Doctor Who_ War Of The Daleks Part 2

Sam pointed to the mess on the TARDIS floor. 'What are you doing?' she demanded. 'Is the TARDIS acting up?'

The Doctor seemed puzzled. 'No, not really. I just thought this was a perfect time to do a few small repairs, that's all.' He gestured to the projected view on the TARDIS's infinitely high ceiling. 'Look at that nebula! Isn't it glorious?'

Sam examined it, and had to admit that he did have a point. It filled about a third of the sky, tendrils of coloured gases crawling away from several small, bright stars in its heart. Golds, greens, blues, crimsons all whirled together in some mad, creative dance. 'Very nice,' she agreed.

'Isn't it, isn't it...' he nodded, smiling.

'So, it's nothing serious, then?' Sam persisted. 'Just minor stuff?'

'Right.'

She eyed the mechanism he was holding suspiciously. 'And what's that?'

The Doctor looked down at it as if he'd never seen it before. 'The TARDIS lock. I've wanted to adjust it ever since the Master kept popping in and out of my TARDIS in San Francisco. It won't take long.'

'The lock?' Sam was aghast. 'You mean, anyone can just walk in while you're playing with that thing?'

'I am not playing,' the Doctor said, but his blue-green eyes were twinkling. 'And n.o.body can just walk in.' He gestured to the stellar expanse on the ceiling. 'We're parked around a nebula, after all, not in Piccadilly Circus.'

Sam sighed again. 'And what other essential systems have you taken off line?' she asked. Really, the Doctor could be very childish sometimes. Fancy conducting repairs on a whim in some interstellar backwater.

'None, really.' His nose twitched, and he scratched it with the sonic screwdriver. 'Of course, I had to disconnect the time rotor so I could take the lock apart. There are fail-safes to prevent me from doing it in flight. But we're not really going anywhere in a hurry, and it'll just take me ten minutes to reconnect it.'

'The TARDIS can't fly?' Sam asked, her bad feeling sinking lower and lower with every question. 'Couldn't you have just taken it into a shop somewhere for a quick overhaul and oil change?'

'Sam,' the Doctor said patiently, 'there aren't many petrol stations that can strip and service a TARDIS. And it's simple to do. It'll take me about an hour, and we can be on our way again. Just enjoy the peace and quiet while you have it.'

'I've seen all sorts of things on my travels with you, Doctor,' Sam informed him. 'From vampires to shopping malls. The only thing I haven't seen is any peace and quiet.'

'Then enjoy it while you can,' he suggested. He gave her one of his incandescent smiles, and she couldn't help smiling back. His face was so... alive when he smiled. Then she frowned as he continued. 'Would you mind popping Mozart back on? I work better to music.'

There was absolutely no talking to him some days. Sam moved the ornamental levers back to the position she'd found them in, and the opera recital started up again. The Doctor vanished back into the vestibule to continue his repairs. Sam sighed, and poured herself a cup of the Doctor's tepid tea. Maybe he was right. It was possible that she was overreacting, and absolutely nothing bad would happen while he was at work.

But, given his track record, she strongly doubted it.

'Now, father, isn't that the most beautiful sight you ever laid eyes on?' Loran gestured at the nebula showing slightly out of focus on the small screen.

His father sniffed loudly, and shrugged. 'It's all right,' he replied.

'All right?' Loran gasped, offended. 'Where is the poetry in your soul?'

'There's no poetry,' Captain Balatan answered. 'Just a calculator. And you'd be better off if you had half my business sense. Now, stop mooning about and let's get down to the recovery bay and see what we've got.'

Loran rolled his eyes, and sighed loudly. But he followed his father down the corridors of the Quetzel Quetzel. There was no point in talking to the old man some days. He didn't have an ounce of sensitivity within him. Everything with him boiled down to just one priority: money. Naturally, they never had enough of it, which made him obsessive on the subject. A view of grandeur, such as the nebula, meant nothing to Balatan unless he could figure out some way of charging to look at it. He couldn't grasp the aesthetics involved in truly appreciating the wonders of the universe he just wanted to bottle them up and stick a price tag on them.

