Doctor Who_ Head Games Part 15

114.

She wasn't expendable. Chris knew that he would sooner die than have her harmed. The strength of that resolution scared him. His throat dried and he felt the cold more keenly than before: The cloaked figures swept across the theatre to converge upon him. The others backed out of their path; they valued their lives too much to risk all for an offworlder.

He was running out of options.

'I hope I don't see what I think I see.' Bernice squeezed between the Doctor and Roslyn, in a way which Roz found annoyingly distracting. The screen was monitoring the TARDIS's progress and it was to this image that Benny drew attention.

The Doctor stiffened as he saw it too. Then he pushed Roz to one side, gripped the joystick and pulled it hard left. She was about to protest when the ship was buffeted. A front view showed twin blaster beams crackling into the distance. They had pa.s.sed too close for comfort, grazing the hull.

'They're trying to shoot us down,' she observed in disbelief.

'Don't tell me you've added weapons to the TARDIS!' Mel said, disgusted.

'We haven't,' the Doctor growled. 'But Jason has.' Roz switched back to a rear view. She could see them now: stubby protuberances on each side of the box. As she watched, red fire flashed in their muzzles.

'Hold on!' she shouted, throwing them down and right. The ship rocked again as the bolts ripped by.

'Three minutes to landing,' the Doctor reported.

'How long can you keep this up?' Mel bleated.

'As long as I have to,' said Roz grimly.

She concentrated on the scene behind them, alert for the next shot.

The two smart bolts sped towards the surface of Detrios. Then, as their creator had determined, they swerved up and round and screamed back towards the stolen shuttle and the fleeing criminals within. They hit square and hard and, oblivious to the 115 vacuum as Jason had imagined they would be, sent furious sound waves rippling out to all those close enough to hear. The ship's innards blossomed into a fiery orange and showered the pursuing vessel with a fine spray of burning plastic shreds.

When it was all over, there was nothing left - only the victorious TARDIS and the vacuum, silent once again.

The enemies of Dr Who had met their deserved fates.

116.

13.

Salvation

Chris woke from his worst dream yet and cried out as white light stabbed into his tender retinas. For a second, he thought of the Security Chief's interrogation and he kicked instinctively.

His feet were free and his boot met flesh. His senses were returning piecemeal and he heard a yelp and felt ropes chafing at his wrists (hands tied behind his back?). Unwilling muscles reacted to commands (got to get out of here!) and he lurched to his feet and back across a room he couldn't see. The memory of Kat's face clouded his vision: her bald head, graphite skin and strangely appealing eyes; her expression of concern as he woke in the cell, a stranger in trouble. He had to save her. He knew it was too late.

Two figures were coming for him, red blurs on a yellow background. He couldn't make out words, just the muted buzz of conversation. But, as they came closer, he recognized the shorter man.

'Doctor,' Chris rasped (throat too dry), 'where . . .?'

'Take it easy, boy.' (Why does he have those question marks on his pullover? Chris thought as his focus sharpened.) 'You're in the TARDIS. I rescued you from that horrible planet and now we can blow the whole place up.'

Chris swayed as the figures moved closer. All at once, the Doctor's words sank in and he remembered the mission he'd been sent on, the consequences he had not been warned of and Kat's face, laughing as she played with his hair.

'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!' Chris yelled, the effort extreme as he wrenched the words out hoa.r.s.ely. He lunged at the man who had betrayed him, but his arms provided, a. painful reminder of the ropes which bound them. Chris lost his balance, tumbled 117 into the Time Lord and hit the floor with no way of cushioning his fall.

His last thought was of Kat's face again: her expression of hopelessness as the cultists dragged her away to die. But the image was washed out with light and Chris took refuge beneath a shroud of memories.

Enros was the most unpleasant of those hazy recollections. The sight of him had triggered revulsion in Chris's stomach. But that was later. The first time, the cult leader had been hidden by shadows: a hypnotic voice drifting out from a jewel-encrusted alcove, a vague shape cowering on a recessed throne at the top end of the opulent Great Hall. 'I have been awaiting the pleasure of your company.'

'What do you want with us?' asked Chris.

'I hoped you might have heard of me already.'

'I have. But -'

Enros seized on that. 'You see?' He addressed his followers, who stood behind and to each side of the captive pair. 'My Word has spread throughout the cosmos.'

'Blessed be,' the cultists answered in unison. Chris shivered at their thoughtless dedication (like his to the Doctor? Was he as blind in his own way?).

