘Access Garaman AC001,’ he said to the robot.

  Instantly, t
he machine raised its right arm, palm up, and pushed up the sleeve on its immaculately tailored jacket. A long, thin panel opened in its arm. And with the faint hiss of compressed air, a slender, black-and-yellow-striped cylinder rose out of the slot. Garaman took it and the panel closed before the robot lowered its arm.

  ‘This,’ Garaman said, handing the cylinder to Mesanth who took it in trembling fingers, ‘is the activator.’

  The Doctor deftly reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out his glasses. He popped them on his nose, pushed them right up with the tip of his finger, and peered at the device.

  ‘The activator?’

  Garaman smiled like a cat that had just trapped the biggest, juiciest mouse in the house. And then discovered it was filled with cream.

  He turned to Mesanth and handed him the cylinder.

  ‘How long will it take?’ Garaman asked.

  ‘Half an hour or so,’ Mesanth answered, his voice musical with excitement. It seemed like he’d already forgotten all the deaths. The Doctor felt suddenly and strangely sad.

  ‘Plenty of time to fill you in on the details, then,’ beamed Garaman to the Doctor. He looked up at Mesanth, clutching the activator in his trembling fingers. ‘Go on – I’ll be up later.’

  With a last glance at the Doctor, Mesanth set off towards a broad, spiral staircase at the far side of the platform. The Doctor scanned upwards to where it reached an overhead gantry, but the darkness shrouded everything up there.

  ‘Where’s Mesanth off to, then? Anywhere nice?’

  ‘He’s off to finish installing and calibrating the activator.’ Garaman almost clapped his hands together in glee. ‘Ah, yes! I was just about to tell you what the activator does, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Finally,’ said the Doctor, eyes rolling. ‘Your master plan.’

  ‘Yes,’ said a familiar voice from the darkness. ‘Tell us about your master plan, Garaman. We’re all ears.’

  And out of the shadows that surrounded the platform stepped Donna: behind her were Boonie, Kellique, Mother – and the little robot from Junk, the one that had threatened him.