Several of the lights had died in the corridor again. Loran made a note on his comp to have them repaired. Of course, he had to hope that he had specs on the lighting system on his main comp, and that there were spare parts around close enough to being compatible to fix them. One of the wall hatches had come loose, and he kicked it back into place as he pa.s.sed. He'd taken only two steps when he heard it clatter onto the deck behind him, having fallen off completely now.

The Quetzel Quetzel was in dire need of repairs. As always. Well, maybe some of the stuff they'd swept up would be useful if he could prise it from his father's greedy little fingers. Balatan would undoubtedly prefer to sell everything, every last nut and bolt, and expect the s.h.i.+p to hold together somehow out of a shared sense of pure greed. was in dire need of repairs. As always. Well, maybe some of the stuff they'd swept up would be useful if he could prise it from his father's greedy little fingers. Balatan would undoubtedly prefer to sell everything, every last nut and bolt, and expect the s.h.i.+p to hold together somehow out of a shared sense of pure greed.

They clambered down the ladder into storage bay eight, to discover that Harmon and Chayn were already there, cataloguing the latest acquisitions. Loran's interest in the room rose a notch. Chayn was definitely the most beautiful woman on the s.h.i.+p. Not that she had much compet.i.tion, actually, since there were only three, but even on a pleasure cruiser she'd be something special. She was slender, dark-haired, dark-eyed and a genius at fixing almost anything. That the Quetzel Quetzel still flew at all was testimony to her skills. She was very nearly perfect in Loran's eyes. However, she possessed just one tiny flaw. still flew at all was testimony to her skills. She was very nearly perfect in Loran's eyes. However, she possessed just one tiny flaw.

She didn't find him at all attractive. She was always polite to him, but completely ignored any warm conversations he attempted, and all his attempts at flirting. Loran simply couldn't understand it. After all, she was beautiful and unattached none of the other men on board had any better luck with her, either, and as far as he could tell she wasn't in the slightest bit interested in the other women. It didn't make any sense to him. He ran a quick hand through his full, wavy, dark hair and gave her a friendly smile.

'How's it going?' he asked.

She nodded. 'We've got some good stuff here,' she answered, gesturing. 'Dalek-made, definitely. Bits of a killcruiser, by the look of it. Plenty of circuits, some routine systems. There's not much of it left, though.'

Loran examined the scattered debris, and realised she was right. Normally, even if it had been destroyed in battle, there would be half to three-quarters of the s.h.i.+p salvageable. Here, though, there were only about twenty bulkheads, a dozen portions of walls and panels, and some scattered boards and circuitry. Less than five per cent of even a small s.h.i.+p.

'No signs of engines?' Balatan asked, his voice hopeful.

'Nothing,' Harmon answered. 'They're all gone. So is most of the weaponry. A lot of junk, some we can use, some we can sell.' He scratched at his bald head. 'Whatever took this one apart didn't leave much. Some new weapon, maybe.'

'Odd, too,' Chayn added. 'There's no non-Dalek debris. The other s.h.i.+p must have managed to destroy the killcruiser without getting a scratch itself. And I've never heard of anything that could do that kind of damage to the Daleks.'

'As long as it's not still around,' Balatan said nervously.

'The screens don't show any other s.h.i.+ps at all in this region,' Chayn informed him. 'We wouldn't be here if there were.' That was one of Balatan's prime rules: they only scavenged areas where the fighting had stopped. There was no profit to be made by being shot at.

'And how well are the screens working right now?' he demanded.

Chayn shrugged. 'About as well as ever.'

'Maybe we should overhaul them, just to be sure,' Balatan muttered.

'Couldn't hurt,' she agreed. 'As soon as I'm done inventorying all of this and seeing what's usable.' She bent back to her comp, recording and logging the items one by one.

