Doctor Who_ Dark Progeny Part 7

'Yes, yes,' the man said, rocking on the bed in an attempt to break his bonds.

Pryce tried to force him back, but he sprang up again instantly. The bed crashed and rattled under his ferocious a.s.sault and Pryce tumbled back into the middle of the room.

' Let me out! Let me out! ' the man screamed. ' the man screamed.

'Calm down,' Pryce urged, maintaining a wary distance. 'You're in no fit state to go anywhere.'

The man fixed Pryce with his cold blue eyes. 'I can a.s.sure you that I am in a perfectly fit state indeed. Now will you kindly unfasten these. . . things things?'

But Pryce remained exactly where he was.

'If there were anybody out there, the detectors would have picked them up,'

Peron a.s.sured him.

She found the man's stare on her, saw how fierce his eyes were under his unruly brown fringe. Windows on the soul, she'd heard. She found herself gazing for a moment into a bottomless pit. When he spoke again, the words cascaded out of him in a quiet torrent, a waterfall of whispers gushing into the room.

'He was injured. I put him under cover. The storm was getting worse. You didn't pick us up until it was very nearly too late. There's a very strong possibility that you missed him completely. But there is also a very slim possibility that he somehow managed to get out of your path. I know where I left him.

Let me go now now.'

'The only way you're going to get out of here is with military cooperation,'

Peron told him. 'And you're only going to get that if you can prove who you are.'

'I am the Doctor,' he said.

'Dr Domecq?' Pryce asked.

Peron noted more than a hint of hope in his voice. The creatures in the hold were Pryce's wards until Domecq arrived from Earth. As the weeks pa.s.sed, Peron had watched Pryce gradually crumble under the strain as the creatures got the better of him. She knew how relieved he'd be to see the back of them, and Domecq was the man to take the baton.

54.

There was a short pause. 'Yes.'

'How did you get here?' Peron asked bluntly.

Another caesura. 'We crash-landed.'

'Why didn't we get your signature?' she demanded.

'I don't know,' Domecq lowered his head. 'We hit some kind of severe turbulence.'

'A localised warp?' asked Pryce, doing his best to jolly the conversation along in his preferred direction.

'Yes,' the man said, a little too enthusiastically for Peron's liking. 'Exactly.'

'Where are your doc.u.ments?' she asked him.

'Lost in the crash, I suppose. We didn't have much time to get ourselves ready. Everything happened in something of a confused rush, I'm afraid.'

Peron shot Pryce a sceptical look.

'We crawled through chaos to get here,' Domecq told them, his voice now completely calm. 'I have a friend out on the surface who may well have been chewed up in this infernal machine of yours.' He watched them both, one after another, and Peron saw fear in his face. 'For pity's sake will you please unfasten these straps?'

Stepping forward suddenly, Pryce slipped the bolts. The straps came free and the man grasped him by the shoulder.

'Thank you,' he said with obvious relief.

He jumped off the bed and proceeded to brush himself down, showering the floor with clumps of dried mud that flaked from his clothes.

Pryce pressed his wristcom and a WorldCorp hologram ghosted into existence in front of him.

'Captain De-ann Foley,' he requested.

The logo mutated into Foley's head, the flock of circling birds migrating smoothly into her short dark hair.

'Dr Pryce.'

'Captain Foley. I'm afraid you may have missed one civilian on your rescue mission.'

The head shook. 'Not possible. We did a comprehensive sweep. n.o.body else.

I take it one of my prisoners is awake. There in five.'

Pryce was about to say something, but before he could speak the head snapped out of the air in a puff of sparkling static.

Peron realised that Domecq had moved and was now standing over the girl, peering fretfully into her face.

'She's going to be fine,' Pryce told him. 'Physically at least.'

55.There was a gentleness in his features that equalled the fury of only moments ago. Peron watched in fascination as the man stroked the girl's cheeks. He was obviously a man of extreme pa.s.sions, this Dr Domecq.

'You scanned her brain?'

'Yes,' Pryce confirmed. 'Do you know what's wrong with her?'

'I'm not sure,' Domecq said, unable to remove his gaze from the girl. 'I think it had something to do with the turbulence we hit. There are regions of her brain working overtime and double rate. I think it might be Paxx-Sinopoli Syndrome.'

Pryce shook his head. 'Never heard of it.'

