Doctor Who_ The Fall Of Yquatine Part 3

Fitz caught up with the Doctor in the middle of the iron bridge, where he had stopped, and seemed to be sniffing the air. 'Yes, she's still in Yendip. The Randomiser won't grow into her for a while yet.' He stared into the river, his eyes suddenly wide. He grabbed Fitz's arm, his voice hushed. 'She might even reject it!'

'Sod it, Doctor!' cried Fitz. 'Listen to me. I'm not a TARDIS, or a Time Lord: I'm just a bloke. I'm not telepathic: I need things explained. So tell me what you did to Compa.s.sion and what the h.e.l.l a Randomiser is.'

The Doctor's face creased, he instantly looked very sorry. 'Oh Fitz.' He looked down at the river. 'Where are the ducks? There really should be ducks.'

Fitz looked at the river, waiting for the explanation, giving the Doctor time. The water below was crystal clear and unpolluted; Fitz could see the pebbles and stones on the river bed, tiny shoals of fish punctuating the ripples, dark clumps of weed waving like a mermaid's hair. The river was wide and stretched towards the horizon, towards the lake. Boats glided up and down. In the distance, Fitz could see the next bridge. A couple stood huddled together upon it, mirroring their own position.

At last the Doctor spoke. 'A Randomiser is a simple circuit that can be linked into TARDIS guidance systems. It sends the TARDIS on a random journey into the vortex. Not even I would know where we would be going.'

'Nothing new there,' muttered Fitz.

The Doctor smiled sadly. 'Well, I made one once, when I had to evade an angry and powerful enemy. So I thought it would be just the thing to give the Time Lords the runaround. Unfortunately, Compa.s.sion didn't agree.'

'You spoke to her about this?'

The Doctor nodded. 'While you were in your room.'

Fitz tried not to think about his room.

'She thought she could evade the Time Lords on her own.' He smiled. 'She may be totally unique, but she's still growing, still learning. And while she's learning she's vulnerable.' The Doctor slapped the railing of the bridge with his palm. 'A Randomiser was the only answer.'

'So,' said Fitz. 'That's why we came here. How, in the name of all that's funky, did a pie man come to have one?'

'I knocked one up myself when I was younger, out of components in the TARDIS. Couldn't do that with Compa.s.sion, so I came here.' He looked at Fitz with a twinkle in his eyes. 'There's more to Lou Lombardo than meets the eye. Apart from selling the finest pies in the galaxy, he's also a dealer in black-market temporal technology, among other things.'

Fitz decided to let that pa.s.s. 'So you got a Randomiser off him, and just well stuck it in her?'

The Doctor looked pained. 'It was for her own good.'

Fitz couldn't look at him. Perhaps it was because he wasn't human, perhaps it was the stress, but the Doctor had really messed up this time. The words 'violation' and 'rape' swam through Fitz's mind. It was all too horrible. The Doctor couldn't have known the effect: he would never do anything to hurt his friends. He could be a clumsy sod at times, though. 'Doctor, you've hurt her, and scared her. She'll probably never trust you again.'

The Doctor's mouth turned down at the corners and he stared at his shoes. 'I must remember she's a person as well as a TARDIS.' His eyes met Fitz's. 'We have to find her. I have to apologise. I've seriously miscalculated. But Fitz, it's not going to happen again.'

'We'd better get looking, then.' The pain in the Doctor's voice made Fitz feel uneasy and slightly embarra.s.sed.

The Doctor pointed. 'There over there by that barge!'

Fitz whirled round, expecting to see Compa.s.sion floating down the river. He couldn't see anything. 'What?'

The Doctor was grinning. 'Ducks. I told you!' He grew suddenly serious and intense. 'We'll split up, it'll be easier that way.'

'Doctor '

But the Doctor was already running away, across the bridge. 'Meet you back at Lombardo's in an hour no more, no less.'

Fitz watched him go. How was he going to find Compa.s.sion, in a city this size? Unlike the Doctor, he didn't have a special link to her. He squinted across the gleaming water but he couldn't see any ducks.

