Doctor Who_ To The Slaughter Part 37

A little green light in the housing was blinking on and off.

He looked at it accusingly. 'How long have you been signalling, I wonder?'

Trix had crawled through the hole in the back of the shed with her big tub of paint. She'd sat in the shadows, quietly eavesdropping. Then, steeling her nerve, she'd burst into the light, howling, half-banshee, half-painter-and-decorator. The thick gloop splashed out of her tub in a hefty arc, taking in Tinya, Torvin or Klimt, or whatever the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was calling himself and even Falsh's shoes.

Tanya shrieked as her little black dress took a coating, dropped the gun.

Falsh sprang forwards to tackle Klimt, head-charging the man and knocking him to the floor.

While they engaged in a macho sprawl, Trix raced for Tinya's fallen gun and s.n.a.t.c.hed it up.

'That's enough!' she shouted. 'Everyone shut up and stay perfectly still.

After the trouble you lot have put me to just lately, I'd happily shoot any one of you.'

Klimt and Falsh stopped struggling. Tanya froze, fixing Trix with an elo-quent look of cool hatred.

'Sorry to gatecrash,' said Trix calmly. 'But some soldiers were coming my way on patrol, and I didn't fancy them finding me.'

Klimt gave her a withering look. 'How did you get into the compound?'

'Didn't you see Falsh gas the guards on your magic bubbles? I'm betting that you did then you turned the lights out in here and got ready to throw your big surprise for him.' She shook her head sadly. 'Shame it didn't occur to you he might have been followed.'

'I imagined you were dead,' said Klimt.

The Doctor dashed over to the translation visor. 'Of course!'

'What is it?' said Halcyon warily. 'What's happening?'

'Some of your paint being put to good use, I hope!' As he picked up the small ceramic tray, a tiny amount of Halcytone welled into it. The Doctor threw back his head and laughed. 'Genius girl! That's what she meant about testing the paint and painting me a picture!'

The Doctor pressed his fingers into the oily, glowing smear, and a vague vision bled into his senses, washed on a wave of nausea. He was seeing something from multiple viewpoints. He caught a lurching image of faces and 200 forms that seemed oddly familiar. Torvin. Tinya. Falsh, too. Phaedra's red hair spilling out from a pile of bodies. And Trix, looming large, holding a gun.

The Doctor tried to separate the images. The translation visor must be set to the frequency of the paint on the podule. Which meant he must he seeing these scenes through the nanoscopic eyes of the doctored Halcytone, splashed out by Trix.

Torvin's escape capsule must have reached there with a supply of the paint filched from the podule and stashed on board. Why? Was Torvin in cahoots with Klimt?

Then the penny dropped. As if from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Right on to his head.

He groaned.

'Are you all right?' asked Halcyon, worriedly. 'What's wrong?'

'Be right with you,' said the Doctor, trying to get the sound up. Torvin or rather, Klimt was speaking.

' I imagined you were dead. . . I imagined you were dead. . . ' '

'A healthy imagination is a good thing,' Trix told him. 'Though imagining you were Torvin was possibly a fantasy too far. . . I suppose you needed a new ident.i.ty after you'd killed yourself off at the Inst.i.tute.'

Klimt didn't answer. Just trained a steady, catlike stare on her.

'See, I reckon Falsh moved before you were ready. Tinya gave you warning, sure, but you wanted to give your slugs the final test, didn't you? On the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who'd helped make them for you.'

Tinya looked at him doubtfully.

'Oh, didn't you know that, Tinya? You want to watch yourself. I've seen what he does to the people who work for him.'

'We're partners,' she said coolly.

Klimt said nothing, just went on staring.

'Once you'd packed up and destroyed all evidence there,' said Trix, 'you went off to Thebe, didn't you, Klimt? I reckon you wanted to destroy any evidence of your little ejector-seat scam. You knew that fishy thing would come sniffing around, or that Falsh would maybe send some investigators. . . '

'OK.' Falsh got up slowly. 'Give me that gun, Trix. I'll I'll take things from here.' take things from here.'

'Don't interrupt me when I'm monologuing, Falsh,' Trix chided, training the gun on him. 'Where was I? Right. So, Klimt, you're on Thebe ready to trash any evidence remaining, but Mr Fish is already there, questioning the crew.

