Killing Ground Part 19

Grant and Max exchanged a concerned look, then Grant hurried out after his companion. 'Is it the Cybermen? Are they back?'

The Doctor didn't break his stride and Grant had difficulty keeping up as they mounted the stairs to the ground-floor level. 'They're back - and they're using what, from the radar image, seems to be a Selachian warcraft.'

'Is that bad?'

The Doctor rounded on him, bringing Grant to an abrupt halt. He reached out, seized the boy's arms, swung him round and gave him a hefty push towards the exit. 'Bad enough for you to die if you don't get out of this building now!' he thundered. Then he was off again, heading towards the control centre.

Grant stared after him for a second, before fear and common sense combined to send him racing for the door.

The screen burst into life and Jolarr, part of the curious arc which had formed behind Henneker, flinched at the image of a Cyberman's head and shoulders. It was identical to its fallen fellows; it could have been any of them, resurrected. Jolarr wondered how many of the creatures had been manufactured.

'Your people have committed crimes against the Cyber race,' it stated. 'If you surrender, the punishment will be minimal.'

'We defeated your first party,' said Henneker arrogantly, 'and we can defeat you too. Leave our world alone. If you dare to land, we will tear you apart!' His words were accompanied by a cheer from only some of his allies. Others joined in belatedly, half-heartedly. Jolarr shared their fear that this wasn't anywhere near over yet.

And then the alien known as the Doctor raced madcap into the room and skidded to a halt, his arms gesticulating wildly. 'It's a trick - get out of here!' Without waiting for a response, he hurled himself at a console and opened a channel to the public address system. 'Evacuate the building - I repeat, evacuate the building. Utmost priority. Your lives are in peril!'

The screen went blank. A few people made for the door, but Henneker confronted the Doctor instead, flanked by two of his newest cyborg recruits: 'You should be working in the surgery.'

The Doctor's temper flared. 'Instead of which, I'm trying to save your misbegotten life. There isn't time to discuss it, just get out!' Jolarr was convinced. He made for the door, as did the Doctor himself. But Henneker moved to bar the Time Lord's way and Jolarr hesitated, afraid for the life of the one man who could get him off this planet.

'Tell me what is happening first.'

The Doctor's eyes flashed with fury and he seemed about to argue.

Instead, he accepted that it would be more expeditious to explain. 'The Cybermen have captured a Selachian warcraft. The weaponry of those things is phenomenal. They can punch a plasma beam straight through this planet from orbit and atomize anyone who happens to be in its path. Now, they want revenge for the killing of eight of their kind. The dead Cyberleader's message to them was broadcast from this room.

They've just established, via the communications link, that it is still occupied by their enemies. What do you think their next move will logically be?'

Henneker held his stare for a moment longer, then turned and lurched towards the door, gesturing to his comrades to do the same.

'Thank you,' said the Doctor, with heavy irony. He ducked past them, reaching the exit first and propelling Jolarr - who still stood, slack-jawed - outside into the labyrinth of grey pa.s.sages.

They hurried on, joined by colonists and Bronze Knights alike as they neared the main entrance doors. The panicked exodus was in full flow. The Doctor kept a grip on Jolarr's upper arm, dragging him onward at breakneck speed. Then, suddenly, he stiffened, his eyes widened - and, a half-second later, Jolarr heard a terrible, screeching, crackling sound from above.

'Down!' the Doctor screamed, flinging himself to the floor, bearing Jolarr down beneath him. Reactions sharpened by fear, most people followed his lead. But Henneker and four Bronze Knights scrambled instead to create a living barrier between their vulnerable colleagues and the control centre. Jolarr had but a moment to feel the beginnings of a new respect for them; then he was deafened by a tremendous explosion and showered with metal shreds as a furious blast of hot smoke stabbed at his throat and eyes and, dulled by the ringing in his ears, he registered the shrieks of the would-be evacuees.

