Killing Ground Part 10

The rain beat down on the complex and its rhythmic clattering lulled Hegelia into a trance-like state. Time pa.s.sed, and the storm eased off until it was almost inaudible. The background noises of Population Control had lessened as its occupants became subdued in antic.i.p.ation of the visit, The Doctor's voice punctuated the eerie calm with increasingly frequent grunts of annoyance. And Hegelia surfaced from her reverie as a new sound insinuated itself upon her eardrums: a low-pitched, rumbling whine of starship engines.

The Doctor heard it too. He had ceased his vain endeavours and was craning his neck to look upwards. He needn't have bothered, Hegelia thought pragmatically. He could see nothing but the metal ceiling.

Apart from which, it was obvious to anyone what was happening beyond that barrier.

'Time's up,' announced the Doctor glumly.

The atmosphere in the control centre was equally tense. Patrol Two were the unlucky ones on duty; they had been performing their functions in heavy silence since Madrox had arrived and taken the Chair.

The Chair was situated in the centre of the circular room, the grey consoles arranged about it in a spiral pattern. It faced a mushroom-shaped-communications device, tuned to receive interplanetary transmissions. It had been three years since anyone had last had to use it; three years since Madrox had last sat here, skin itching as he sweated beneath the metal reinforcement of his uniform, waiting for the monitor in the mushroom's helmet to come to life.

This was the worst time of all, he thought. Arriving far earlier than necessary, so terrified was he of the penalties for tardiness. Sitting here, his power stripped from him, exposed as illusion. And waiting for his masters, his race's oppressors, praying that they wouldn't find fault with his service.

The screen was lit without fanfare and Madrox tightened his grip on the Chair's metal arms. As always, the sight of the Cyberman's silver face filled him with dread. In common with all its kind, its eyes were blank and its mouth a straight line, incapable of smile or frown. Its head was made oblong by the addition of blocks like earm.u.f.fs to each side.

From these, ridged pipes extended, turning upwards and inwards at right angles and meeting at the top of a bulge above the creature's forehead. Madrox's gaze was drawn by the hole in the middle of this, through which could be seen the circular ends of four tubes.

Conversing with a Cyberman necessarily entailed staring down the multiple barrels of a loaded gun.

'We are ready to land,' the Cyberman said without preamble, its machine voice almost bereft of tone or inflection. 'Is everything in order?'

'It is,' said Madrox.

'We have scanned your computer. The security camera on Circuit Three was rendered inoperational 17.4 minutes ago for a duration of 8.3 minutes.'

'I know. I sent a detail to attend to it. We think it was a simple mechanical failure.'

'It was sabotage.'

Madrox swallowed. The matter-of-fact report was more unsettling than any straightforward accusation would have been. 'I'll investigate,'

he promised, conscious that he had failed his masters once. How much would they tolerate before deciding to replace him?

'There has been no defiance of your authority?'

'No.' The Cyberman neither answered nor moved, and Madrox, feeling his face perspiring, decided that something closer to the truth would be safer. 'There were rumours of a rebellion, but I took a patrol out last night and dealt with the ringleaders.' If only today's patrols had been able to find Henneker, he thought. Still, what could one man do?

'Perhaps this sabotage was part of an attempt by the last few dissidents to attack the complex. If so, it didn't work.'

Madrox was aware that his voice was speeding up. Still, the Cyberman didn't comment. Feeling that it was somehow disappointed, he played his trump card earlier than he had intended. 'I've arrested your enemy as well. The Doctor. He and his companions are in custody as per instructions.' Nerves kept him talking. 'One companion was suitable for conversion, so I have placed him in a normal cell. The other was female and too old. She is being held with the Doctor.'

If he had been hoping for an expression of approval, he was disappointed. 'We will land,' said the Cyberman simply. The screen blinked off and Madrox sat back with a heartfelt sigh of relief.