Loran moved to her side. She seemed to be in a good mood, so maybe now might be the time to make a move. 'Are you doing anything when your s.h.i.+ft's over?' he asked.

'Fixing the screens, by the sound of it,' Chayn answered, without looking up. 'I'm sure it'll be a thrilling evening.'

'I meant after that,' he persisted.

'After that I'll probably crawl into bed,' she replied. 'Alone.'

There was no answer to that line, Loran thought, his hopes dashed again. He wanted to say, 'Don't you like me?' but thought it would sound petulant.

Chayn gave him a thin smile. But it was a smile that said she liked him as a friend. Just that. Nothing more.

She'd managed to slip away from him again, Loran realised. There wasn't any way back to chatting her up after the finality of that line, of that meaningful smile. If only he could think a little faster, but just being this close to her overloaded his senses. Even though she dealt with mechanisms and repairs all day, she didn't smell of oil, but had a slight hint of fruit about her. It drove him crazy. And even the faded coveralls she wore only served to emphasise her trim form.

'That's interesting,' she said, studying the comp.

'What is?' Balatan scurried to join them, greed obvious in his voice. 'Something valuable?'

'I don't know,' Chayn answered. She threaded through several of the bulkheads, the three men in her wake. One of them was leaning against a teardrop-shaped ball of metal. 'Now what could that be?'

It was about ten feet tall, and eight across. The finish was pockmarked and scarred from debris. There were a couple of seams visible, but no hatches or access ports.

'Looks like some sort of a pod,' Loran said. He'd never seen anything quite like this. 'Storage container, maybe?'

'Or a survival pod?' Chayn suggested. She was clearly intrigued.

'Daleks don't need survival pods,' Balatan sneered. 'They can survive in s.p.a.ce on their own.' He shook his head. 'No, it's some kind of a container.' He slapped it with his hand. 'And if it's sealed up well enough to survive whatever wrecked that s.h.i.+p, then I I want whatever's in it. It's got to be want whatever's in it. It's got to be very very valuable.' He scowled at her. 'Can you get any readings on whatever's inside it?' valuable.' He scowled at her. 'Can you get any readings on whatever's inside it?'

'Nothing,' she replied. 'It's well s.h.i.+elded. Some kind of power source, possibly stasis field. I can't be sure. We'd have to open it up to find out what's in it.'

'Is that safe?' Loran asked, worried.

Chayn gave a barking laugh. 'Opening a Dalek artefact? Of course it's not safe. It's most likely b.o.o.by-trapped, and could contain something nasty and lethal. Even Varga plants, maybe. But there's no way to tell without taking a peek inside.' She shrugged. 'Or we could just leave it sealed, and try to sell it as is.'

Balatan shook his head. 'No way,' he decided. 'If we did that, we could lose out on the big money. I want to know just what we've got before we try to sell it. That way, we can ask for more.'

Chayn grinned, and Loran realised that was what she'd been expecting his father to say. He could see that she was dying to find out what was inside it. He only hoped that dying wasn't what she was going to do. But he had confidence in her. She was careful, and wouldn't do anything rash.

'We'd better seal off the bay, then,' he suggested. 'If it is Varga plants or some other biological nasty that the Daleks have developed, we don't want it running about the s.h.i.+p. We'll have to be prepared to destroy it.'

'Destroy it?' his father echoed. 'Are you out of your mind? If there's something living in there, I can think of at least three companies who'd pay a small fortune to examine some Dalek biotechnology. And they'd want it alive.' He turned to Chayn. 'Can you rig some sort of biological containment field in there, just in case?'

She shrugged. 'It'll take some time,' she said thoughtfully. 'Putting it together won't be easy, given our supplies right now.'

'Top priority,' he ordered her. 'You can scavenge from elsewhere if you need to, with my blessing.'

Chayn grinned. 'Then I can do it. It'll take me six, eight hours, though. I'll begin after I reboot the screens.'