The dust hadn't even settled when the Doctor rose again. 'They've destroyed the control centre,' he reported, voice raised above the clamour. 'We have about a minute before their weapon recycles. We should get well clear of the building. We'll be safe outside.'

Jolarr picked himself up and made an attempt to brush debris from his tunic. It was pointless. The expensive garment, already damaged, was now ruined. Anyway, he had his own life to preserve. He wished he hadn't caught the Doctor's muttered addition to his rallying call: 'Well, relatively safe...'

The next few minutes were a smoke-filled blur. Jolarr, unable to see two metres ahead, kept close on the Doctor's confident heels. At least that multicoloured coat was hard to lose. He was coughing and spluttering by the time they emerged from the building and joined the crowd which congregated outside in the sharp, almost painful light of the morning. He looked up, expecting to be greeted by the sight of the Cybermen's warcraft. But it was invisible; too far to see, though near enough to inflict its devastating damage. The outer sh.e.l.l of Population Control, so far as Jolarr could make out, was intact - but thick smoke blossomed from its centre as if carrying a message of surrender to the heavens.

Jolarr was transfixed by the black plume. When he regained awareness of his surroundings, he realized that the Doctor had left his side. He was back at the doors, chivvying people away from the building and offering encouragement to those who ran, staggered or were carried out into the fresh air. Jolarr recognized few of the evacuees, although he did glimpse the surgeon, Maxine Carter, amongst them.

Last out were the Bronze Knights - more than a dozen of them, marching in formation and taking up positions in a line parallel to the complex's front wall, keeping their charges safely at bay. Surrounded but alone, Jolarr cast about for ArcHivist Hegelia, but couldn't see her.

He remembered, with a s.h.i.+ver, the finality of her parting words. 'I will not see the Arc Hives again.' Had she been expecting to die? If so, how could she have antic.i.p.ated this turn of events? Perhaps she was not inside, he thought. Perhaps she was elsewhere, pursuing other plans.

The crowd s.h.i.+fted and Jolarr welcomed the sight of Grant Markham, a familiar face amongst strangers. They exchanged no words as they drew together, only wan smiles - but both were pleased to have found some form of companions.h.i.+p amidst the terror and uncertainty. They stared up into the sky, awaiting the Cybermen's next move. Like everyone else, they reacted with the shock of the unexpected when it came.

There was no sense of the plasma beam approaching. Suddenly, it was just there; a streak of jet black from above, purple fire licking at its edges. Another hole was punched through the metal roof as if it were paper. The sound came next, that terrible high-pitched static noise, like someone screaming at the end of a faulty communications link. The beam moved sideways, slicing through Population Control with startling ease. Its rending cry mingled with the colonists' frantic shouts as they scrambled to get further from the targeted area. More smoke rose, and this time the damage was clearly visible from Jolarr's position.

One whole wing of the complex had been boiled away, reduced to pitiful sc.r.a.ps of steaming metal and a scattering of white ash. He couldn't help wondering, with a clinical distance that was almost repellent to him, what this astounding weapon might do to living tissue.

It occurred to him that he might soon find out.

The s.h.i.+p rocked for a second time. In the conversion chamber, Madrox clung to a console and fought to keep his balance despite his useless leg. Hegelia seemed less affected by the activity, and she managed to continue her work by his side. He found her calmness inexplicable.

They're going to destroy the whole complex!'

'Of course they are not,' she said disdainfully. 'It would be illogical for the Cybermen to sacrifice their own vessel, let alone this chamber with so much precious machinery and five hundred semi-converts to their race. The bombardment will end soon. They are simply demonstrating their strength.'

'So long as they still think it's worth bothering with Agora,' Madrox added. The frenetic motion ceased and he gingerly removed his weight from the ad hoc ad hoc support, expecting to be felled by a third blast. It didn't come. Not yet. support, expecting to be felled by a third blast. It didn't come. Not yet.

Hegelia stepped back with a broad but tight-lipped smile of triumph.

'They will,' she said confidently. 'Now, we can ensure it.'

