Doctor Who: Engines of War (25 page)

‘Help me,’ said the Doctor to Cinder, as he mounted the steps. ‘We need to free him.’

The Doctor scampered up to the raised platform and edged around the metal frame upon which Borusa was bound, until he was able to crouch awkwardly behind Borusa’s head. He set to work, popping cables from sockets in the back of Borusa’s skull. White fluid oozed from the open ports. Cinder decided not to watch.

‘What do you need me to do?’ she said. ‘Are we cutting him off the metal frame?’ She poked at the knotted ropes that bound Borusa’s left foot. She could see where they’d bitten into his flesh, rubbing sores around his ankle.

‘No!’ said the Doctor, urgently, popping his head around the frame in panic. When he saw that she hadn’t yet started, he visibly relaxed. ‘No, don’t do that. I very much doubt he could support himself after all this time tied down. We just need to loosen the frame from its housing.’

Cinder nodded. She dropped to her haunches, peering underneath the frame. It was a primitive mechanism, really, as if it had been constructed at the last minute as an afterthought, once the real work – the ‘retro-engineering’, as the Doctor had called it – had been done.

Borusa moaned as the Doctor pulled the last of the wires from the back of his skull, shutting down his interface to the Matrix – whatever that was. ‘Over here,’ she called to the Doctor. ‘I’ve found the right bolts, but you’re going to need your sonicky-do-dah.’

‘My
what
?’

‘Oh, you know what I mean.’

The Doctor edged round to join her. ‘Under there,’ she said, indicating the first bolt.

‘All right,’ said the Doctor. ‘Secure the frame while I see to it.’

Cinder stood, considering how best to do as the Doctor had asked, only to find the three Interstitials had joined them and were each holding onto a corner of the frame, steadying it as the Doctor depressed the button on his sonic and the bolts began to loosen and drop free.

Moments later, the possibility engine was free of its housing, and the three Interstitials were carefully lifting it down, holding it level above their heads. From her vantage point atop the tomb, Cinder could see his face. His electric eyes seemed to stare directly into her soul.

‘Right,’ said the Doctor. ‘Let’s get back to the TARDIS before Rassilon realises his favourite toy has been appropriated.’ He hopped down from the tomb, stuffing his sonic screwdriver back into his ammo belt. He offered Cinder his hand, and she took it, jumping down beside him.

‘Ask him if we’re going to meet another one of those dinosaurs,’ she said, nodding toward Borusa. ‘Because if we are, I’m staying right here, Rassilon or not.’

The Doctor laughed, heading for the door.

‘I’m not joking,’ she called after him. ‘Doctor? Doctor!’

The three Interstitials bore the possibility engine on their shoulders like the men of old, carrying their king on a litter. Borusa lay still atop the steel frame as they marched across the wilderness towards the TARDIS, Cinder and the Doctor trailing behind in quiet contemplation.

For nearly an hour they trudged across windswept fields, and all the while, Cinder nervously kept watch for any signs of the beast that had previously come after them, or any of its infernal kin.

As they approached the bluff, following the Interstitials, who seemed instinctively to know which route to take, Cinder saw the TARDIS perched on the hillside. The sunlight was beginning to fade, and as she peered ahead, she saw that scores of tiny lights had been laid out in a track, leading from the base of the hill to the TARDIS itself.

‘What are those?’ she said.

The Doctor grinned. ‘You’ll see,’ he replied, laughing to himself.

As they drew nearer and the view properly resolved, she gasped at the sight of fifty or more of figures; all lined up like a bizarre procession, showing them the way to the TARDIS. They were all Interstitials, every single one of them. She counted dozens of them, rows deep, before she gave up, realising it was a fool’s errand.

The lights she had seen from a distance were the soft glow of their flesh, shining in the gloaming.

‘They’re here to wish us well,’ said the Doctor. ‘To guide us on our way.’

‘There are so many of them,’ said Cinder. A thought popped into her head. ‘How come they’re not attracting the carnivorous beasts?’

‘They can see the
future
, Cinder,’ said the Doctor.

‘Ah, yes. I suppose that would be helpful,’ she replied.

They’d reached the foot of the bluff, and the three Interstitials ahead of them began the slow climb to the top, hoisting the possibility engine high above their heads in order that the others might see. As they passed, the members of the crowd bowed their heads in reverence.

