Doctor Who_ Loving The Alien Part 23

Chapter Twelve.

The hangar had become a shooting gallery. All but one of the unfortunate soldiers now lay dead on the ground. They had been brave and had actually driven the attackers back on their first a.s.sault. The second time they hadn't been so lucky.

The sole survivor of their ranks was scrambling on his back up the side of the s.h.i.+p, alongside Collins and O'Brien. All three were dragging ammunition boxes and extra weapons with them, and all were firing repeatedly down at their pursuers.

The Doctor watched through a tear in the hull as they retreated.

'They've got some sort of bullet-proof clothing,' O'Brien shouted.

'They just don't go down!'

The three men tumbled through the hatch.

'Right,' said Collins, 'we re-arm properly and we break out.'

'Where to?' the young soldier from below howled. 'If we move from here, we're dead! You saw what they did down there. That was three of them.'

'At ease, Private Stubbs,' Collins growled. 'We're sitting ducks in here. They can pick us off when they like.'

'We're just about finished here,' said the Doctor, uncoupling the final connection. He mopped his brow with his handkerchief. 'It's safe now Thank you, Dr Drakefell.'

O'Brien was chain-feeding ammunition into the guns they'd managed to rescue from the chaos below.

'That thing had better be worth it,' he muttered to the Doctor.

'Oh, it is,' said the Doctor. 'Now, what can I do to help?'

'Too late!' Collins shouted. 'Here they come.'

The commandos were swarming up the sides of the s.h.i.+p like spiders.

They moved with shocking speed. The soldiers responded with clip after clip of ammo. Private Stubbs blasted one of them from the hull.

He fell to the concrete floor, got up and renewed the a.s.sault.

'I wish they wouldn't keep doing that,' said O'Brien. 'Heads up!'

The first of the commandos was coming through the hatch. Collins and O'Brien opened fire. They could see their bullets. .h.i.tting him. They drove him back like punches, but none of them broke through his 115 clothing. He unholstered his gun.

'Everybody down!' yelled Collins. He barrelled forward and careered into the intruder. Collins had a knife in his hand. He drove it at the commando's stomach. It slammed his tunic, but didn't penetrate.

The commando swung, tossing Collins effortlessly, and hard, into the s.h.i.+p's bulkhead. Collins sank, sack-like, to the deck.

Before the commando could raise his gun again O'Brien had opened fire. Stubbs followed suit.

'Try to drive him back out of the hatch!' shouted the Doctor over the gunfire.

He had an idea. He scrambled past the gunfight and tugged free a panel beneath the pilot's seat. Lights winked and terminals opened enticingly. He looked at the chaos of wires erupting from the bulkhead where the dimension stabiliser had resided and wondered how easy it actually was, even with his undisputed genius, to find a needle in a haystack.

In the event it was surprisingly simple. Some basic reprogramming, three relevant terminals, three (out of umpteen thousand) relevant wires, and that was that.

The commando was retreating up through the hatch. O'Brien was making to follow him.

'No!' the Doctor shouted. 'Everyone stay where they are!'

He plugged in the wires and pushed a b.u.t.ton.

There was an explosion from outside the s.h.i.+p. The commando was flying through the air. Smoke appeared to be wafting from his clothes.

He landed on the concrete with a dull crunch.

The commandos milled about, shouting to each other. The Doctor's brow creased in puzzlement.

'Russian,' said Collins. 'Happy now?'

The Doctor shook his head.

'I really can't explain that,' he said.

'What did you do to Flash Gordon out there?' asked O'Brien.

'Electrified the hull,' said the Doctor. 'I'm afraid we can't go out while it's on.'

'That's impossible,' said Drakefell. 'I read the reports. They tried all that current, magnetism, every chemical you can name nothing reacted to it. It was completely inert.'

'It's one of the intelligent metals,' said the Doctor.

'What do you mean?'

'It can adapt its physical and chemical properties to suit different situations.'

'You mean it became conductive...'

116.

'Because I told it to, yes.'

The Doctor smiled.

'I shouldn't worry, Dr Drakefell,' he said rea.s.suringly, 'intelligent metals won't be invented here for another two hundred years. Now I really think we should check on our friend.'

They'd almost forgotten Collins.

'I'm all right,' he grunted as they cl.u.s.tered around him.

He dragged himself to his feet, wincing.

'Bust a couple of ribs, I reckon,' he said. 'Still... how're we doing?'

'We have a temporary reprieve,' said the Doctor.

The commandos seemed to have withdrawn to cover.

'I need to get the dimension stabiliser to safety,' said the Doctor.

'That's more important than anything.'

