Killing Ground Part 5

For the next hour, Taggart performed his duties unthinkingly, his worries gnawing at his nerves. He wished he could get out to talk to Henneker, to warn him of what was to come. But he was rostered inside Population Control all day and he couldn't leave without Madrox noticing. There was only one thing he could try: a desperate gamble, for which he had spent three weeks unable to gather the courage.

It was pure luck that, today, it was his turn to water the special prisoner.

The robots were after him. Grant ran in blind panic across the battlefield. He ignored the explosions of mortar fire, the smoke and the sounds drifting closer. He stumbled, roots pulling at his ankles, and sprawled face-first, hands fighting for purchase on the soggy ground.

He levered himself upright, coughing up mud, and staggered on. His neck hairs bristled and he knew they were closing in. He made the mistake of looking back. And then he was down again, encircled by wire; a fence he had not seen. His skin was lacerated, blood seeping down his forehead, and he gave up the struggle as he accepted that, not only was he entangled, but his pursuers had caught him.

They gathered in a half circle, leering down with ghoulish, too-human expressions. He recognized the advertising drones which peddled burgers in Newer York, and Bloodsoak Bunny, the manic star of a TV show which had been reprogrammed to kill him. He couldn't make out the details of the others. They were silver and humanoid, but their faces were obscured as if by drops of mercury on his gla.s.ses.

Another figure pushed through the crowd. Grant saw the gentle features of its heart-shaped face and smelt the lilac fragrance of its perfume. The robots cowered from this powerful, human woman as she reached out to protect the suddenly infant Grant from the terrors of the world. Grant let her take him and hoist him to her breast. Then the fleshy veneer fell away and he glimpsed metal behind her peeling skin as her grip tightened around his arms and she began to squeeze the life from him.

He woke in a sweat, his heart attempting to leap from his chest. He flinched from the feel of hands on his arms and focused his vision on Henneker, who was kneeling beside him and shaking him awake.

'Come on, Grant, we need you!'

Max was standing behind the rebel leader, arms folded in severe disapproval. Another man lurked by the ladder: a short, nervous-looking character who Grant recognized as a sympathizer to the cause.

'What's going on?' he asked blearily.

'Aliens,' Henneker whispered. 'Two more, in the colony. We have to get to them before the Overseers do.'

The Doctor beamed as Taggart peered through the viewing hatch. He fumbled with the keys and dropped them twice before opening the door.

'More water already?' The prisoner's cracked voice held a tired irony.

'Your hospitality spoils me.' Taggart gave him an embarra.s.sed smile and raised the tin jug to the Doctor's lips. He sipped from it gratefully.

'I expect you're worried I might slim down until I can slip out of my shackles?'

Taggart merely grunted. Communication was forbidden. What if he was caught? He got up and walked towards the door. His courage had failed him again.

'Aren't you going to talk?' the Doctor called. Taggart paused on the threshold. He wanted to, badly.

'I'm the Doctor.'

'I know. Ben Taggart.' He glanced into the corridor. It was empty.

'h.e.l.lo, Ben Taggart.' In a conspiratorial tone, the Doctor added, 'There won't be a patrol for another six minutes. I've been timing them.

They're very accurate.'

Taggart knew that too, but it helped to hear it said. With sudden decisiveness, he crossed the cell, not giving himself time for second thoughts. He knelt by the Doctor's side and held the jug so it looked as if he might only be performing his duty. 'I need help.'

'You're not the only one.'

'You're supposed to be an enemy of the Cybermen, aren't you?' He tried not to let his voice betray how unlikely that seemed. He failed.

The Doctor noticed.

'I have defeated them on several occasions,' he said pompously.

'How do you do it?'

'They have certain weaknesses. Their logical minds can lead them to adopt a blinkered view. They aren't as adaptive to the unexpected as organic beings, nor do they appreciate the value of intuition.'

'Oh. Nothing more... useful?'

The Doctor rolled his eyes before answering with a measure of contempt. 'They don't like gold.'

'But we don't have any. It doesn't occur naturally on Agora, and everything our ancestors brought from Earth went off in the colony ship with a splinter faction.'