'I have,' Peron announced. 'But this isn't it. Paxx-Sinopoli is a parasitic disease. It's caused by a virus that attacks the brain. It resides in the mid-brain, uses synaptic bursts to energise itself, and meanwhile devours the cerebral cortex. There's a dissonance set up in human hosts that causes partial paralysis, and gradually the host dies of cerebral emaciation. There's no emaciation in your friend.'

Domecq reached out and stroked the girl's forehead, not for a single instant taking his eyes from her.

'But there's a short-term cure for the effects of Paxx-Sinopoli,' Domecq said.

'I understand the dissonance can be countered by harmonising feedback from a skullcap ECG.'

Peron shook her head. 'Never heard of that.'

'Something I read,' Domecq said, rising to face Peron. 'It's quite possible it was just a theoretical paper.'

Thumbing the girl's eyelids in an attempt to get some response, Domecq appeared disappointed at her total lethargy.

'We could try to program the ECG on the monitor,' Domecq suggested. 'That might give her some relief from the paralysis. Maybe if she gets some of her normal function back, then she can fight whatever it is herself. Sort of giving her psychological immunity a bit of a boost.'

'We could try,' Peron agreed. 'I'm not at all sure what the results will be.'

'Can you suggest anything else?' Domecq asked.

Peron couldn't.

'If you set up a secondary failsafe on a separate ECG,' Domecq said, 'and if you post somebody who knows what they're doing at the side of her bed to keep an eye on things, there can't be any harm in trying it, can there?'

'Do you always treat your patients in such an experimental manner?'

'I'm a man who thrives on improvisation,' Domecq said.

56.

'I can quite believe that, having seen your bioscans.'

'Ah,' Domecq bl.u.s.tered, apparently embarra.s.sed. 'Yes. Well, that's a long story. . . '

But he was saved from further exposition by Captain Foley, who arrived in the room with a furious mask where her cold, hard face should have been. She had adopted a belligerent stance before she even opened her mouth to speak.

'What's this man doing out of his restraints?'

Domecq rushed over and grasped her by the hand, much to Foley's astonished animosity. He shook her hand warmly, a great fat grin occupying the entire southern territory of his face.

'Ah, Captain Foley, how good of you to come so promptly. I understand I owe you my life. I can't begin to express my grat.i.tude.' He prattled on, apparently entirely oblivious to the dark scowl she was giving him. 'Now, if we can organ-ise a search party I can show you where to start looking for my friend. Please lead the way. We may well be too late already.'

With an unsure glance back at Pryce, Foley had little choice but to allow herself to be ushered to the door by Domecq. At the door she managed to halt his amiable advance.

'Just a minute. Who the h.e.l.l do you think you are?'

'I'm Dr Domecq. Come on. Chop chop! Can't stand around all night chatting.

We've got work to do, Captain.'

Peron saw a dubious look flash through Foley's features, but she allowed Domecq to propel her energetically out of the door and into the corridor.

Domecq was still chattering ceaselessly when the door sliced shut. Peron found Pryce at her side looking aghast, unable to believe that he'd just witnessed a real-life taming of the shrew.

'Shall we get the ECG rigged up?' Peron suggested.

'I think we ought to do as he says, don't you?' Pryce agreed.

Having reached Upper Level without b.u.mping into anybody, Danyal Bains was relieved to see the series of small doors that led out into the open roof area of the city-machine. He didn't have a plan, as such, but he knew he had to get back to the dig site and salvage as much evidence as he could. He hoped that the armed guards he'd seen posted there when he was quite unceremoniously ejected had not remained. He was pretty sure they were just for show, to put him off any idea he might entertain about sneaking back. He was sure they had better things to do with their time than stand around his dig for the past few weeks.

57.There was the problem, of course, of what to do with the material he salvaged once he'd got it. If he tried to bring it back here, he was certain Tyran and his cronies would obliterate it. Leaving the city-machine tonight like this meant going on the run, he knew that. It meant living off roots that tasted like old soldiers' boots. It meant taking scant refuge from the storms in caves. If meant evading Tyran's search parties and maybe even having to fight for his life.

But the alternative was to simply sit in his apartment and know that the priceless material at his dig was gone for ever. Not a choice, really. For forty years his work had been his life, and he'd never found anything quite like his discoveries on Ceres Alpha.