Chapter Three.

'We want to get out of here, and quick'

President Stefan Vargeld walked into the lobby of his private chambers, shrugging off his coat of office. d.a.m.ned thing was so bulky. Tradition demanded that he wore it, didn't mean he had to like it. Franseska stood up from behind her crescent-shaped desk as he entered.

As you were,' he said.

She sat, but kept on looking at him.

He felt like hurling the coat into the furthest corner of the room quite a feat, as this would have meant throwing the heavy garment twenty-five metres but he checked himself, and hung it on the stand by the side of the door.

There was an ache behind his eyes. He hadn't slept much recently. And there one of the gold b.u.t.tons was coming loose. As he touched it, it fell, bouncing on the marble floor and rolling under a cabinet. The President sighed. He looked over at Franseska. She was smiling, her hands folded over her keyboard.

He couldn't help but smile back. 'Well, if that's the worst thing that happens today, I'll be a happy man.'

He walked over to Franseska's desk. She was a small, dark-haired Yquatine woman in her mid-twenties, with pale skin and large brown eyes. She'd been his personal a.s.sistant for two years now. 'Anything for me?'

'The usual,' said Franseska. She had thin hands and moved with economy and precision. 'Proposals for the development of the Amerd Archipelago, a report from the installation on Ixtrice...'

She tailed off as he raised a hand. 'It can all wait,' he said. 'I'm going to relax. For probably the last time in a long, long while.'

He went to walk past the desk.

Franseska stood up. 'One more thing.'

There was a pleading look on her face. He knew what was coming. Franseska's brother was a pilot in the Minerva s.p.a.ce Alliance. He met her gaze squarely. 'Yes, Franseska?'

She was suddenly nervous, aware that he was President and she a mere secretary. He hated it when that happened. so he smiled. 'It's all right. You know you can talk to me.'

Franseska smiled and seemed to relax, then shook her head, averting her gaze. 'The Senate meeting. How bad, I mean... what...'

President Vargeld cut in. 'You want to know if there's going to be a war. Well, so does the entire System. That's why everyone's stuck inside in front of their media units instead of celebrating.'

Franseska nodded, biting her lip. 'They're going to want to know sooner or later.'

President Vargeld sat on the edge of her desk: I'm going to make a public broadcast, but not until I'm absolutely sure. And, though right now things look grim, I'm sure I can turn it around' He smiled at her again, watching her face soften. 'You know me. I can talk my way out of anything and, though I can't rule it out, I'll do everything I can to prevent a war.'

Franseska sat down, looking much more relieved.

'Can I go now?' he asked. Franseska laughed. 'See you later.' President Vargeld walked across the lobby, under the pink gla.s.s dome in the centre and through into his private rooms.

He walked over to the tall bay window which overlooked the gardens. The afternoon was maturing, long and hot perfect Treaty Day weather and droid gardeners toiled, watering, weeding and tending. Just like his job, really. Tending the needs of the System, while the individual planets got on with their own business. The flowers didn't really need the droids they would flourish, weeds and all. The System was a well-tended, weedless garden. Until now.

The presidential apartments were at the rear of the Palace of Yquatine, overlooking the gardens, the lake and the hills beyond. He'd inherited them from the previous President, Ignatiev. He'd been living here for five years now, and it still didn't seem like home.

Which was a pity, because all his life he'd aimed to be President.

The Vargelds were one of the founding families of Yquatine, and they came to prominence when President Marc de Yquatine, the last of his line, died at the turn of the century. De Yquatine had drawn up the treaty and presided over the early years of peace with the Anthaurk. He was a popular leader, a humanist and a visionary. In his wake followed a string of leaders, not all of them human, and the Minerva System had flourished. During this time the Vargeld family took over the rule of Yquatine. Stefan's father and his father before him had been Marquis of Yquatine, following on seamlessly from the de Yquatine family.