'To New Earth, yes. Well, radiation affects some types of Cyberman too.'

'So we could flood Population Control with it!'

The Doctor's look was withering. 'The average human doesn't exactly have a high radiation tolerance either. Besides, by this time, I'm sure the Cybermen have evolved their way out of that weakness.'

Taggart was deflated. 'No, on the Whole, I think your best bet is to set me free. Then I can improvise.'

Taggart blanched. 'I can't.' He indicated the stocks. 'Only the Cybermen know how to open those things.'

'I'm aware of that. But get me a screwdriver, a pin or anything. I can get into the mechanism and spring it.'

The thought of that brought Taggart's worries back. If the Doctor escaped and Madrox found out how, his life would be forfeit, no doubt about it. It was too big a risk for too small a gain. He had confirmed his suspicions that this man was helpless. Even free, he could do nothing to save Agora.

Still, he had summoned up the nerve to get this far. He couldn't leave without achieving something. 'What's happening out there?' he asked in desperate hope. The Doctor looked puzzled, so Taggart elucidated: 'Do people know about us? Are they sending help?' He was almost begging now. 'We sent a message to New Earth, thirteen years ago. They must have done something.'

The Doctor's expression was hopelessly pitying. He imparted the news as gently as he could. 'New Earth doesn't have that sort of technology. They can't compete against a Cyber army. They probably sent a message to Old Earth, but... well, humans aren't well known for stepping in to end such conflicts on their own planet. I don't think Earth governments would be interested in a second-hand report about a far-flung colony that hasn't made contact since it was established.

And, even with the best of intentions, they've had their own problems.

It's been a hard time for Earth since 2157.'

'War?' asked Taggart disbelievingly.

'Of sorts. They won, don't worry, but they're busy rebuilding.'

Taggart's despair was total. His mind fixated on the stark, cruel fact that there was no help on its way. Of course, he had known that intellectually for years. He had known how futile it was to cling to hopes. But it still hurt to have it so categorically confirmed.

'Set me free,' the Doctor urged. 'I can get you out of this.'

Taggart didn't believe him, and the entreaty served only to snap his dismal thoughts back to reality. With renewed awareness of his tenuous position came a strong return of his fear of discovery. He had lost track of time, but the patrol must be due soon - and he would have to report to Madrox for night duty.

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled as he jumped to his feet. The Doctor looked astonished that he had chosen to abandon him. He shouted his name as he hurried away, but Taggart hardened his resolve against the calls. He slammed the cell door shut, blotting out the prisoner's expression of accusatory disappointment.

'Cowards die many times before their deaths, Ben Taggart!' the Doctor bellowed after him. Taggart knew the Shakespearian quote well; it had occurred to him before.

But things were hopeless. He could do nothing.

By the time Hegelia and Jolarr returned to the marketplace, the traders'

wares were being packed away, the stalls disa.s.sembled. An air of doom prevailed and people were vanishing from the streets with haste. 'It seems,' said Hegelia, 'that a curfew is in operation.'

'What should we do then?' asked Jolarr, careful not to sound frightened. 'We can't stay out here all night.'

'I am sure that will not be necessary.'

Jolarr wished he could share her confidence. At least, he reminded himself, the Cybermen were off-planet. For a few seconds, when Hegelia had told him the year, he had experienced a nauseous terror, expecting synthetic hands to erupt from the ground and seize him. The ArcHivist had dispelled that notion. She knew more about events here than she had admitted to the Custodians. The decaying journals of an Agoran native had enabled her to date the Cybermen's occupation precisely and had established that they visited only once every three years. At the moment, it was small comfort.

'What are you going to do?' he asked. 'Find someone to interview?'

'If you wish,' said Hegelia, but she made no move to act on the suggestion. Jolarr wondered if she was waiting for him to take the initiative. But before he could do any such thing, he heard footsteps; not the timid scamperings of the peasants, but rather the heavy, accordant tramp of military men.

Without thinking, he took Hegelia's shoulder and propelled her into the shadow of a nearby hut, his fear of such improper action outweighed by that of likely capture. For a moment, he squirmed beneath her disapproving glare. Then five men marched into view.