Feeling a little sheepish, Cinder followed behind, unsure quite how to act, and whether she was supposed to do or say anything. In lieu of any forthcoming guidance, she simply copied the Doctor, who kept his eyes down and slowly followed behind the litter bearers.

When they reached the TARDIS the three Interstitials stood to one side while the Doctor unlocked the door. Then, with a quick glance over his shoulder at Cinder, he ushered them all inside.

Cinder watched as they disappeared through the small doorway, and then, pleased to be getting as far away from the Death Zone as possible, she hurried on in behind them.

Chapter Twenty

Cinder eyed the possibility engine uncomfortably.

The Doctor had directed the Interstitials to prop the frame upright between two stone pillars on the other side of the console, and in what she considered a bit of a surprise move, had yanked two of the dangling cables from their sockets in the ceiling and used the ends of them to secure the frame in place. She hoped they weren’t supposed to be doing anything important.

Now Borusa hung upright, his wrists and ankles still bound to the frame. His chin had sunk forward to rest on his chest, but she could still see the flickering blue light dancing behind his eyes.

The Interstitials had retreated after depositing Borusa in the TARDIS, making no attempt to join them on their journey. Perhaps they already knew how this was going to end, she considered, and wanted nothing more to do with it. The thought wasn’t particularly comforting.

They’d parked in a temporal orbit and the Doctor was busy running cables from underneath the console, attaching them to the empty sockets in the undercarriage of the possibility engine. He appeared to be reading diagnostics on the monitor, his sonic screwdriver clenched between his teeth.

He saw her watching, and grabbed the screwdriver out of his mouth. ‘Almost ready,’ he said.

‘You, or Borusa?’ she asked.

The Doctor gave a weak smile. ‘Both.’

He’d seemed different after leaving the Death Zone. Part of it, she supposed, could be down to the fact they were heading into battle, and he was preparing himself for the coming conflict, adopting a more contemplative mood. There was something else there, though, something bothering him. She’d seen him watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking, and he’d had that same, haunted expression on his face, the one he’d been wearing when they’d first met on Moldox. It was as if he was scared of her, somehow, and she couldn’t quite fathom why.

She wondered if she’d done something to worry him. It was noticeable how he’d avoided telling her his plans as he’d worked on hooking Borusa up to the console, feigning concentration.

She watched him circle the console now, double-checking his links. He mumbled something quietly to Borusa, who didn’t appear to respond, and then walked over to the dematerialisation lever, and cranked it. The TARDIS trembled, and slid noisily out of the Vortex.

Holding on to the rail, Cinder looked up. The Doctor punched a sequence of buttons, and the ceiling, which until then had been the same, muted grey material as the walls, seemed to clear suddenly, revealing a wide vista of space.

Before them was the familiar sight of the Tantalus Spiral, the planets weaving in a single, twisting helix around the roiling anomaly of the Eye.

In the distance, the tiny specks of Dalek saucers flitted through space like clouds of insects, swarming around a hive.

‘What are we going to do?’ she said. The Eye looked so distant from here, on the outer reaches of the Spiral, with the threat of thousands of Dalek saucers between them and their goal. How were they going to get anywhere close to the Eye, let alone inside it?

The Doctor began tapping buttons and flicking switches on the control panel. Lights blinked off in the console room. The engines sighed. The rotor dimmed and stilled. ‘We’re going to surrender,’ he said wearily.

For a moment they stood in near darkness, with only the eerie, crackling lights of the possibility engine for illumination.

‘Surrender?’ said Cinder, incredulous. ‘After all this? You’re just going to power down the ship and let the Daleks come for us?’ She glanced up. Overhead, the Tantalus Eye peered down at them through the TARDIS canopy, a baleful, watchful presence. Countless Dalek saucers skimmed across the star field, flitting around the vast spiral of occupied worlds. Surely they’d already noticed the arrival of the TARDIS? It couldn’t be long before the Daleks ships began to converge on their position.

‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do,’ said the Doctor. He had his back to her, acting as if she wasn’t there.

