Doctor Who_ Theatre Of War Part 28

'They were Heletians,' she said. 'Your troops.' And she raised her hand as if pointing at him, the percussion pistol nestling in her palm, the barrel protruding.

He pushed himself back, away from her, with his feet tried to crawl out of the way. But her hand pointed after him even as he scrabbled his way across the floor towards his desk.

'You killed him. Killed both him and our child.' The words were almost spat across the room.

The Exec rolled over, faced her. He had to reason with her. Somehow. 'No no, not me. I never killed anyone, never. I '

But she wasn't listening. She was standing above him now, the tears staining her cheeks, the pistol grasped firmly in both hands. 'You murdering b.a.s.t.a.r.d!' she screamed as the sound of the detonation echoed round the room.

The thermite charges rocked the doors on their hinges. For a moment it seemed they had no other effect, then the doors swayed inwards and began slowly to fall. They crashed to the floor amid a wrenching of metal and shower of dust from the door frame.

Benny was the first to recover her senses when the dust cleared. She dived away, down the corridor, and ran. Marlock made no move to stop her. His disruptor disappeared behind his back as he peered through the thinning dust and clearing smoke from the blast.

Inside the room, Lannic was standing with her back to the door. As she turned to face Marlock and his guards, they saw the body on the floor. The Exec was sprawled on his back, his arms and legs spread out. His robes were dishevelled and in disarray. His head was a mess of bone and congealing blood.

One of the guards stepped forward, raising his disruptor. But the sh.e.l.l from Lannic's pistol felled him before he could bring it to bear. She shot the second guard before he had a chance to move, his stomach exploding as the sh.e.l.l pierced his body armour.

Madock made no attempt to escape. He knew he could never outrun an old*fashioned bullet. He held his hands open in front of him.

'I mean you no harm, Lannic,' he said, walking slowly towards her.

She levelled the gun.

'A percussion pistol very clever.' Another step closer. 'Just gunpowder, no energy source, so it wouldn't show towards up on any detector.' He wasn't walking directly towards her now. He wandered apparenntly at ease across the room, hands thrust into her jacket pockets. 'In future we shall have to scan for metal, I suppose.' Inside his pocket, Marlock's right hand felt carefully for the trigger guard on the disruptor as he prepared to reorient the gun. 'What do you say?' His finger tightened on the trigger as he turned the gun so it pointed forwards. But he hesitated for a split second suddenly worried that he would need a new jacket.

Lannic said nothing. The report ricocheted off the concrete walls. The shot caught Marlock in the chest. It lifted him off his feet and slammed him across the room into the wall.

The sh.e.l.l was deflected by the duralinium mesh woven into his jacket lining, catching him in the right shoulder, lodging behind the shoulder*blade. His hand clenched in a spasm of pain, pressing and holding the trigger. The blast seared through the front of his jacket, burning its way upwards as he fell, drawing a charred line up his body. It reached the underside of his chin before he managed to release his hold. His face blackened as the phason burst ate into his skull. It drilled its way through his chin, diffuding into the bone structure and seeking the line of least resistance. His brain had already evaporated in the screaming heat before the shock*wave reached his eyes.

As his body slumped down, Lannic sat down heavily on the, floor beside the Exec's body, cradling the pistol in her hands. She rocked to and fro slowly, and the pistol slipped to the floor with a clatter.

Are you sure you come with us?' Ace asked. 'You seemed very keen to stay and see Braxiatel again.'

Benny stuck her tongue out. 'We're just good friends. Anyway, I'd have thought the Doctor would want to wait and see him.'

'Yeah, what is this, Doctor? He'll be landing within the hour. The commissionaire from Arbela was very impressed you knew him. Now he's taken over you might get a reward he was happy to release poor old Klasvik with no questions asked.'

The Doctor unlocked the TARDIS and ushered them in. He took a last look round the hanger. 'Poor old Klasvik will be fine. But I'm not sure I want to meet young Braxiatel just now,' he said as he followed them inside.

'What, because you spoiled his plan?' Ace laughed. 'It came out all right in the end, you know.'

The Doctor nodded. 'Yes, it did. But I'm not sure it didn't all go according to Braxiatel's plan after all.'

'What do you mean?' asked Benny.

'I told Ace that Braxiatel had an agent planted on Heletia, Benny. I meant you.'

'So?'

'I'm not sure he didn't have another agent too. It's quite a coincidence that the very person who led the expedition to Menaxus and brought back the dream machine should want to a.s.sa.s.sinate the Exec.'