The building was completely silent now, all ears turned outwards to the sound of reverse thrusters, growing in volume as the ship came steadily closer.

Madrox knew that he had surmounted but the first of many hurdles.

The Cybermen were here now, and his ordeal - like that of the people he usually ruled - was just beginning.

6.

Total Control

olarr heard the engines, but didn't dare remove his gaze from the J flickering display of the old tech-unit. The Overseer, Taggart, had hurriedly told him how to use it before thrusting a thick towel into his hands, leaping up to slash at the wiring of a swivelling camera, pushing Jolarr out into the open and hurrying back into the complex with all speed. He had temporarily deactivated some of the remote-controlled defences - enough to provide a safe route which would not take the escapee within sight of manned guardposts - but Jolarr would still need the unit to circ.u.mvent others. He didn't trust the primitive device, and his slow journey across the grounds had been fraught with the worry that he would step on a mine at any moment.

He wished Hegelia could have been with him. He had been dismayed to find that she was not in her cell, but he'd had no choice but to accept Taggart's word that he would send her to join him as soon as possible.

He didn't believe it.

The tech-unit told Jolarr that a direct route to the fence was now clear. He sprinted the last few steps and turned back, anxious to see what was behind him. The rain had slowed to an unpleasant drizzle, but the sky was grey and light was spa.r.s.e. At first, he couldn't see anything abnormal. But then his gaze turned upwards and, hanging against the clouds, he saw the ship. And recognized it, from his research. It belonged to the Cybermen.

Jolarr scrambled up the fence, driven on by the illogical idea that the arriving aliens could see him. In his haste, he cut his hand on the barbed wire strung across the top of the barrier. He unfolded Taggart's towel and tossed it over the uppermost strand. It protected him from further harm as he pressed the wire down and awkwardly straddled it.

The great silver vessel was approaching on a vertical descent. It was shaped approximately like an old Earth rocket. A pair of angled fins protruded from a bulky rear compartment, whilst a sleeker forward section (currently at the top) culminated in a slightly bulbous c.o.c.kpit housing. As Jolarr watched, the ship came in to land at the centre of Population Control, settling into and neatly interlocking with the building's circular indenture. Its drive was disengaged and Jolarr was heavily conscious of the ensuing silence.

Overtaken by fear, he hauled himself over the wire, clung to the fence for a moment and then leapt the ten feet or so to the ground, pushing himself forward so as to clear the barbed wire loops beneath him. He landed and rolled into the mud, then picked himself up and ran. He had been told to follow the fence until he reached the rebels'

bunker (Taggart had described its location as best he could), but for now, he just wanted to get as far from the Cybermen as possible.

Hegelia had lied. At best, the ArcHivist had cruelly misled him.

Thanks to her, Jolarr had thought himself safe, believing that the planet's conquerors would not be present during their mission. His comforting illusions had been shattered.

The Cybermen were here. And n.o.body on Agora was safe any more.

Madrox stood to attention and saluted as five Cybermen, marched into the control centre. The gesture was neither necessary nor appreciated, but he felt that a display of respect could only help his cause.

The creatures towered at least a foot above him. They were swathed in a plastic-metal compound which, Madrox knew, was a lot tougher than its flexibility made it seem. Hydraulic muscles were serviced by piping which lined their arms and legs, drawing fluid from a tank hidden beneath their armour. Attached to the chest of each was a control unit, with which they could activate various functions manually: their in-built weapons, for example. The foremost of the giants was marked out as their Leader by the black coloration of the blocks and pipes which surrounded its face, as well as by the thin, cylindrical gun which it wielded. It halted before Madrox and asked: 'Have you obeyed all orders pertaining to the Doctor?'

'We have.'

It dismissed its entourage with a jerk of the hand. Three Cybermen turned and left in silence. The fourth crossed the room by the Cyberleader's side, nervous Overseers backing out of the path of the imposing pair. The Cyberman seated itself, a little stiffly, before one of the consoles, the Leader standing at its shoulder in a supervisory position. Madrox made himself shuffle closer. 'Is everything to your satisfaction?' he asked ingratiatingly. The Cyberleader didn't answer. It didn't need to. If it found fault, Madrox would hear about it instantly.