It had always been a.s.sumed that the young Stefan would succeed his father as Marquis. He had a pa.s.sionate interest in history and at a young age had garnered all the facts about the Minerva System the life of its founder, Julian de Yquatine, the specifications of the colony ship Minerva Minerva, the names and dietary requirements of every species in the System. He'd gone through school with flying colours and went to the University of Yquatine. He'd done a stint with the Minerva s.p.a.ce Alliance and then entered politics, becoming a councillor of his home town Farleath, gradually gaining power. He didn't think himself ambitious though his enemies certainly did and he viewed his progress as a natural course of events, like a strong current flowing through him. He became Marquis when he was only twenty. He took the rule of an entire planet in his stride, tackling it with relish. This was during the rule of President Ignatiev, an unpopular Luvian politician who had angered the Anthaurk and brought the System close to war. Stefan had stood against him in the elections of 2988, and won by a landslide. At the age of twenty-eight, he became President of the Minerva System.

He sighed. It had been easy, at first. He'd taken it all in his stride, coped with the endless demands of presidency. The people loved him and said he was the best President since de Yquatine. His enemies said he was too young, but he'd proved himself time and again. He'd smoothed over the Rorclaavix-Adamantean incident, and the strikes on Beatrix were a thing of the past, thanks to his negotiation skills. He found politics and diplomacy remarkably easy: all it took was common sense and honesty and he couldn't understand the dreadful, self-destructive knots certain people tied themselves into Arielle Arielle He closed his eyes, forcing the thought of her from his mind. Had to concentrate on the moment, on the job in hand. He knew, deep down, that he was just a bureaucrat. A droid tending the flowers. And now the weeds were growing, threatening to strangle the flowers.

Could the Anthaurk have been planning this all along? Signed the treaty, only to use the peace to prepare for war, and now, after almost a century spent a.s.sembling their war machine in secret. preparing to strike?

He couldn't believe it. If it was true, then the Treaty of Yquatine was a lie. Treaty Day was a lie. The presidency and the Senate and the entire political network were just an incubator for the Anthaurk war machine.

President Vargeld was breathing hard now, panic clutching at his heart. He wasn't a worrier by nature: he was a practical man. That was worse in a way. He knew in his bones that there was a war ahead, and there was nothing he could do about it. History was about to convulse, and here he was bang in the middle of it.

President Vargeld went to a drinks cabinet, opened a bottle and poured out a stiff measure of brandy. He tried to enjoy the peace soon he'd have to meet the other senators again, prepare for war. It would be a virtual conference: most of them had departed for their home planets, wanting to be there if anything happened.

If. It was almost a certainty. What a Treaty Day!

He sipped the brandy, but it tasted sour and did nothing to calm him.

With sudden force, the image of Arielle returned. Her face, the way she carried herself, as though she had no idea of the effect she had on men. The first and only woman he had ever truly loved in his busy life. He swore, angry at himself, ashamed that his feelings for her were ruling his life. But, if war came, she'd be caught up too, and he'd never have the chance to win her back. His mind went back to Treaty Day last year, when they'd first met. How ironic that it had been Zendaak who had invited her to the ball. He had that to thank the Anthaurk senator for at least.

He walked over to his comms console, ordered it to call her comms unit. The screen blinked for a few seconds, and then a computer voice said, 'Sorry, the other unit has been programmed to receive no incoming messages.'

d.a.m.n her. She was deliberately avoiding him, hiding herself away on Muath. He often thought he understood aliens better than women. Perhaps, even, women were were a separate species. The ba.n.a.lity of the thought made him smile. a separate species. The ba.n.a.lity of the thought made him smile.

At least there was something he could do about Arielle. Something he should have done weeks ago, before he got mired in the war situation.

A musical yet insistent chiming rang out. President Vargeld turned, muttering a curse. Franseska's face appeared on the screen above the door. He felt the muscles in his stomach tighten, but he tried to keep his voice light and friendly. 'Yes, Franseska?'