‘You can’t! You can’t stop now. We’ve come too far. If we don’t find a way to stop them, the Daleks will just keep on going for ever. They’ll destroy everything. They’ll murder every last one of your people—’

‘
My
people!’ bellowed the Doctor, cutting her off. ‘My people would have done the same to you. I’m not even sure they’re worth saving any more.’

‘Yes, they are’ said Cinder, quietly. ‘Despite everything, they’re worth saving. I know you believe that. Otherwise, why are we here?’

The TARDIS gave a sudden jolt and its engines sputtered to life. The lights flickered and dipped, and the central column began to steadily rise and fall with its familiar, gentle sigh.

The Doctor shook his head. ‘No, old girl. We’ve no choice. We have to do this.’ He cranked a lever on the console, his expression pained.

The TARDIS shuddered again, the engines burring. Somewhere deep in the bowels of the ship, a bell began to clang repeatedly, echoing through the warren of ever-shifting corridors and rooms. It filled Cinder’s head like an incessant metronome, a cry for help. She fought the urge to press her hands over her ears.

‘She knows, doesn’t she? The ship knows what you’re planning to do, and she’s trying to stop you?’ said Cinder. ‘She’s trying to take you far away from here. Perhaps you should listen to her…’

The Doctor spun around, waving his hand at Cinder dismissively. ‘Oh, just get out!’ he barked, angrily. ‘Get
out
!’

Cinder took a step back, quelled by the sheer ferocity of the Doctor’s response. Her back encountered the metal railing that ran around the central dais. She grasped at it for support, steeling herself. ‘Why did you allow me to come? If you’re so keen on being alone, why did you encourage me? Why are you keeping me around?’

‘To remind me of who I’m not,’ said the Doctor.

‘You’re angry, about what we saw in the Death Zone, about what the Time Lords have done to their own people,’ she said. ‘And you’re scared about what saving them might mean. I understand.’

The Doctor shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with sadness. ‘That’s not it,’ he said. His shoulders slumped. He turned around, and she saw the weight of centuries, resting heavy on his shoulders.

‘It’s me, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You’re worried about what I might do, that I’m going to go and get us both killed.’

The Doctor sighed. ‘No, Cinder. I’m worried that I won’t be able to protect you. I’ve lost so many people, so many friends. I…’ he faltered, and then drew himself up tall. ‘I don’t know how I could bear to lose another.’

She crossed to where he was standing. ‘Remember what I said, back on Moldox. I’m in. I made a choice to come with you. We’re in this together, one way or another. I want to stick it to those Daleks as much as you do. Don’t try to stop me now.’

‘Very well,’ he said.

‘So, about this surrender?’

‘If I show myself, they won’t be able to resist gloating. They’ll take us prisoner; get us closer to the Eye. They know me of old,’ he said.

Cinder frowned. ‘It doesn’t sound like the safest of pl—’

‘Predator.’

The metallic scrape of a Dalek voice resonated throughout the console room. Cinder froze, her hackles rising. The sound of those things, those cold, metal demons, seemed to scratch at her very soul.

She turned about on the spot, fearful that, with the shields lowered, one or more Daleks had teleported themselves aboard the ship. She was convinced that, at any moment, she’d feel the excruciating burn of an energy weapon, boiling her flesh from her bones.

But there was nothing there. The voice had been broadcast from deep within the Spiral, picked up by the TARDIS’s communications systems.

The Doctor stepped away from the console, gingerly removing his hands from the controls. Even the TARDIS herself seemed to understand that the moment had passed, that now was the time to stop fighting. The central column sighed, and stilled. The clanging bell ceased its deafening peal.

‘I’m here,’ said the Doctor. His voice was low and gravelly, weighted with the gravitas of centuries.

‘Doc-tor,’ said the Dalek. ‘Dalek killer. The Great Scourge. The Living Death. The Executioner.’ The Dalek paused. Cinder watched the Doctor, gauging his reaction. His face remained impassive, his jaw set tight. ‘These are the names awarded you by the Daleks, Doctor. I wonder if you feel proud. I wonder if you revel in the deaths of your enemies?’

This was like no Dalek that Cinder had ever heard. The voice was the same, but there was a different quality here, an unfamiliar intelligence, perhaps even a hint of reverence.

‘I have never revelled in death,’ said the Doctor. ‘I value life above all else. I am not like you. I am no Dalek.’