Текст книги "Doctor Who- Legacy of the Daleks"

Автор книги: John Peel

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

7

Secrets

Within the ruins, Broadhurst stared at the devastation in horror. Time after time, those dreadful rays burst out of nowhere, annihilating his men. Rain sizzled and turned to steam in their path, and their victims might well have done the same. What in the devil’s name were Haldoran’s men using?

‘We can’t fight this,’ he whispered to his aide. ‘Tell the men to pull back, immediately. We can’t stop this.’

‘Dalek guns,’ one of the sergeants said briefly.

‘Dalek weapons?’ Broadhurst stared at the man. ‘But they’re men out there.’

‘I fought the Daleks,’ the older man said coldly. ‘That’s how they killed, Haldoran’s using Dalek guns.’

But how? thought Broadhurst. ‘We have to pull back,’ he repeated, as another of his men died writhing in agony. ‘London’s got to know about this.’ He called out, ‘Pull back! Pull back now!’ Clambering to his feet, he led the retreat. The bitterness of defeat and loss was mixed with dread of this new instrument of war. If Haldoran had somehow found a cache of Dalek weapons, then God help them all.

Susan crept down the passageway, pressed against the metal wall. It was short, but completely open. If anyone passed the entrance, they would need only to glance around to see her. There was nowhere for her to hide. But her luck held, and she made it to the next doorway without being detected. This one was a regular Dalek door, with the sliding panel, and the Dalek‐shaped opening. She shuddered. The last time she’d seen anything like this was back in their city, on their homeworld of Skaro, when she and her grandfather had helped the Thais to destroy the Daleks. For ever, they had believed.

Until the Daleks reappeared here, as the masters of Earth. The first Daleks she had encountered had been confined to the city, needing static electricity generated there and available to them through the metal floors. The Daleks here on Earth had been more sophisticated. They had used some kind of antenna system, with dishes attached to their backs allowing them to receive broadcast power.

This must have been some kind of Dalek site, not simply a pit. A lot of work had gone into this. She chanced a quick look around the door, and pulled back. Beyond it was an octagonal vestibule of some sort. It was about forty feet across, and there were several doors leading off from it. All of these were closed, and apparently untouched since the place had been sealed. The power lines she’d followed down here led to one of the two doors to the left of the entrance, and this was where the technicians were gathered. There was some sort of instrument there that they were working on. They had seemed very busy, so she chanced another glimpse.

It was some kind of a computer panel, and there were four men there with it. One of the power lines fed this, but the second was rigged into a wall panel beside the door. The men were too preoccupied with whatever they were doing to look up and notice her. And there was something that wasn’t quite right…

It took her a moment to realise what it was that was troubling her, because it was such a small thing. When she finally figured it out, she almost screamed in anger and horror.

The light in the ceiling of the chamber was casting a soft glow over the whole room, which was why she could see everything so clearly. And that could only mean one thing. These idiots were feeding power into the Dalek systems!

Whatever DA‐17 was, they were reawakening it…

‘They’re pulling back, sir,’ the radio operator reported to Haldoran. ‘Barlow is reporting a complete rout.’

‘Tell him to pursue and kill them all,’ Haldoran ordered impatiently.

‘No,’ Estro suggested mildly. Haldoran glared at him, disliking having his orders questioned. The man spread his hands. ‘They’ve seen what the Dalek guns can do,’ Estro explained. ‘Let them run back to London, whipped. Their panic and fear will spread once the story gets out. I think your experiment has worked perfectly. It’s time for me to fetch you more Dalek weapons from my store. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble now getting volunteers to use them – do you?’

‘No,’ Haldoran agreed. He considered Estro’s suggestion. ‘All right,’ he decided. ‘Tell Barlow to advance, and hold as much ground as he can, but not to pursue the fleeing rabble. Let them take their tale of terror back to their lair with them. Then they can all burn up with fear as they wait for their coming day of judgement.’ He turned back to Estro. ‘Fetch me more of these guns – many more. How many can you bring me? And how soon?’

Estro smiled. ’Another forty by morning,’ he promised. ‘Perhaps a further hundred within the week. I really don’t think you’ll need any more than that to conquer this entire island, do you?’