The crowd outside Population Control had been in the process of dispersing. Many of its const.i.tuents were heading homeward, to be with loved ones or simply to cower in comforting, but ineffectual, hiding places. Instead, they found themselves frozen, incapable to a man of lifting their feet, their gazes riveted by the ghastly black object which had appeared overhead and which now dropped from the sky, as if uncontrolled, to halt with impossible abruptness only a few hundred metres above the crippled and smouldering building.

The Cybermen's s.h.i.+p - a Selachian warcraft, the Doctor had called it - was a hundred times larger than the eight-man shuttle which Jolarr had seen landing two nights and a day since. Its portal-less hull was a sleek, glossy black. Three gravity discs formed a centre line down its flat underside; these too were black and were therefore barely visible. The only colour on the monstrous vessel was provided by the gleaming white rows of serrated teeth which were painted across the snub nose, giving a psychologically advantageous impression of the s.h.i.+p as a ferocious creature ready to strike. As a possession of the emotionless Cyber race, it was quite incongruous - but it was here, and it had already proved itself effective.

Without changing orientation, the warcraft described a large, slow circle, as if uncertain of which way to go, of who to slaughter. The people beneath were likewise confused. As mobility was restored to each in turn, they began to separate and to run this way and that, some felling, some keeping their heads down and screaming as they fled for their lives, even though there could be no hope of escape. Jolarr and Grant remained still, side by side, in mute, numb acceptance of the fact that their lives were all hanging by threads, subject to the Cybermen's whims.

And then the warcraft chose its direction at last and the gravity discs propelled it silently, swiftly, like the carnivorous great fish it resembled, until it was hovering above one of the villages.

And silence fell upon the land.

When Jolarr thought about it later, he found it difficult to recall the incident with any degree of continuity, any sense of having actually witnessed the terrible scene. His memory consisted of a vague sense of the screeching static sound and a series of flash frames, frozen images of destruction. And the smell - the unbearable, pungent, cloying odour of burnt wood and burnt flesh, mingled with the heady scent of absolute fear. The black and purple beam struck out once, twice, three times, the s.p.a.ce between its onslaughts stretching into eternity. Each time, it swept through the village which Jolarr later learned was called Redemption, unyielding as it carved up and vaporized the settlement in a brutally efficient pattern, until there was nothing left but debris and the ashes of the lives and hopes it had stolen with its searing, concentrated radioactive flame.

There were people sobbing and howling at the unfairness of it all. It felt unreal. Jolarr kept expecting to wake up, to be spared from the merciless reality of a horror too great to be allowed to occur beyond nightmares. Beside him, Grant was shaking and staring and muttering something over and over, too softly to be heard. The Doctor moved to his side, appearing as if from nowhere, and gave his hand a comforting squeeze although his face was blank, wiped clean by the enormity of the crime just perpetrated.

And then the warcraft was moving back towards them and retaking its position above Population Control, as if readying itself to choose a new target and to strike again. 'Don't panic,' the Doctor shouted, his advice lost to the sound of colonists doing precisely that. 'They've made their point. They'll want to talk next.'

He was almost instantly proved right. An amplified Cyber voice boomed from the warcraft, cutting across and all but silencing the din of the onlookers. 'You have witnessed a demonstration of our unparalleled might. You will now surrender or we will proceed to destroy your colony. We require that you reactivate the conversion chamber in our scout s.h.i.+p, replacing any organics therein which have perished. Once conversion is complete, you will launch the s.h.i.+p - containing the five hundred new Cybermen, our enemy the Doctor, his two companions and his s.p.a.ce-time vessel - and program it to dock with this craft. You may then be spared. Your surrender will be unconditional. Its terms are not negotiable. You have two hours to communicate your acceptance.'

A cyclone of thoughts and emotions laid waste Grant's mind and heart.