Heavy, prosthetic fingers stabbed b.u.t.tons and pushed levers. Strings of numbers scrolled across a computer screen, too fast for him to read.

Then, finally, the Cyberman reported: 'The chamber is operational.'

'Excellent!'

'The three units are in position.'

To Madrox's relief, things seemed to be going well. Even so, he couldn't help but shiver as the Cyberleader sealed the fates of five hundred of his own kind with its usual chilling p.r.o.nouncement.

'The conversion process will begin immediately.'

'They're here, aren't they?' said the boy on the far side of the wall. His voice was dead, resigned to his fate.

'I'm afraid so,' the Doctor called back to him. 'I'm sorry.'

His regret was genuine, and Hegelia was beginning to think she had misjudged her cellmate. The Doctor's occasional clowning was a mask, concealing a very capable and compa.s.sionate being. She almost wished she could care as much, but her present position made it impossible.

She mustn't interfere. She felt inexplicably guilty about that.

She moved across to the wall and leant an ear against it. 'It is not like dying,' she said gently. The boy didn't answer.

The Doctor was still working on the circuits of his restraints. 'You don't know that,' he said pointedly, his voice low enough not to carry.

'You can't imagine what it would be like to die - or how it might feel to be converted into a Cyberman.'

'Indeed not.' Hegelia was pleased that he was showing signs of understanding. 'The mind is still a mystery to us. Do we, in having our emotions removed, retain the fundamental essence of who we are? Do We become different people, or would we merely be the same person advanced to a new level of being? How would we feel?'

'Either way,' said the Doctor, 'we'd become heartless destroyers with no respect for life. Inhuman abominations, dedicated only to the continuance of our own worthless kind!'

Hegelia scowled. She had been mistaken. He didn't understand at all.

'How can you not find the idea of the Cybermen alluring?' she said. 'Do you not see the elegance, the beauty, in their design?'

Whether he saw it or not, she was never to learn. With a sudden exclamation of 'I've done it!' and a profoundly surprised expression, the Doctor pulled his head free from the stocks and fell back gratefully. His manacles clicked open and he rubbed his hands through his hair, in relief. He ma.s.saged his wrists and ankles for a few seconds, then sprang to his feet as if his circulation had never been hampered, and dashed across to the cell door.

'Congratulations,' Hegelia said drily. 'Now what do you intend to do?'

'Escape,' he answered. He made a cursory inspection of the lock, then muttered, 'As I thought,' hurried back to the restraints and set to work on their innards with the hairpin again. 'It's a crude magnetic system.' Hegelia didn't know if he was addressing her or if he just enjoyed the sound of his own voice. 'At the root of it is a logic problem in binary code, to which the key would provide, if you like, the solution, not through its shape but through a precise magnetic coding.' He straightened up and crossed the room again, gingerly holding the pin by one end. He rammed it hard into the keyhole and watched with satisfaction as the door slid open. ' Voila Voila! Witness a typical failing of the Cybermen: refusing to believe that people with emotions can think as logically as they.' He paused on the threshold and looked at Hegelia. He seemed hopeful, but also a little sad. 'Are you coming?' Witness a typical failing of the Cybermen: refusing to believe that people with emotions can think as logically as they.' He paused on the threshold and looked at Hegelia. He seemed hopeful, but also a little sad. 'Are you coming?'

She shook her head. The Doctor accepted her decision, although he obviously didn't approve. He left without another word, leaving the door conspicuously open.

Maybe, Hegelia thought, he had deduced more than she gave him credit for.

The Doctor stopped in the corridor, trying to get his bearings and alert for any signs of movement. Normally, he would have trusted to luck and to his (sometimes) unerring sense of direction and made a run for it. But after three weeks as a prisoner, he was in no mood to risk his newfound freedom so recklessly.