‘No,’ Haldoran agreed. ‘that will be more than enough. Good work, Estro. I promise you a high place in my council once London is taken.’

Estro bowed slightly. ‘I shall be honoured,’ he murmured. ‘I’m proud to be able to serve you so well. If you’ll excuse me…’ He hurried out, obviously off to fetch the guns from his mysterious stockpile. Haldoran waited a moment or two, then signalled a man to follow him. While Estro was indeed very helpful, it would be more helpful if Haldoran himself knew where the guns were being brought in from.

Portney cleared his throat. ‘You don’t trust Estro?’ he asked.

‘I trust nobody outside of my own skin,’ Haldoran answered. ‘Least of all you.’ The man had the grace to blush, at least. ‘But even a man you don’t trust can be useful. And can be relied on to do as you wish, if you know what motivates him. I know what motivates you, Portney – greed. And as long as I’m the ticket to the wealth you’re accumulating, I know you’ll be loyal to me. It’s the only reason I haven’t had you killed yet for theft.’ Portney blanched and started to stammer. Haldoran waved him to silence. ‘Don’t bother to deny it. Portney. I’ve known about it for quite some time, and I have copies of your duplicate records. I could have had you killed any time I wanted.’

Portney was starting to regain his wits. ‘Then… then why haven’t you?’

Haldoran sighed. ‘Because you’re no use to me dead,’ he answered. ‘You’re on notice: you cross me even once and I take your left hand. The second time, your right. And there are plenty of other parts of your anatomy I can take before you even get close to death. But you’ll be on very, very intimate terms with excruciating pain.’

The white‐faced man nodded his understanding. ‘I take it that you have something you want me to do, my Lord?’

Perceptive; it was one of the reasons he was so valuable. ‘Indeed there is. Barlow and Craddock have been getting awfully chummy of late, and I don’t like that. When my two most powerful generals are on good terms with one another, it may be a sign that they’re aiming to be on bad terms with me.’

Portney nodded his understanding. ‘You want me to find out if that’s what they’re doing?’

‘No, you blithering idiot! They’d trust you about as far as I do. Which means they’d be stupid to let you in on their plans.’ Haldoran took a deep breath. ‘No, what I want you to do is much simpler. I want you to make them distrust one another. That way, they won’t plot together. Concoct something to set them at each other’s throat.’

That brought a smile to his face; it was the sort of thing he’d enjoy. ‘I quite understand, my Lord,’ he said. ‘I promise you, by this time tomorrow, their relationship will be rather… strained.’

‘It had better be,’ Haldoran said. ‘If they’re talking tomorrow, you can kiss your left hand goodbye.’ He savoured the look of fear on the man’s face for a moment before turning away. Portney would do what he promised, of that he was certain. Otherwise, he’d take great pleasure in hacking off Portney’s hand himself…

Estro hurried to his room in the castle, pleased with progress. The Dalek weapons were having precisely the effect he’d been expecting: professional soldiers blessed with a devastating weapon in their hands wanted more. It was an addiction he had every intention of feeding.

His room was spartan, since he didn’t actually live in it – merely a bed, a desk, a chair and a large wardrobe. He opened the door of the ‘wardrobe’ and stepped inside to the welcoming hum of his console room. He crossed to the controls, skirting around the boxes that contained one hundred and forty Dalek guns, ready for delivery. There was no need for Haldoran to know that the weapons were already in his possession. His supposed trips to collect them gave him the excuses he needed to slip away from time to time.

He switched on the viewscreen, wondering how long it would take the man Haldoran had sent after him to try entering his room. He imagined the look on the henchman’s face when he discovered the room was empty and his quarry gone.

He checked the co‐ordinates again, and then flicked a number of switches…

Susan leaned back against the corridor wall, both her hearts pounding. These people had to be stopped, and stopped now, but there were simply too many of them for her to tackle. How could she delay them?

She smiled slightly as she realised that there had to be some sort of power‐relay coupling in the immediate vicinity. If she could overload that and burn it out, then –

Her skin suddenly prickled, and she gave a slight gasp. There was something… She shook her head, unable to identify what she was feeling. A kind of tension in the air, as if…

There was a faint sound, growing louder, and then a large computer console stood in the open area of the vestibule beyond.

