Doctor Who_ Toy Soldiers Part 25

'And the enemy are - ?' The comedian's manner had gone: the Doctor was staring at the Recruiter, his eyes hard.

'THE CERACAI.'

'The Ceracai? The Ceracai Ceracai? But they - ' The Doctor frowned. 'They live half a galaxy away.' The comedian's manner had gone: he was staring at the Recruiter, his eyes hard. 'And they haven't fought a serious war for centuries.'

'MY INSTRUCTIONS ARE THAT THEY MUST BE DESTROYED.'

'I'm afraid your instructions are way past their use-by date.' The Doctor paused, pulled at the lapels of his jacket.

'You know, I think it's time that you forgot your duty and went into retirement. I know of a culture where machines are accepted on equal terms with other beings; you could go there.'

'MY INSTRUCTIONS ARE TO LEARN HOW TO DESTROY THE CERACAI AND TO DESTROY THEM. I HAVEN'T ANY CHOICE.'

'No, you wouldn't have, I suppose,' said the Doctor. He paused, gazed around him, winked at Manda. 'But if you have a learning algorithm built in, I should be able to reprogram you. I could give you a choice: 'ANY ATTEMPT TO INTERFERE WITH MY CORE PROGRAMMING WILL CAUSE ME TO DESTROY YOU.'

Manda felt a cold shiver at this casual announcement, but the Doctor didn't seem to be worried. He merely said, 'That's a pity. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do for you, then.'

'THERE IS. I WANT YOUR TECHNICAL a.s.sISTANCE.'

'But in doing what, exactly?'

'I NEED YOU TO a.s.sIST THE OTHER ALIENS HERE IN DEVELOPING THE NECESSARY TECHNOLOGY TO.

LET ME GET AWAY FROM THIS PLANET AND DEFEAT.

THE CERACAI.'

'I'm surprised you can't do that of your own accord.'

'I DON'T HAVE THE NECESSARY KNOWLEDGE ANY MORE. I'VE ATTEMPTED TO GENERATE IT IN THE MINDS OF THE LOCAL POPULATION, BUT MY.

STRATEGY HASN'T BEEN SUCCESSFUL.'

'Your strategy?'

'I USED WHAT RESOURCES I HAD TO SUPPORT A WAR THEY WERE FIGHTING. A WAR IS THE MOST EFFECTIVE METHOD OF ENSURING RAPID.

TECHNOLOGICAL ADVANCE.'

'Is it?' The Doctor suddenly jumped into the air, pointed his umbrella at the Recruiter as if it were a weapon. His face was twisted into a mask of anger, his lips drawn back, his teeth bared. For a moment, Manda was more afraid of him than she was of the Recruiter. 'Is it now? How long has this been going on? Have you any idea how many sentient beings have died because of this war you've promoted?

Technical advance, indeed! The notion's incredible - ludicrous!'

'I'LL ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS,' said the Recruiter, 'THE WAR'S BEEN GOING ON FOR FOURTEEN HUNDRED AND FIVE YEARS LOCAL, AND THE NUMBER.

OF SENTIENT BEINGS KILLED IS TWO BILLION, EIGHT.

HUNDRED AND FORTY SIX MILLION, FOURTEEN.

THOUSAND AND THIRTY-TWO.'

'And the "technical advance"?' spat the Doctor.

'IT HASN'T YET BEEN ACHIEVED.'

'I rest my case. You'll get no help from me.' The Doctor whirled on his heel, began to walk out of the room. 'Come on, Manda.'

Manda noticed that Charles had his gun aimed at the Doctor. She stood, unable to move, staring at the gun, at the finger tightening on the trigger.

'Doctor!' she shouted. 'What about Charles? We can't just leave him!'

The little man stopped in the doorway, turned back to face her. 'Ah, yes, Charles,' he said. 'Don't shoot me yet, Lieutenant. I've something else to say to the Recruiter which it might want to hear.'

Manda watched Charles's finger slacken on the trigger, though he didn't lower the gun.

'I'M LISTENING,' boomed the voice of the Recruiter.

'This isn't a war you're in charge of. Real war is about suffering, about boredom. About waiting in the dark and the cold and the wet wondering if your friends have been killed.

Wondering if you'll be killed. It's about being afraid and confused and just trying to survive. But all you've got is an army of toy soldiers.' The Doctor gestured at Charles.

'They're sentient beings, but you've turned them into machines. They kill each other endlessly and don't even care why they're doing it. You've stifled every atom of individuality and creativity in them. How could they possibly come up with any "technical advances"? How can they possibly do anything at all, except kill each other? This war could go on for ever, and you'll never achieve anything.'

There was a long silence. Finally the Recruiter said, 'YOU'RE CORRECT. I'VE MADE A MISTAKE. THE WAR WILL NOW STOP.' A slight pause. 'IT'S EVEN MORE IMPORTANT NOW THAT I HAVE YOUR a.s.sISTANCE.'