He was staring at the warcraft, but without truly seeing, so that he was barely aware of its rapid ascent and its disappearance into the unfathomable sky. To all his hurts and misfortunes, he could now add his reluctant observation of a ma.s.sacre which would haunt him for the rest of his days. He had not known any of those caught up in the carnage, but in a sense that made things worse. As with the revelation and probable death of his father, his expectations of what he would feel wrestled with haphazard ideas of what he should should feel, leaving Grant with an empty stomach and a clamour of nagging, contradictory voices in his head which agreed only on one thing: that he fervently, desperately, wanted this to stop. He had had enough. feel, leaving Grant with an empty stomach and a clamour of nagging, contradictory voices in his head which agreed only on one thing: that he fervently, desperately, wanted this to stop. He had had enough.

And then there was that other voice: the new one, with its persuasive, insidious, unrelenting suggestion that there was but one way to leave all this behind... One way to cast off the pain, the emotional suffering, and to make One way to cast off the pain, the emotional suffering, and to make sure that it can never penetrate your skin again. sure that it can never penetrate your skin again.

It made sense, much as a part of Grant wished it didn't. Metal was, after all, far stronger than mere flesh. It would protect him from harm, from upset, from a cruel and uncaring life. It wouldn't be like dying, he told himself. He would just be able to see things more clearly, to be unhampered by emotions; to be capable of turning them off - not forgetting, but not allowing unpleasant memories to cause unnecessary, pointless pain. He flinched from the thought of being encased, of becoming what he had feared for so long - but, at the same time, he felt a strong attraction to the idea. The operation would take the fear from him, but the knowledge would remain to satiate his scientific and emotional thirst. Grant had always been fascinated by a technology denied to Agorans and developed only so far on New Earth. Why should a senseless phobia prevent him from experiencing its ultimate application? He could even serve his planet, doing some good instead of being always in the background, scared and useless.

Oh yes, it made sense. Far too much sense. And Grant knew, in the sudden unnerving certainty of that fateful second, that the biggest decision of his life had finally been made.

The instruments in the conversion chamber had been primed and the subjects thawed. Hegelia had waited a few minutes longer, until she could be sure that the Cybermen's attack had ceased. Then she had calmly, coolly, climbed up to the first balcony. Madrox watched, his throat dry, as she checked compartment after compartment, eventually finding one in which the occupant was quite definitely dead. Without a modic.u.m of respect, she hefted the body from its supported standing position and disengaged the wiring which attached it to the machinery.

Not without effort, she manoeuvred the cadaver from its niche until she could let it drop like a discarded doll. Then, with a care that was almost reverential, she eased her own body into the vacant berth.

Madrox tried not to watch as the ArcHivist slid thin needles into her own arms and legs. He concentrated instead upon the console: the s.h.i.+p's computer believed that over three hundred subjects could still be successfully converted, despite the inclement conditions suffered by their organic components. He would be the saviour of the Cyber race, and he was sure that he would be rewarded.

'I will leave the door of my compartment open for the present,'

Hegelia called. 'It will not affect the process until the cryogenic circuits engage. When that happens, I want you to take my micro-recorder from me, to be conveyed to my young a.s.sistant, Jolarr. You can then seal me in.' 'Okay,' said Madrox, wondering if he would be able to climb the ladder with his injured leg. It didn't matter. By that time, his survival would have been ensured. Hegelia's wishes were unimportant.

The ArcHivist had briefed him on the workings of the machinery.

She had programmed the console anyway, so that al Madrox had to do was operate half a dozen controls in a pre-arranged sequence. As he did so, he glanced up at her and felt a tremor of revulsion. She was donning a silver helmet, pressing it down to flatten her hair. Blood trickled onto her forehead as internal spikes sunk into her brain. She brought her right hand up to speak into a small black box, her voice betraying her controlled pain.

'I am making this record in the hope that it will find its way to the Arc Hives. My name is Hegelia, I have spent my life as an ArcHivist researching the Cyber race, and I am about to make my ultimate discovery. I am to undergo conversion, to become a Cyberman myself.