They halted and their leader spoke with the people outside - the sort of speaking which requires a gun.

'He is asking for information,' Hegelia observed.

'About us?'

'I dare say it is possible.'

Jolarr quelled a groan and backed around the side of the building. He was dismayed to see that Hegelia remained at its corner. He wanted to drag her away, to berate her for imperilling their lives. He couldn't. She was an ArcHivist - and not just any one.

To Jolarr's relief, she eventually joined him. Her expression was thoughtful as she operated her recorder and dictated in a voice which was dangerously loud. 'As I predicted, the Cybermen have placed human agents in charge of enforcement. Their uniforms differ markedly from the normal garb of the Agorans and I would postulate that these have been provided for them. Although I have observed them only from a distance, they seem to incorporate flexible armour.

Machinery is contained within the chest area, perhaps something similar to the Cybermen's own units. Their guns -'

She was interrupted by a hissing sound which made Jolarr jump. He cast about for its source, then realized that the noise had been made by human vocal chords. An old woman, grey-haired and leathern-skinned, had pushed open the shutters of a window above them. She was leaning out and waving to attract their attention.

'You'd better get off the streets,' she called in a low voice. 'Go round the back and I'll let you in.'

Jolarr looked to Hegelia and thankfully welcomed her a.s.senting nod.

When Madrox was convinced that there was nothing to learn from the traders, Patrol Four moved on. The red sun was sinking; long shadows presaged the onset of curfew and the streets were deserted in antic.i.p.ation. Taggart marched behind Madrox and beside his Patrol Leader, hiding the misery which weighed down his thoughts. He had revealed as little as he could. The names he had given were of people who could only be peripherally involved, if at all. They had been leading lights in the old rebellion, but were too old and dispirited to take part in the new one. Madrox would see that. With luck, he would accept that Taggart knew nothing of recent developments.

The Chief Overseer hammered on a door. Taggart had expected him to simply barge in. A minute pa.s.sed, then a familiar face appeared: Warner, an old friend. His grey eyes registered shock at the delegation awaiting him. Taggart hoped he could forgive him for bringing it.

Madrox gripped the front of the old man's nightshirt and swung his slender body out into the street. He prodded him with his blaster so that Warner was forced to skip backwards. Then he screamed theatrically: 'I hear you are involved in a rebellion. You will tell me all you know or suffer the consequences!'

'I - I -' Warner stammered.

Madrox flicked the setting of his gun to 'kill'. 'I want names, locations and details of plans. If you do not give them to me, I will destroy you!'

Taggart heard the creak of window shutters. They had attracted attention. They were in the centre of the village, visible from many homes. He felt a stab of fury as he realized Madrox had planned it that way. He knew Warner couldn't have done what he accused him of, but a public show of force might make others talk.

Madrox turned his weapon and swung it, striking Warner across the head. He fell to his knees and buried his face as the Chief Overseer drove another blow into his neck. 'Tell me!' he shrilled. Then, in a calmer voice: 'I will give you five seconds. Five.'

Taggart flinched as Madrox reaimed his gun. 'Four.'

This was his fault. 'Three. Two.'

He couldn't do anything.

'One.'

'No!' Taggart stepped forward and knocked the gun's barrel aside.

For a second, Madrox didn't look up. Taggart's anger subsided and fear replaced it. But when Madrox faced him, it was with a slight smile.

'Overseer?'

'I was wrong,' he said, voice trembling. 'Warner's not involved. He can't be. Look at him.'

'I agree.' The smile broadened and the gun was brought to bear again. One squeeze of the trigger would end Warner's life; 'But you can tell me who is, can't you, Overseer? Truthfully, this time?'

Grant and Henneker watched, concealed beside a ramshackle hut.

There was nothing they could do against five Overseers, even if one might be willing to help. As Henneker had unhappily conceded, they had to bide their time.

Grant didn't want to be there at all. He had made that clear as he had followed Henneker into the open. 'What is the point of risking our lives like this?' he had asked.