The exit area was entirely empty, as he'd expect at this time of day. Even the maintenance crews would be wrapped up in bed now. Bains slapped a door pad, and as the door swept open he lifted his hood to cut out the storm.

It was a short dash to chopper pad 26, and when he got there he was glad to see that his chopper had not been replaced by a military machine. Still a little dubious, however, he tried his code on the door com. The pad responded with a green light and as the door opened Bains heaved a sigh of relief. The thought obviously hadn't entered their stupid little minds that he might be so audacious as to make a run for it.

Having thrust his kitbag into the pa.s.senger seat and strapped it in, Bains sank into the c.o.c.kpit and belted up. The dash lights flared into life in front of him and he attempted to release the locking bars. A new message flashed on the monitor in red letters.

sec code?

What sec code? Release of the locking bars had always been automatic. The sharp pang of comprehension struck him. They hadn't replaced his chopper with a military one: they'd simply commandeered it. Incensed, he started the rotors and fired up the jets. The sounds of the wind were met by those of his own private storm as he grasped the joystick and prepared to attempt a vertical thrust that he hoped would snap the bars and fling him into the air and freedom.

Max thrust prep'd. Green light. Go.

The chopper shuddered but the bolts held firm. He was going nowhere fast, sitting there watching his precious liberty slipping through his fingers. Again he attempted to blast through the restraints. This time the chopper lurched 58violently and for an instant he was afraid he was going to topple and smash the rotors. He'd managed to break the portside bar. There was a flutter of hope.

He cancelled the rotors and while he waited for them to retract to safety he noticed the large dark shadows bobbing around the bay and realised that they were after him. He heard the door com buzz as somebody on the outside tried to get in. He tried to lock the door but the query message flared again: sec code?

He slammed the monitor in frustration and peered up to see if the rotors were safe enough yet. Punched in instructions to fire max thrust on jets alone.

A small inset on the monitor showed him that the blades were almost safe now, but they were stowing themselves with infuriating slowness. Risk blast? The side door was retracting and Bains could see a black-cowled shape appearing in the opening. He watched as the shape hoisted a rifle and took careful aim.

Bains glared at the readouts. He wasn't going to make it. The jets were ready but the blades weren't safe. He fingered the monitor. A warning screen overlay all the others, telling him he couldn't use the blasters with people so near. Bains punched in a manual disregard. Closed his eyes. Took the plunge. The chopper jerked violently, but slammed again back on to the pad.

When he looked, the man with the gun was gone, no doubt blasted by the jets in Bains's failed attempt. Red warnings flared angrily at him from the monitor.

There was frantic motion at his rear as somebody scrambled on board. Above the noise of the wind and eager jets, Bains heard the tiny click of the c.o.c.king of a rifle. There was cold metal on the side of his face. He turned to see one of the black-hooded men shaking his head slowly at him.

Bains reached up cautiously, keeping his hands in plain view, and he was given just enough room to rise out of his seat. He scrambled into the back of the chopper, but when he began to make his way to the door he felt an explosion hit the back of his head and a bright white flare sent him falling blind.

When he opened his eyes again he was on his back on the chopper pad, the wind screaming in his ears and four burly men with guns towering over him.

There was another explosion in his back, and he realised he was being kicked by one of the men. Raising his hands to protect his face, he received a brisk punch that rocked his head back sharply. He took a blow to his unprotected stomach, and when he reached down reflexively, they kicked him again in the face. Two of them reached down and Bains was dragged to his feet and slammed in the direction of the nearby doors.

59.As they entered the city, Bains saw two people rushing towards him on their way out. One was a curiously dressed man in a bottle-green coat. The other Bains recognised as Captain De-ann Foley, the woman who had led the raid on his dig a month ago. She'd treated him with undisguised malice and no respect whatsoever. She'd bulldozed him back to the city and incarcerated him for hours before the order came through for his release. He'd received an official apology for his 'processing', but Foley, he knew, had delighted in his mistreatment.

Foley saw him and there was a fleeting recognition, but she swept past and continued on her way without so much as a backward glance.

Bains was bleeding from the mouth and he'd taken a boot to the right eye.

He'd obviously got on the wrong side of somebody. But Foley was finding it hard going keeping up with Domecq, and she had only the briefest impression of Bains's injuries.

'This one?' Domecq was asking, indicating the chopper on pad one.

'That'll do,' Foley snapped, entering her code while Domecq stood there being blown about in the storm.