'I a.s.sume, then, that you have travelled to Detrios in order to pay homage to my greatness.' Chris opened his mouth to reply, but Enros continued: 'Or are you, perhaps, an alien emissary of darkness come to wage Holy War?'

'Well neither, actually.'

'Be warned. Those who displease me must perish. This very morning, the heathen lizards of Detrios were struck down in retribution for their G.o.dless ways. Be sure that you are not next.'

'What do you want exactly?' asked Kat.

'I require you to serve me. You, the alien, will tell the ma.s.ses how I am revered beyond this world. You, the rebel, will instruct your followers to lay down their weapons and join my cause.'

Chris bristled. 'And suppose,' he said, 'we happen to think - 118.

just a hypothetical question, this - that you're a spineless worm hiding behind an army of idiots?'

He heard Kat sucking air in through her teeth, but he was sure that he was on safe ground. They were too valuable for Enros to risk losing yet.

'You are required to show respect!' the cult leader spat. 'I have lived for many centuries on this planet and it is through my continuing existence that the universe endures. Should I decide it is no longer worth the effort of maintaining reality, then reality will die alongside me.'

'Prove it!' Kat challenged, emboldened by Chris's defiance.

Enros's voice remained controlled, but Chris detected a measure of disdain. 'Remove these non-believers.' The robed figures closed in obediently and, given the force of numbers against them, Chris felt it was unwise to resist.

'You will spend three segments in custody,' Enros p.r.o.nounced as Kat and Chris were taken away, 'during which time you will reconsider your beliefs. If you decide to serve me, then you will be welcome additions to my flock. If not . . . well, then you will be equally welcome additions to my compost heap.'

This time, there were no bars. They sat on the stone floor of a dirty alcove, the traitor Ryallen standing guard in the doorway.

Kat regarded him with loathing. 'Why did you betray us?'

'I received a Higher Calling,' he said without emotion.

'What, from that egotistical moron out there?'

'You won't feel that way after your exorcism. I look forward to serving my Lord by helping cleanse your tainted souls.'

Kat shuffled around to present him with her back. Ryallen snorted and turned away. Chris whispered urgently to his fellow captive: 'Exorcism?'

'The cult worked out that the Devil is allergic to wood and iron oxide. So if anyone has a demon inside them, the best cure is to put some rusty nails into a plank and beat them to death.'

'Oh.'

'Any ideas?'

'The way I see it,' said Chris, 'we have three choices. One: 119 we die. Not recommended. Two: we escape.'

'Which might lead us back to "one",' said Kat.

'Or three: Enros will spare us if we say we believe in him. So why don't we - and here's a really off-the-wall suggestion - say "We believe in Enros"?' I've been hanging around Bernice too long, he thought as he said it.

Kat shook her head. 'Once we allow Enros to get his claws into us, we might as well be dead. You especially. He won't give you the chance to escape until you've been up on a few soapboxes, preaching to the non-believers.'

'Hmmm. I couldn't do that. Not lure more people into this.'

'So it's "h.e.l.lo rusty nails",' said Kat gloomily.

'Unless we try for option two,' said Chris. 'There is only one guard, after all.' Escaping, he recalled, was the one thing they had got right last time.

'That's one more than they need. This place is a labyrinth, crawling with brainwashed zombies. There are two ways out: conversion and death. n.o.body's managed any other.'

'Perhaps,' said Chris, casting around for an idea, 'we could steal some robes? Put up the hoods and pretend to be cultists?'

'Oh yeah,' Kat said reproachfully. 'Like no one's thought of that!'

'It seems to me,' Chris pressed on, a little put out by her att.i.tude, 'that Enros's greatest weapon is fear. He's built up his own legend so that people think he's invincible.'

'n.o.body's proved otherwise.'

'Then it's time we did. Let's get out of here. But, instead of fleeing, let's go back to the Great Hall. We can show everyone how tough Enros really is!'

Kat'lanna wanted to believe - Chris could see that in her eyes - but still, she was reluctant to take the risk.

He nodded towards Ryallen and lowered his voice. 'It does mean we get to slug him.'

A smile tugged at Kat's mouth. 'I'm certainly warming to the idea.'

Floating; reality's harshness dragging him upwards. Chris railed against that, preferring to stay inside the bittersweet 120 dreamworld. But his eyes opened, bringing into view a pink blob which resolved itself into the Doctor's face.

'Betrayed . . .' Chris whispered. He strained to reach out but his arms were heavy, pinning him to the soft mattress (his own bed), muscles aching.