'd.a.m.ned if I'll put a machine before lives,' Collins barked. 'We're gonna get ourselves to safety. The machine'll just have to take its chances. How long'll the power last? I thought the s.h.i.+p was dead.'

'She is. This is the outboard power supply for the dimension stabiliser. Much bigger. It should last... a billion billion years if we're lucky.'

'So we've got that long to figure out what to do,' Collins grunted.

'Great.

'It's not the power failing I'm worried about,' said the Doctor. 'It's just that I'm rather gambling on our enemies' intentions here.'

'What do you mean?' the major growled.

'Well, it all depends what they want to do with the s.h.i.+p,' said the Doctor.

Collins shook his head.

'Whether they want it back, or '

An explosion of gunfire settled the matter. It ripped through the broken s.h.i.+p, punching fist-sized holes in the fuselage. The Waverider rocked and juddered on its flimsy supports.

' not!' finished the Doctor, jumping for cover.

'They'd let a s.h.i.+p like this go?' O'Brien sounded almost hurt.

'I fear so,' said the Doctor. 'I dare say their shops are bursting with dimension stabilisers.'

There was a much bigger explosion. The whole structure lurched to one side, sending everyone tumbling.

'They certainly won't let it fall into our hands, shouted the Doctor above the din.

It was more than the tortured superstructure could bear. The deafening screech of ripping metal told them that. Suddenly the deck was at forty-five degrees. The s.h.i.+p lurched again.

117.

Collins was sliding towards a great gash in the hull. The lethal, live outer skin of the s.h.i.+p lay beyond.

The Doctor threw himself across the swaying, buckling deck towards the pilot's station, grasping at his hasty wiring job, yanking the cables free as Collins slid through the tear.

He saw the dimension stabiliser, with minute slowness, start to slide away towards a chasm in the hull from which flames were starting to appear. He sprang out and made a grab for the machine, but his ankle buckled beneath him and he keeled over. He crashed into what, had the s.h.i.+p been upright, would have been a wall alcove, and struggled to right himself.

There was a hissing sound and he felt something pa.s.s in front of his face.

He couldn't move. He could see his friends but suddenly could hear nothing. He tried to call out...

He couldn't breathe.

He started to struggle.

'Emergency evacuation in ten seconds,' a calm female voice said.

It was a transparent panel, holding him in. He was in some sort of escape module.

The air supply wasn't working.

'Disengaging locking mechanisms.'

He didn't want to escape! He could still see the dimension stabiliser inching towards destruction.

'Engaging primary thrusters.'

His eyes caught Drakefell's. The project director looked anguished, petrified. He threw the Doctor a glance of desperation and despair and dived towards the machine. He clasped his arms around it and vanished with it into the dark crack.

The next thing the Doctor was aware of was a screaming in his ears and the walls of the hangar blurring towards him. The pod hit the gla.s.s roof at a suicidally oblique angle, missing the wall by inches. The gla.s.s scattered, and blue light drenched him.

No controls... The Doctor was suffocating. In desperation he kicked and thumped the side-panels of the craft.

To his relief he felt the gentle whisper of breathable air. He gulped it down.

There was a rumbling from somewhere far below, and an orange fireball belched up from the forest, dwarfing the trees, shaking his little craft. The end of the Waverider.

He had failed. All he had to show for his efforts was that a colossal fireball consuming friends and hope.

118.

He thought about Ace. He was certain now he couldn't save her. He knew who was going to kill her. He knew why he'd lost control of events so badly, why everything was collapsing into chaos.

One man.

One frail, polite, elderly gent, with a mind more dangerous than a nuclear device. By human standards and he was only human his intelligence far outstripped any other known to the Doctor. The last time they had met he had tried to add Cyber technology to the already lethal c.o.c.ktail of the Second World War. Single-handed he had deceived the Doctor, British Intelligence even the Third Reich.5 And all motivated by an insatiable, all-consuming curiosity. He considered the world, its people, history and future to be little more than his own personal chemistry set.

Drakefell had confirmed it. The Doctor had instantly recognised Drakefell's 'nightmare machine'. It was the lode-circuit from a crude time machine, piloted here by Cybermen nearly twenty years ago.

The devious old fiend had used it to escape the Doctor, and the Doctor had let him. He should have been scattered across time along with the machine. The Doctor had been so certain...

He swallowed hard. He had given that geriatric Lord of Chaos a time machine...

The Doctor's little craft shuddered slightly and changed its course. It seemed happy to pilot itself. There were no controls that the Doctor could see. They were over London now He was down there somewhere, waiting for Ace.

Her face was raw and swollen. She could feel where her nose and lips had bled and the blood had dried. Ace awoke from insensibility into a world of pain.