His cell was situated on one corner of a four-way junction. Stretching each way on the same block were two rows of simple metal doors, all locked and operated by card readers. Evidently, behind these dwelt Madrox's offerings to the Cybermen. The Doctor felt a black tide of disgust lapping at the edges of his stomach.

He followed the corridor around until he reached the cell behind his own. He delved into his pocket and produced a handful of tangled wires which he had ripped from his shackles. It would be the work of moments to short-circuit the electronic lock. As he set about his task, he tried not to think about the many other people for whom he wouldn't have time to do this. He was jeopardizing himself by even freeing one of them. Was a life any more important just because he had spoken to its owner? Because he would be crushed if the boy was to die? He should leave, instead of wasting time fighting to keep one more face out of his gallery of guilt. But no. That, he told himself, was the logic of the Cybermen. His feelings were part of what made him better than they were.

With a click, the locking bar disengaged. The Doctor pushed the door open and stepped into the tiny cubicle beyond. It was empty, and the yawning gap in the back wall told him why. He emerged into another pa.s.sageway. It extended a short way to his right and much further to his left, before making a right-angled turn in each direction.

The opposite, inner wall was a convex curve, which presumably met itself on the far side. A circle inside a square, connecting every cell on this level. Certainly, there were a number of access points along this length, all similar to the doorway in which he stood.

As the Doctor thought about his next move, six men appeared at the right-hand corner. They were silent and their heads were bowed as they shuffled towards him. They weren't moving by choice. The Doctor caught a glimpse of reflective silver as he ducked back into the cell and flattened himself against the wall. When he judged that the group had pa.s.sed, he peered into the pa.s.sageway and saw the back of a Cyberman, driving the despondent Agorans before it. Its design was familiar: he had encountered representatives of this particular offshoot in his fourth incarnation, on Nerva Beacon. He had defeated them only with luck and with the help of the Vogans. He certainly wasn't prepared to take them on with neither weapons nor a.s.sistance.

He waited until the monster had disappeared around the far corner, then he hurried after it as stealthily as he could manage on the metal surface. He needed to learn more without being detected. He turned the corner to find that the Cyberman and its prisoners were no longer in sight. The cells backing onto this corridor had not yet been opened.

Presumably, the conversion candidates were being collected a few at a time, to be taken... where?

The answer to that was obvious. A single arch punctured the right-hand, curved wall. A white light spilled from it, dispelling the gloom in an oblong pool. The Doctor sidled closer and listened for activity. He heard only the low-level rumbling of machines a short distance away.

The Cyberman could be on the far side of the room by now, its back to him. Or it could be waiting behind the doorway.

He ventured a quick glance, then a longer one as he saw that it was safe. He stepped out onto a narrow balcony, through which a ladder descended. He immediately realized that he was on the Cybermen's ship, and in some sort of conversion chamber. He could see another two balconies above him and two below, presumably venting onto bas.e.m.e.nt levels. Five floors, one hundred cells on each. Five hundred Agorans to be herded to unenviable fates.

The railed balconies circled the room and were lined by gla.s.s-fronted compartments, each large enough to hold an upright human body. The Cyberman was on the same level as the Doctor, manhandling its last acquisition into one of these. Watching it warily, he lowered himself to the next balcony, where it couldn't see him. Here, he took the opportunity for a closer look at one of the compartments, scowling at the machinery which was visible through its transparent door.

Another, wider, ladder in the room's centre led up to the c.o.c.kpit of the ship. If he could reach that, he could sabotage or even commandeer it. First, he had to cross the base of the chamber.

The Doctor was halfway down the final ladder when he saw it.

Another Cyberman, all but concealed by the consoles from which the conversion process would be controlled. He froze, one foot in the air, and began to reverse the direction of his climb. But it had seen him.

'Stop!'