Susan stared at it in shock. There was only one thing that it could possibly be: a TARDIS. But not her grandfather’s, surely, unless he’d made a tremendous amount of repairs. It was almost soundless, as it was supposed to be, and the chameleon circuit was obviously fully functional.

‘Grandfather?’ she whispered, hoping and afraid.

A panel in the ‘computer’ opened and an unfamiliar traveller stepped out. Susan took in the dark suit, the severe manner, the neat beard and the gloves. A person who isolated himself from others, cold and self‐contained. It wasn’t – couldn’t be – her grandfather. Was it even a Time Lord?

The man moved away from her, towards the technicians. She realised the humans hadn’t been surprised to see a TARDIS materialise. And that could only mean that whatever this traveller was here for, it was something he’d set up a while ago.

She understood suddenly how the outside lock had been breached. It would be virtually impossible for a human to crack, but for one of her own people… But surely, even the Time Lords knew better than to tamper with the Daleks. With their policy of non‐intervention, how could they possibly justify…

She crept forward to listen at the doorway as the man approached the technicians.

‘Lockwood,’ he purred, in a controlled voice, ‘how goes progress?’

‘Extremely well, Estro,’ the man answered, gesturing towards one of his panels. ‘The power levels have remained stable for several hours, and the computer beyond the door is now almost up to being opened.’

‘Excellent.’ Estro nodded. ‘Prognosis?’

Lockwood considered the equipment. ‘Another thirty minutes, and we should be able to begin sequencing the coding. I estimate another hour before the doors can be accessed. It will take that long to establish the correct codes.’

‘Acceptable,’ Estro agreed. ‘Well, I’ve a war to conduct, so I’ll leave you to it. You’re doing very well, Lockwood, and I’m most pleased with your efforts.’

‘Thank you, Estro.’

Susan moved back, so she wouldn’t be seen as the renegade returned to his TARDIS. This Estro was planning on broaching the Dalek installation for whatever insane reasons of his own. It would have been bad enough had it simply been humans acting so foolishly, because there would have been little enough chance of their succeeding. But one of her own… That was an entirely different matter. She had no doubt that he’d be able to do precisely what he intended, using these obviously mind‐controlled human slaves.

With a whisper, the computer console vanished again.

She had to stop whatever was going on here, before the maniac returned. And, oddly enough, Estro himself had given her just the tool she might be able to use to defeat his plans… All it would take was conviction and a great deal of courage. She took a deep breath, composed her face and her thoughts, and stepped out into the vestibule.

The rain seemed to be letting up slightly, which made Donna feel a little better. She was still soggy from their examination of the wrecked runabout. David looked as soaked as she did. The Doctor, curiously enough, looked slightly rumpled, but almost dry. Maybe he had specially treated clothes, or maybe it was another of his alien gifts.

‘How are things between you and Susan?’ he suddenly asked David, after a period of silence.

Wincing, David shot him a quick glance. It didn’t take a genius to realise that the Doctor had hit a nerve. ‘They’ve been better,’ the older man admitted.

‘I thought so,’ the Doctor muttered. ‘She had such a feeling of great loss… Is it the ageing problem?’

‘It’s her problem, not mine,’ David said, almost angrily. ‘I can deal with it, but she can’t.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Donna asked him, confused. ‘I’ve only met your wife once, but you look about the same age.’

‘Look, yes,’ David replied grimly ‘She uses make‐up to age her appearance. Without it, she looks even younger than you.’

This wasn’t making any sense to Donna. ‘But why make yourself look older?’ she asked. ‘I mean, what’s wrong with a younger girl married to an older man?’

‘Like I said, it’s not my problem,’ David answered gruffly. ‘But she only looks young.’

‘To you she’s an alien, remember,’ the Doctor pointed out. ‘We age at a vastly slower rate than humans. She’ll look about eighteen now, even though she’s so much older.’

‘Oh.’ Donna understood the problem. ‘She’s not going to get wrinkly and grey – and David is.’