Franseska's voice was shaking. 'Senators Krukon and Fandel want to know if they can begin preparing their fleets. The captains of the Minerva s.p.a.ce Alliance want to speak to you urgently. The media want you make an announcement now. There are riots in Mertown and Ellisville. And Aloysius Station reports an Anthaurk battle fleet on the other side of the border.'

President Vargeld closed his eyes. It had to be now. He opened his eyes and fixed Franseska with his most presidential look. 'Tell Krukon and Fandel yes. I want their fleets here within the hour. Tell the captains of the Alliance the same. Ignore the media. Tell Aloysius Station to prepare for battle. I don't want any Anthaurk ships crossing the border. And Franseska?'

She noticed the pause. 'Yes, sir?'

President Vargeld downed the rest of his drink. What he was about to do was madness, especially on the eve of war. But he had to do it. For Arielle's sake. 'Prepare my personal Nova-fighter.'

The Doctor hurried through the marketplace, dodging people and beings, haring round corners, knocking over a pallet of fruit, stopping to apologise and then having to run away from the irate vendor, falling over a small child who burst out crying, standing on the toe of a very old and irate Draconian, getting called a ponce by a group of drunken humans, generally causing total chaos wherever he went, but getting absolutely nowhere in finding Compa.s.sion.

He stopped to catch his breath. He was in an octagonal plaza, the floor of which was a mosaic depicting humans and aliens linked together in an endless wheeling dance. Their cavorting forms looked to the Doctor to be mocking, cajoling, as if they had spirited his friend away.

The Doctor knew that Compa.s.sion was here, in this city he could sense her Artron signature but that was as specific as the feeling got. His hearts ached. He had to find her, had to apologise. He could still put things right, he had to believe that. Why couldn't he find her? Maybe the bond between them wasn't strong enough yet. 'Or perhaps we're not telepathically compatible,' he murmured at the mocking faces in the mosaic.

Still ten minutes or so until he was due to meet up with Fitz again. Better keep the rendezvous, didn't want to lose Fitz as well. What was it with companions? It was almost as if some unseen force travelled with them, delighting in making sure they always got lost. Still keeping his eyes peeled, he walked slowly back towards Arklark Arcade, keeping his eyes open for Compa.s.sion or Fitz. He crossed the bridge, waved to the nonexistent ducks. and entered the Arcade. His heart sank as he approached Bernardo's shop. He'd been secretly hoping to find Fitz and Compa.s.sion waiting for him. A happy reunion, a rushed explanation, and off they'd go. But, no.

Lou Lombardo looked up from behind the counter as the Doctor entered. Despite everything, the Doctor grinned hugely. What was was Lou wearing? A costume even his sixth incarnation would have balked at. He'd changed out of his overalls and ap.r.o.n and now sported an eye-dazzling silver shirt open almost to the navel, revealing curls of ginger chest hair and a clutch of medallions. Mirror shades completed the image. He slid them up on to his gelled hair as the Doctor approached. Lou wearing? A costume even his sixth incarnation would have balked at. He'd changed out of his overalls and ap.r.o.n and now sported an eye-dazzling silver shirt open almost to the navel, revealing curls of ginger chest hair and a clutch of medallions. Mirror shades completed the image. He slid them up on to his gelled hair as the Doctor approached.

'h.e.l.lo, Lou any sign of Fitz?'

'h.e.l.lo, Doctor. No, haven't seen him.' Lombardo's moon face was wearing a frown of concern. He came out from behind the counter and put an arm around the Doctor. 'Hey, I was worried about you. Last I saw, you were pegging it out the door.'

The Doctor nodded sadly. 'Yes, I'm afraid my little plan backfired.' He frowned. 'Or is it mis misfired?'

Lombardo stood back from the Doctor, his small brown eyes widening in concern. 'Oh, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. That Randomiser circuit blew up, didn't it?'

The Doctor shushed Lombardo. 'No no no, there was nothing wrong with it. Probably. It was Compa.s.sion she rejected it.'

'Where is she now?'

'I don't know.'