You hide out but then you see another ship land, and you think, "Uh-oh!"

So you strip off one of the poor sods fish-face has already slaughtered and, presto! You're a chief supervisor. No awkward questions.' She tutted. 'Just 201 a shame you're not in time to stop the Doctor finding the evidence that you you couldn't.' couldn't.'

'I'd barely started looking,' Klimt spat. Then he seemed to realise he was rising to the bait and fell silent again.

'You're looking rough, Klimt. You want to go steady on those pills. Can't be good for you.' She smiled around at her little audience. 'So, anyway, how did I do? Are you ready for me to start talking about the secret-weapon-slug now?'

Klimt turned to Tinya. Tinya stared at Klimt. Falsh, left out of the equation, stared at each of them in turn.

Trix was enjoying this. 'I could start by telling you how those slithering gits inflame aggression in all animal life oh, nice touch, by the way, Tinya, bringing in those zoo beasts, must have spiced up your demonstration a treat.

Or I could tell you how only the treated Halcytone paint can disarm them. . . ' I could tell you how only the treated Halcytone paint can disarm them. . . '

She crossed to the white tray on its dais in the centre of the room, while keeping them covered with the gun. 'Or better yet, I could show you.'

She shoved the tray on to the floor. The two halves of the slug rolled out wriggling, suffused with soothing colour.

'Here's one I splashed earlier while you were ga.s.sing on.'

'You little idiot,' Klimt near-enough screamed. 'You've ruined it!'

We were right, right, Doctor Doctor! thought Trix. If she could only hold the fort till he arrived. 'Sorry, Klimt, was that slug a favourite of yours? Did it have a name?'

Klimt's eyes were slits. 'How do you know so much about my business?'

'Perhaps someone told me.'

'It wasn't me!' hissed Tinya, as both Falsh and Klimt stared at her. 'She's not human she's alien. Some kind of agent. I don't know who she's working for but she has access to technology you won't believe.'

'Sounds to me like she's making excuses, Klimt,' stirred Trix, 'excuses for letting her big mouth slip.'

'They have some kind of travel device, technology beyond anything I've seen! I heard Halcyon and Sook talking about it in the stadium!' Tinya went on desperately. Did she know how daft she sounded? 'I saw security footage, the thing just appeared out of the air.' She looked at Falsh as if appealing for him to back her up. 'In one of the loading bays! I found out, that's how they got on board!'

'Sure it is,' said Trix. 'A magic travel box. Funny how you didn't tell them about this sooner, Tinya.'

'What does any of this matter, anyway?' Tinya said. 'She's ruined everything. The bidders are due to. . . '

She fell silent, presumably under a withering stare from Klimt.

202.

'Bidders?' Trix felt a twinge of unease but decided she could brazen it out.

'Oh, well, pardon me,' she said, crossing back round to cover them, 'I'm sure I didn't mean to b.u.g.g.e.r things '

A ma.s.sive dark shape snapped into existence right in front of her, a barrel-chested monster with an oddly crystal-shaped head. She yelped and jerked back as it loomed over her.

In a second, Klimt had strode right through the shadow and twisted the gun from her grip. He grabbed her by the throat and pinned her back against the wall, while pointing the gun back at Falsh.

'. . . up,' Trix concluded lamely.

'The effect is occurring.' The looming shadow's booming voice was as big as the room. 'Outbreaks of aggression are reported on Callisto.'

'What are these creatures?' came another voice, husky and sinister. Trix saw two more shadows blink into existence behind the first, one with seaweed-like dreadlocks hanging down from its shambling form, the other, squat and domeheaded.

'Evidence,' said Klimt thickly, the froth at the sides of his mouth bubbling.

'Clinical trials. The opportunity for each of you to study the effect of the creatures on the human brain.' He dragged Trix by the throat and pushed her over to join Falsh. 'It seemed a fitting fate for him since he wanted the weapon so badly. But I don't see why you shouldn't share in it.'

'You saw the state of your slug,' she croaked. 'It's not going to be winding anyone up in a hurry.'

'It makes little difference. The ones on Leda will be weaving their magic.

And Pentagon Central must be holding several samples on these premises.' He gave her that chilling smile. 'I wonder when you'll feel them bite?'