David glared at her, then turned to the Doctor. ‘It’s as if she’s looking at me and seeing me decay and crumble in front of her eyes. I know it can’t be easy on her, but I don’t know what to do about it.’

‘It’s an unpleasant problem,’ the Doctor said sadly. ‘But it’s one that my family seems prone to.’

‘Got a genetic weakness for humans?’ Donna asked lightly.

He managed a charming grin. ‘You’re so full of life,’ he replied, and Donna could find no trace of condescension in his voice. ‘Unlike my people. We live so long that everything takes longer with us.’ He smiled. ‘Getting a waiter’s attention in a restaurant can take about a week. But you humans live so intensely. You’ve no idea how appealing that is to us. You burn so brightly in our eyes.’

‘But briefly,’ David put in bitterly ‘Susan’s scared of watching me grow old and die. I can tell. If I could, I’d just leave her. Walk away and let her get on with her life. But that wouldn’t help, would it?’

‘No,’ the Doctor agreed sadly. ‘Because she’d only look for you. She has to face it,’ He sighed. ‘It’s my fault for leaving her here. She should never have married you.’

‘Yes she should!’ David said ferociously.’ We’ve had a long and happy marriage, Doctor – until now. I just wish that there was some way I could help her through this.’

David pulled the runabout over, and they climbed out into the slowing rain. Night had fallen completely, but the Doctor vetoed the idea of carrying torches. ‘I have excellent night vision,’ he murmured. ‘And Susan’s misadventure suggests that there will be guards about. Let’s go. Stay together and be as silent as possible.’ He drifted into the darkness.

This was almost second nature to Donna, and she had no problem in trailing him quietly. David, bringing up the rear, tried his best, but he wasn’t as skilled a field worker as she. The occasional crack of a twig or clump as he hit an overhanging branch testified to that. But he was game, and pressed on. She found herself liking the Peace Officer. He seemed like a very decent, loving man, caught out of his depth in what was, after all, an unusual situation.

The Doctor led the way through the trees, approaching the cutting where DA‐17 was situated. Donna was scanning the darkness as well as she could, and neither saw nor heard anything out of the ordinary. An owl hooting; mice in the undergrowth; a small predator that she couldn’t identify, but probably a Dalek rat That she could hear such activities showed that the three of them weren’t making as much noise as she had feared. If the wildlife wasn’t scared off, they could hardly be alerting the humans.

Finally, the trees thinned, and they were standing on the top of a small cliff, where mining had sheered away the rock. Below them, illuminated by arc lights, was the entrance to DA‐17. Donna stared down at it, angry and confused. There were workers down there, and two large cables snaking across the ground and into the pit.

‘Crazy,’ she murmured. ‘Who d be mad enough to do this?’

‘I don’t know,’ the Doctor whispered back. ‘But if we put our hands up nicely, maybe the guards behind us will tell us instead of shooting us.’

Donna was taken by surprise at his announcement, and turned. She saw nothing at first, as the Doctor raised his own arms, but she heard the sound of rifles being readied and then raised her own hands.

‘Smart move,’ said a voice from the darkness. ‘Stand perfectly still while my men search you for weapons.’

Donna felt ashamed of herself. ‘I didn’t hear a thing,’ she said bitterly.

‘Don’t feel so bad,’ the Doctor commiserated, peering at their captors’ equipment. ‘They’re using infrared detectors.’

That puzzled her. ‘I didn’t know Haldoran had access to that level of technology,’ she said, surprised. ‘Or that he’d bother using it out here, instead of for his war effort.’

‘It’s Draconian technology,’ the Doctor said darkly.

‘What’s Draconian?’ she asked, wondering how he could be so certain.

‘Exactly,’ he answered. ‘The Draconians haven’t visited Earth yet. So where did it come from?’

One of the guards patted Donna down, none too gently, and with obvious enjoyment. She felt like punching him, but knew this wasn’t the time to complain about chauvinism. Her pistol and her knife were both taken. Two other men checked David and the Doctor. It took the one looking over the Doctor quite some time to empty all of his copious pockets.

‘Do I get a receipt?’ the Doctor asked cheerfully.