'You were taken in by a rather clever conman, I'm afraid,' the Doctor said kindly. 'It was my own evil doppelganger. He was the one who told you to destroy Detrios.'

'Evil . . .' Chris repeated faintly.

The next time he awoke, the Doctor's face was gone and there was only the white light. He screwed up his eyes against it, but although he felt exhausted and sick, the world refused to leave him alone.

Eventually, he gave in. He pushed back the sheets, dimly registering that he was fully clothed. The world spun as he hoisted himself upright. Then Chris's mind drifted and he found himself leaning against a wall in the corridor outside, making his way towards the console room with his brain on auto-pilot.

He tried to operate the TARDIS: a mad idea, his senses screamed. It was far too complex for even a rational man to handle without the Doctor's experience - Q'ell had taught him that. Chris wasn't feeling rational right now. He wanted to get back to Detrios, to Kat'lanna. Failing that, he wanted to be out of this madhouse and away from the Doctor and his heartless gloating about the planet's fate as arranged by his own hands.

He pulled at levers and punched b.u.t.tons desperately - and his stomach lurched as the room tipped sideways and he hurtled into the Doctor's hatstand, bruising his skull.

Either Chris blacked out or the Doctor appeared from thin air, rushing about the console with an expression of concern. The TARDIS righted but Chris's stomach remained at ninety degrees to the rest of his body. He coughed and was almost sick on the floor. Then he tried to get up to reach the controls again, but he felt as though powerful hands were pushing him back down and into dreams and memories once more.

Time shifted, patterned with kaleidoscopic colours.

They were in the Great Hall, Chris nursing bruised knuckles: 121 frustration had made him overzealous in despatching Ryallen (he denied to himself that he might have been trying to impress Kat'lanna). There was one problem: the alcove, and Enros's throne, were empty.

'What do we do now?' asked Kat.

He was at a loss. 'Make a run for it? Hide until he comes back?'

She didn't answer. Chris saw why. She was staring over his shoulder, eyes like saucers. He knew what he would see before he turned.

'You didn't imagine I would be unprepared for such an attack?' said Enros quietly, as he stepped from the shadows.

Chris and Kat kept very still, believing implicitly that the mad G.o.d would use his pistol at the slightest provocation. 'I am omnipotent, after all. My eyes see everywhere.' More likely they had tripped an alarm, Chris thought, and given Enros time to seek concealment.

His own eyes were rooted upon the man himself: not the image of a deity, more that of a corpse. Looking at Enros, he could see how he might well have existed for, if not centuries, then at least some decades longer than his contemporaries. His skin was festering, sliding off grey bones as it mouldered to paste. He was only held together at all by a gleaming silver exo-skeleton, which seemed to comprise at least two-thirds of his body. Between metal ribs, Chris glimpsed horrific brown misshapes suspended in a greenish liquid. A rubber device like a pair of bellows expanded and contracted in the chest area, controlling the monstrosity's respiration.

'And I thought your followers were zombies!' said Kat.

'My appearance,' Enros stated, 'is an unfortunate side effect of my divine immortality.'

'Divine?' Kat scoffed. 'The only secret to your extended life is money. You take what you can from your followers and use it on surgery and cybernetics to keep your own miserable self alive!'

Her anger was beginning to overcome her sense. Chris squeezed her arm to pull her back from the brink. It was too 122 late.

Enros clicked his fingers and six cloaked figures appeared from the Great Hall. Three cl.u.s.tered about Kat and seized her despite her frenzied objections. 'You are beyond redemption,'

said Enros solemnly. 'You will be executed, your corpse hung above the entrance to our church as a disincentive to your misguided followers.'

Chris cried out and reached for her but the other cultists had moved in, pinning his arms to his sides. Enros was saying something, no doubt offering one last chance for salvation. All he had to do was say he believed, add the considerable weight of his alien heritage to Enros's crusade. That way, he could live.

But Chris had eyes only for Kat's lithe form, ferociously struggling as she was dragged out of his life forever. His gaze lingered even after she was out of sight. Then he felt the sharp, precise pain of a needle point entering his thigh and that, coupled with the fear of what they might have done to him, refocused his attention onto Enros.

The cult leader sounded almost disappointed. 'You will prove valuable to me one way or another. I had hoped you would stand by me, proclaiming my interplanetary fame. Instead, you will just have to die on the altar, to fuel my followers' faith in their Lord and deter those who would strive against me.' The words started to echo as Chris found his concentration failing.

Enros gave a harsh laugh. 'And, of course, the organs you donate to me will be put to good use.'