I do not know how much of the process I will be able to relate before my mind is changed or controlled, or before the pain becomes too much for me to bear. I hope that I can add something to your understanding. At least I know that I will be fulfilled.'

She paused then and Madrox twisted the last dial.

'I'm not going back in there!' the colonist protested, 'What if the Cybermen start blasting the place again?' He was bolstered by a murmur of a.s.sent, but no more. His supporters hovered, watching the dispute and tacitly praying for the success of their own interests. Grant threaded his way through them until he could see clearly; observing, a.s.similating and waiting.

'They won't,' said the creature which had once been Henneker. 'They have given us an ultimatum. It is not in their interests to cause more damage until we have answered.'

'And what's the answer going to be?' the man challenged, his red-bearded jaw set defiantly.

'We will not surrender.'

'You'd rather we all died?'

'It will not come to that. We are prepared to fight. Return to the complex. We will continue the Broinze Knight Project.'

Henneker turned away and the Knights proceeded to usher people into Population Control. Some went willingly, others less so but frightened to object. Grant saw that Jolarr was amongst the latter, casting a forlorn look back at his closest friend on this world. But, to the relief of those so inclined, their red-haired representative hadn't yet had his say. He interposed himself between Henneker and the building.

'What good are your Bronze Knights if the Cybermen can kill us without landing?'

'Good point,' interjected a female voice. It was Max. 'I think you should answer that, Henneker.'

'We will not be defeated.' Grant detected a trace of anger in Henneker's reply. 'Follow orders. Return to work. Be ready to fight.'

You haven't answered the question,' said Max pointedly.

Grant became aware of the Doctor's presence at his shoulder. 'Can't you do something?' he whispered to him.

'It's better that the Agorans see the truth of their so-called heroes without my involvement.'

Grant responded indignantly. 'And you think we should surrender too, do you? Well, why not? After all, you're free now - let's welcome the Cybermen back, slope off in the TARDIS and let them kill another few thousand people!'

The Doctor looked at him with a mixture of hurt and surprise. Grant averted his gaze, determined not to be cowed. He realized that similar muttered discussions were being conducted throughout the crowd.

In front of the building, temperatures were rising. 'n.o.body asked you to do this,' the red-haired colonist stormed. 'We all know what happened in the last rebellion - the ringleaders became Overseers and the civilians suffered! Who gave you the right to risk our lives again with your games? You've caused the deaths of everyone in Redemption and you're doing your d.a.m.n best to make sure the rest of us follow!'

Max tried to intercede. 'Okay, let's calm this down...'

But Henneker had brought up one arm, his fist was nuzzling his detractor's chin so that a blaster was aimed at his face, and his fury could not now have been more evident. 'I am working for the good of our world. You can help me or you can get out of my way!'

'Henneker, stop this!'

The colonist was sweating, but his eyes still burnt. 'You're going to kill me, is that it? Well, go ahead.'

So Henneker fired. The sudden blast blew half of the man's head away, eradicating his momentary expression of surprise. He was dead before his body realized the fact and hit the ground. The crowd swept back, repulsed, and Grant felt as if he was going to be sick.

Max launched herself at Henneker and pounded on his casing, yelling: 'You stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d! You stupid, stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d!' With no more than a shrug of the shoulders, he dislodged her and pivoted, gun raised, to greet the Doctor, even before Grant had realized that his companion had left his side. The Time Lord halted his forward flight and gritted his teeth, controlling his righteous rage. He scared down the muzzle of Henneker's gun.

'Is this how you serve Agora's good?'

'My world will be best served by the Cybermen's destruction. You can help us to achieve that.'

'That's what I've been trying to tell you.'

'No. You will do this on my terms. You have not been truthful with us.' The Doctor raised an eyebrow and Henneker clarified: 'The Cybermen mentioned a s.p.a.ce-time vessel.'

'You have proved that you're not responsible enough to use it!'

'Once our army of Bronze Knights has been completed, Doctor, you will take us back in time to defeat the Cybermen before they ever attacked. We will save the lives of everybody.'