'And if I help you?'

'I'LL FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS AND DESTROY THE CERACAI.'

'Then I won't help you.'

'IF YOU DON'T a.s.sIST ME LIEUTENANT SUTTON WILL KILL YOU.'

Roz was clinging on to the rim of the c.o.c.kpit, shouting. But although she was only three metres away, Chris could hear no more than s.n.a.t.c.hes of what she said over the roar of the engine and the buffeting of the slipstream. Frost was forming on the top of her flying helmet, and on the shoulders of her jacket.

'... down!' she yelled. 'Wings ... nice!'

'What's nice?' asked Chris in bewilderment. Roz's expression was grim, not the face of someone bringing good news of any kind.

'Ice!' bawled Roz. 'Wings!' She pointed at one of them.

'... gotta land!'

Chris looked at the wing, and saw at last what she meant. A thick coating of frost had formed on the wings and the struts between them. Small pieces flew off into the slipstream, but more was forming all the time. The weight would eventually drag the plane down: or maybe break the fragile wings away from the fuselage.

Either way, they had to get down, and quickly. Chris glanced at the altimeter: it showed 4500 metres. He looked over the side. He could see no trace of the other planes, but he knew they were probably there somewhere, waiting for just this opportunity.

He was about to look back, to tell Roz to strap herself in, when a pinpoint flicker of rainbow light caught his attention.

He frowned. Another enemy plane? But it had seemed to be on the ground.

Then he saw another flicker, and another, and then a whole galaxy of them, spread out across the city below. Thin clouds near the horizon lit up with the reflection of the light.

The sky gleamed blue-purple.

Then everything was dark again.

He looked at Roz. Her face in the moonlight seemed dark now, after the brilliant lightning.

'What was that?' he shouted. But she didn't reply, only shook her head slowly and sank from sight.

Then Chris noticed the pale glow of dawn in the eastern sky, and realized. It was six o'clock. The light had been the transmat operating, picking up its millions of targets.

The children of Europe were gone. They were too late to save anyone. Amalie had died for nothing. Perhaps the Doctor and Benny, too. It had all been for nothing.

Chris pushed forward on the stick, and watched the misty horizon rise over the whirling propeller. But as it rose, the plane tilted to one side. Chris pulled the stick over, and then back, but it didn't have much effect: the plane's nose continued to lower, until it was spiralling towards the ground, out of control.

Us too, thought Chris. The ice on the wings must have got too heavy. And: not without a fight.

Grimly, he began to struggle with the controls.

Manda watched as her brother walked forward and calmly put the gun against the back of the Doctor's neck. Suddenly she realized that she couldn't just watch any more. This wasn't a play, or a puppet show. She had to do something.

'Charles!' she called.

Charles didn't respond.

She took a step forward. 'You must know me! I'm Manda!

Your sister!'

'Sister?' echoed Charles faintly. He glanced at Manda, but there was no recognition in his eyes. 'What is - ?'

'Daddy died, you know,' said Manda quietly.

Charles frowned. 'Who's Daddy? What rank is he?'

Manda looked at the Doctor. 'He doesn't know, does he?'

The Doctor shook his head, apparently oblivious of the gun touching his neck. 'I'm afraid it will take more than words to make him remember, Manda.'

Manda advanced another step. She was less than an arm's length from her brother now.

'Charles,' she said. 'You can't just kill someone. It's wrong. You know that.'

Suddenly Charles took the gun away from the Doctor's neck. Manda felt a brief surge of relief, then saw the gun swing to cover her.

'Charles!' she shouted again.

The revolver spat, jerked in her brother's hand, and at the same moment something heavy hit her in the stomach.

She fell down on to the hard floor, heard the Doctor shouting, became aware that her stomach hurt hurt. Hurt incredibly, searingly, as if someone had torn it open - Then she saw the blood, the blood streaming out of her, soaking into her uniform and running across the floor. Her body began to shake.

'Oh no,' she said, aware of the breath rattling in her throat as she spoke. 'I'm going to die.' It seemed impossible, even as she spoke it. People her age didn't die. But the pain was so bad, so bad it was almost possible to believe that it might kill her but surely it couldn't, surely not, I must be going to live, I was always going to live before so why not now?

She saw the Doctor's face hanging in front of her, curiously grey and grainy, dimly felt a hand touch her cheek.

Then there was only rasping breath, the smooth, cold floor - - shaking, cold, Mummy, I'm so cold and it hurts - - pray for me -

Chapter 15.

There was a piece of gla.s.s.

A piece of blue-and-gold-coloured gla.s.s, knife-shaped, gleaming in the lamplight, gripped by a clawlike hand.

Benny decided she should be afraid of the gla.s.s. Afraid of the way it blurred and swam in her vision, of the sharp, curved edge of it.

But why?

Then the piece of gla.s.s was taken away, and she saw the hard, pale, chitinous face of the Q'ell officer.