‘Enough wisecracks,’ the officer in charge replied – a captain, Donna supposed. ‘You’re just lucky that Estro wanted to interrogate any further intruders, or I’d have slit your bellies open and watched you die.’

‘You really should stop watching so much television,’ the Doctor murmured. ‘It’s a bad influence on you.’ There was an odd note to his voice, though. ‘Estro…’ he breathed.

‘You know the name?’ asked David.

‘Not as such, no,’ the Doctor admitted. ‘But it has a very familiar ring to it…’

‘This way,’ the captain ordered, finally approaching close enough for Donna to make him out, and confirm his rank, He held a machine gun at the ready, and was obviously tempted to use it. ‘We’ve a runabout over here, and you’re going on a short trip.’

‘Travel broadens the mind,’ the Doctor said lightly. ‘And I suspect this trip will prove to be most illuminating. We’re going to Castle Haldoran, I imagine.’

‘You imagine well,’ the guard captain replied. ‘Now move it.’ He gestured with his gun.

‘Ladies first,’ the Doctor murmured, gesturing for Donna to lead the way. Since they had absolutely no other option right now, she obeyed.

Susan strode briskly towards the four technicians, hoping that their minds were strongly enough conditioned to accept anyone with an air of authority as being authorised. ‘Progress report,’ she snapped.

Lockwood turned around, puzzled. He frowned at her. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘Foreman,’ she replied, and then wondered why she had given the name Grandfather had adopted for her on Earth in the 1960s instead of her married name. Camouflage? Or a… what did the humans call it – a Freudian slip? ‘Your master sent me to help with the pulse coding. It’s my field of speciality.’

‘Oh.’ Lockwood nodded, as if that made perfect sense to him. Perhaps it did. ‘We’re almost ready to begin encoding.’ He gestured to the machine they were working at.

Susan bent to examine it. It was about four foot square. There were two panels, inclined at a slight angle, so that it looked like a technological dog kennel. It was hooked directly into the Dalek control panel in the wall by several wires. Some kind of signal analyser and computer, she realised.

‘We’re starting to register signals from the Dalek computer behind the door,’ Lockwood explained. ‘It’s taken a great deal of power to get it operational, though.’

Susan frowned. That didn’t make much sense to her. The Daleks were very efficient in their use of electricity. Since it was literally life to them, they could do wonders with very low levels of power. She should have been able to restart the computer with a flashlight battery. ‘How much power has this taken?’ she asked.

‘A couple of gigajoules,’ Lockwood answered.

‘Gigajoules?’ Susan was horrified. ‘That can’t possibly all have been used for the computers! Shut down the power flow at once!’ She knew her cover was gone but was too outraged to care.

‘Impossible,’ Lockwood replied. ‘Our master has ordered the flow to continue.’

‘Then he’s a bigger fool than you are,’ Susan snarled. She reached across to try to deactivate the analysis. Lockwood gave a strangled cry, and grabbed for her.

‘She’s not one of us!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s a trick!’

The other three male technicians whirled around, and all reached out to hold her. Susan tried to fend them off, but their hands grabbed her. One slammed her hard against the wall, knocking the breath from her. She shook off his grip, only to be punched in the stomach. She reeled forward, gasping. Another man punched her hard across the back of the neck, and she collapsed to the floor.

The analyser made a fluttering sound, and then everyone froze. Susan gasped, trying to struggle to her hands and knees. Several lights were flashing on the device. Lockwood stared at it in surprise.

‘It can’t have finished already,’ he exclaimed. ‘It must be a misreading of some kind. Cooper, check the inputs. Davis –’

He broke off as the overhead light suddenly increased in intensity. Susan became aware that the humming she heard wasn’t inside her skull after all.

The six doors around the vestibule all suddenly hissed open.

Behind each one stood a grey form. They were familiar to her from so many nightmares: short, metallic bodies, with vertical lines of half‐globes; the central section with the gun and armsticks; the grille, mounted by the dome and eyestalk. Two lights blazed on each dome. As Susan stared in horror, one of them moved its eyestalk, followed by its gun, towards her.

‘Exterminate!’

The Daleks had been reborn.

Their stubby metal guns spat death…