Fitz was still staggering after the cleaning drone, Sook floppy and lifeless in his arms. He'd told it that the hangar was in dire need of a hosing down, and it had buzzed into enthusiastic action. A bit too enthusiastic he had to keep yelling at it to slow down as it led him through the gloomy access tunnels.

Finally they came to a metal door thick with grease. Gritting his teeth with effort for a final push, he forced himself towards it.

The doors sucked open. 'Yes!' Fitz shouted, recognising a s.n.a.t.c.h of the gleaming white of the hangar. They were going to make it!

The wristpad chimed, made him jump. 'Mildrid?'

'No, it's Gaws.' Peering over Sook's bloodstained thigh, Fitz could see his blurry image in the wristpad bubble. He was wide-eyed, with an ugly gash in his forehead. 'Kreiner, are you there yet? We're still waiting!' he shouted.

'People are going crazy out here!'

'Crazy?' Fitz frowned. 'How do you mean?'

203.

'Trying to kill us!' he gasped.

'All right, hold your horses for G.o.d's sake.' He turned to the boxy robot beside him. 'Drone,' he said, 'can you open doors?'

The drone was cagey. 'Do you have a door that needs cleaning?'

'Scrub Door Twelve, inside and out,' he said. 'Fast.'

Fitz staggered on while the drone swept off to what turned out to be one of the nearest doors.

He'd just reached the foot of the Rapier Rapier's ramp when the access door snapped open.

And Gaws led in a pack of bloodied, wild-eyed maniacs through the door.

He saw Fitz and bared his teeth like a mangy, rangy rottweiler.

'Drone!' Fitz shouted. 'Clean the floors over here! Full power! Maximum wash! Soap and detergent and everything!'

Calmly the drone unleashed its aquatic a.r.s.enal and how! Happily it wasn't programmed not to splash wandering personnel. Foam and suds shot out under tremendous pressure, turning the floor slick and slippery. The crowd began losing their balance, falling into each other and then the warm water flooded out with fire-quenching force. Cries and gargles echoed around the hangar as the high-powered blasts knocked those maniacs still standing clean off their feet.

Fitz staggered up the ramp and laid Sook carefully beside the door. Then he pressed his pa.s.scard against the entry port. The door slid open. He sank to his knees. 'Made it,' he almost sobbed.

'Sook! Kreiner!' Fitz turned back around to see Mildrid, her nose bleeding and face badly bruised, swaying exhaustedly from behind the drone. 'Don't leave me! Please! Gaws has gone mad,' she wailed over the shouts and the torrent. 'He's joined a mob! They attacked me!'

Fitz looked back at her. 'I can't get to you!' he shouted.

' Look out! Look out! ' '

Fitz started at Mildrid's cry and saw that, covered in suds and drenched right through, Gaws was dragging himself up the ramp. And he had had gone mad. It was there in his eyes or rather, nothing was. His gaze was blank and unseeing. But he went on dragging himself right up the ramp towards them. gone mad. It was there in his eyes or rather, nothing was. His gaze was blank and unseeing. But he went on dragging himself right up the ramp towards them.

Fitz lashed out with his foot, hoping to kick him off. But Gaws was too fast, grabbed hold of the flailing ankle and pulled. His grip was like handcuffs two sizes too small. Bellowing with fear and frustration, Fitz found himself dragged down the ramp towards the homicidal bathing party.

204.

Chapter Twenty-six.

Roddle stood halfway down the alley, his back pressed up against a wall, praying he wouldn't be found. Above the skyline, Jupiter's Great Red Spot glared down at him like an evil eye.

The noise in the main street was terrifying baying, screaming, gla.s.s breaking. Roddle's clothes were soaked through with sweat. He'd been running for what felt like hours, trying to find his way back to his flyer. But his hopes that it might be where he left it or even in one piece were faint and forlorn.

As an artist he tried to avoid bland cliches but here he was trapped in a nightmare. A ma.s.sive mob was tearing through Callisto City. People were either screaming, or running as madly as he'd been, or else they were trying to kill each other. Old men, pregnant women, trendy teens. . . . They were attacking their friends to get to strangers. There was no reasoning with these people, no helping them. No stopping them. And yet there was such a desperate look in their eyes, even as they set about each other: uncomprehending, pained. . .

Roddle's mind kept clouding. He felt an insistent urge to run out into plain view and challenge them, to attack them before they could start on him. It would be madness, suicide.