'No, forget that,' Balatan decided. 'That can wait. Open this up first. This means money.'

And the screens might mean our lives, Loran thought. But he knew better than to contradict one of his father's orders. Besides, he, too, was curious to know what was inside this can.

'Right.' Chayn scratched her ear absent-mindedly. 'There's no opening mechanism I can see. I'll need the heavy-duty equipment from bay ten for this.'

'Fine'. Balatan nodded at Harmon. 'Harmon can help you. Do you need anyone else?'

'I don't mind lending a hand,' Loran offered, trying not to sound too eager.

'I'll call you if I need you,' Chayn promised. 'But I think Harmon and I can handle it alone for now. We'll let you know how it goes.'

'Good.' Balatan turned back to his son. 'Come on, let's get back to the flight deck and get the rams up and running again. Where there's one wreck, there's almost bound to be more.' He rubbed his hands together. 'I can smell profits in this!'

With a last, hopeless look back at Chayn who was already deciding which bulkheads she'd need to move to access the artefact and had probably forgotten all about him already Loran followed his father back to the ladder.

Harmon rubbed his head, and then grunted at Chayn, 'Back in a moment. Got to take a personal break.'

'No problem,' she answered. 'I can handle this.'

He nodded, and hurried out of the bay. He found a com port on the wall, and removed a small handset from his work pack. He plugged it in, established a link, and then sent the prearranged signal. This wasn't one of the s.h.i.+p's links, which meant that it worked perfectly every time. The call went through in seconds, and the response came in.

'Report!'

'The artefact has been found,' he said quietly, glancing around to make certain he wasn't being overheard. There should be n.o.body in this area, but it didn't pay to take chances. 'They're planning to open it in a few hours.'

'Negative,' came the reply. 'The artefact must not be opened. It is your duty to stop them.'

'Understood,' he confirmed. He had suspected as much.

'We will make rendezvous as soon as possible,' his contact stated. 'Delay all operations on the artefact.'

Harmon licked his lips. 'Fine. Uh... there won't be any casualties, right? I mean, you promised '

'We will keep our word,' was the answer. 'Keep yours.' The line went dead.

Harmon removed the link and replaced it in his pack. He was sure he could trust them, but he hated all this cloak-and-dagger stuff. Still, they'd promised to reimburse the Quetzel Quetzel for finding the artefact, whatever it was, so Balatan would be happy when all of this was over. for finding the artefact, whatever it was, so Balatan would be happy when all of this was over.

There would be no problems. None at all. He just had to prevent Chayn from opening the thing, and everything would be fine once his allies arrived.

Whistling, he headed back to the cargo bay.

As spectacular as the nebula was, Sam was bored with staring at it after her second cup of tea. At least this was real Darjeeling, and not some more of the food-machine liquid. It had a solid, healthy brownness to it, and the Doctor had real milk to add to it.

She jumped to her feet again and marched across the room. He was in the vestibule with even more mess around him. It looked as if he'd taken half of the door apart in no particular order. Panels and wiring were leaning against the wall, and Sam couldn't help feeling disturbed by this.

'Is that safe?' she asked.

'Safe?' The Doctor blinked, looking up from the circuit he was working on. 'Not if you touch it.'

She gestured at the denuded door. 'I mean that. There's not much between us and hard vacuum right now, is there?'

'There's plenty,' he replied, encouraging her with a smile. 'And there's the force field outside of that.' He frowned slightly. 'I'm almost certain I didn't turn that off.'

'Almost certain?' Sam repeated, wondering whether to panic or simply get mad. 'Don't you know?'

He looked pained. 'Not exactly,' he confessed. 'It depends what the default settings currently are.'

'What?' She stared at him in horror. 'Didn't you program them?'

'Yes and no,' he replied, rubbing at his mouth. 'It was me, but one of my former selves. It's hard to recall all the details after two or three regenerations, you know.'