Lombardo took off his shades and started polishing them on a sc.r.a.p of tissue. 'Christ. I'm sorry. But you know me, I'm no tech-head, I just buy and sell the stuff.'

'It's not your fault. It's mine.' The Doctor fiddled with a tube of multicoloured plastic straws. It was now high time that Fitz was here. 'Why are you dressed like that?'

Lombardo struck a disco pose, one hand pointing at the insectocutor on the ceiling, the other to the green and white tiles on the floor. The Doctor noticed that he was wearing dark-green leather trousers and cowboy boots. 'I'm shutting up shop. Going clubbing. Sod the war, I'm going to enjoy myse'

His words were cut off by a terrible sound from outside the roaring crash of breaking gla.s.s.

The Doctor was at the door in an instant. A few metres away lay a matt-black egg-shaped capsule, the size of a barrel, covered in foot-long spikes, half embedded in the floor of the arcade. Shards of gla.s.s tinkled down from a hole in the ceiling above. Several people had stopped, staring at it. The Doctor ran at them, waving his arms. 'Get away from here!' he yelled. 'Run!' He had no idea what the thing was, but it looked decidedly nasty and ready to explode. As he watched, grey tubes began sprouting from it like obscene putty fingers. Black gas began to issue from the tubes with a hiss.

'What the Merry Hill?' Lombardo was beside him, fiddling with his medallions.

The black stuff was spreading slowly across the shiny tiles. Too slow for any effective gas, and the Doctor couldn't detect any fumes. It looked somehow alive.

There was a whistling sound from above, another crash. The Doctor instinctively covered his head with his arms and backed away towards the cover of the pie shop. An upward glimpse through his fingers the ceiling was a smashed-open mess; he could see the sky, dotted with black ovoid shapes. From them. smaller shapes were falling, as fast and as thick as hail.

There was no way past the gas, which was encircling them. rising up towards the ceiling. And then a smell hit the back of the Doctor's throat, as though tarry fingers had shoved inside his mouth. The Doctor could hear choking and retching from beyond the black wall of gas.

'We want to get out of here, and quick,' said the Doctor, hustling Lombardo back to the shop.

'The sewers,' gasped Lombardo. His eyes and nose were streaming. The Doctor was OK but then he had a superior respiratory system. 'There's a way into them out back. I use it for you know special deliveries.'

Lombardo led the Doctor behind the counter, through the storeroom with its humming freezer units and into a bare, concrete room piled high with boxes and bags where the Doctor had purchased the Randomiser, barely an hour ago.

Lombardo was wrestling with a drain cover in the corner, and the Doctor bent to help him prise it loose. It came free with a heavy clang, and Lombardo swore as it caught his fingers. The Doctor let his friend go down first, casting a fearful glance over his shoulder. The black gas was rolling into the shop, its movement obscenely leisurely, as though it knew there was no escape, not even underground.

With an anguished thought for Fitz and Compa.s.sion, the Doctor followed Lombardo into the darkness.

President Vargeld sat in the bubble-shaped c.o.c.kpit of his personal Nova-fighter as it soared out of the atmosphere of Yquatine. It was a small, dart-shaped ship, most of the rear half taken up by powerful ion engines, most of the front half by weapons arrays and scanning equipment. Monitors in the c.o.c.kpit took care of the blind spots. When the fields were activated the fighter was invisible to all but the most sophisticated of scanners. President Vargeld didn't want anyone to know about this mission. It was too personal. If word got out, then his presidency would be in jeopardy.

Ahead, he could see the tiny moon of Muath, one side a blinding white crescent lit by the sun Minerva, the other side blackness blending into surrounding s.p.a.ce. He could just make out the domes of the university's installation, and the half-completed domes of the Powell Industries site.

He tried to raise Arielle's personal comms unit again. No response. He programmed the flight computer for low orbit, checking that all the scanners were on line. As he neared Muath, he began to notice something. Something that shouldn't be happening. The grey disc of Muath was darkening, as though becoming obscured by clouds.