'You mean Lannic was working for Braxiatel that the whole thing was to get at the Exec? She was was very keen to meet him right from the start.' very keen to meet him right from the start.'

The Doctor nodded glumly. 'Well, it's a possibility. In which case, the play was always intended as a diversion as a way for Lannic to get to the Exec, to corner him alone.'

Benny laughed. 'I can see why you don't want to face Braxiatel, then. Wouldn't do for the arch*manipulator to have to admit he was manipulated himself, now would it?'

Ace joined in the laughter. 'Actually, I think I'd I'd quite like to meet this guy surely we can stay for just an hour or two, Doctor?' quite like to meet this guy surely we can stay for just an hour or two, Doctor?'

But the Doctor was already busy at the controls. 'Yes, well as I said, it's almost certainly a complete coincidence. So let's consider the matter closed, shall we?' He pulled a paisley handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his face with it. Then he screwed the handkerchief up again and dropped it on the TARDIS console. Through the distortion of the rising central column, the swirling paisley patterns looked like cl.u.s.ters of small leaves splaying out from a central branch.

Curtain Call Braxiatel was not surprised. 'I really wouldn't waste too much time looking for them, Commissionaire.'

The commissionaire of Arbela, now acting*Exec of Heletia under the programme of the state of emergency, was apologetic nonetheless. 'I am so sorry they were here not very long ago, I'm sure.' He wrung his hands in dismay. 'I feel we are not doing very well having lost the a.s.sa.s.sin already, we have also mislaid your friends.'

'I'm sure the Doctor and his friends are quite safe.' Braxiatel smiled. 'Or at least as safe as they ever are.' He stood and put down his empty gla.s.s on the commissionaire's desk. 'Now: before we arrange for the final acceptance of your surrender and start on the peace negociations, I should like to see the green room for myself.'

'Of course. The commissionaire led the way from his office. 'It's still cordoned off, but I think there is probably little value in keeping it off*limits. Perhaps the surrender should be signed there.'

'A nice thought And I agree, the a.s.sa.s.sin will by now be melted into air into thin air. Which is probably just as well: I feel that she has done us all something of a favour.' He followed the commissionaire from the room, hands clasped behind his back, nodding to the Rippearean troops lining the corridor outside. The landings and troop deployments had been remarkably easy, but with three star destroyers and a battle cruiser directly over the city, and the gunships visible on station within the atmosphere, there was little to encourage the confused and despondent Heletians to resist. Their fleet was already disarmed and moored on the edge of the Piriquatai cloud, awaiting a Rippearean escort back to their home ports. If anything, the Heletians seemed relieved except for those who knew about and had seen the camps. And that would make them all the easier to track down.

The green room was empty. A Rippearean guard stood outside. She saluted as Braxiatel and the commissionaire arrived. Inside the room seemed normal, except for the stains down one wall and the outlines painted on the floor where the bodies had lain. They looked surprisingly small.

'I gather there wasn't much left of either of them,' the commissionaire offered. 'I've always disliked this room. Here of all places we had to keep our real thoughts suppressed. What a place to have to meet your destiny.'

'Yes.' Braxiatel smiled. 'We are all slaves to destiny. We are driven like cl.u.s.ters of small leaves by the winds of time, directed through the summer of our lives to an ever*closer autumn.'

The commissionaire coughed, embarra.s.sed. 'There was no sign of Lannic. Except for the pistol.'

The percussion pistol was lying on the floor beside the spread*eagled outline of the Exec.

Braxiatel bent to pick it up. 'May I?' he asked, looking back at the commissionaire for permission. The commissionaire waved a dismissive hand.

The pistol was quite heavy for its small size. Braxiatel let it lie in the palm of his hand for a moment, admiring the antique workmanship: the carefully milled barrel, the percussion chamber, the leaf design etched on the b.u.t.t.

Then he dropped the gun into his pocket, wondering if the commissionaire had heared the faint crackle, like a static discharge, as he had picked it up. 'I think I'll take this back to the Collection with me,' Braxiatel said.

He wondered briefly where the Doctor was now, if 'now' was a useful term. 'Thank you for your help, old friend,' he murmured as he straightened up.

Braxiatel held his right hand level with his eyes. The hairs on the back of his hand were standing on end. He smiled, and clasped his hands behind his back once more, smoothing the back of his right hand with the palm of his left.

'Be cheerful, sir,' he said the commissionaire. 'Our revels now are ended.'

'I'm sorry?' The commissionaire followed Braxiatel out into the corridor.

'Be not disturbed.' Braxiatel rea.s.sured him. 'I was just paying homage to a great poet and playwright.'