Doctor Who: Festival of Death: 50th Anniversary Edition (28 page)

Even though the creature had fallen apart, the various pieces
seemed
to have a life of their own. Sections of leg jerked their way jauntily across the carpet. As they collected together, they coupled themselves into longer pieces, creating multijointed limbs, and then plugged themselves into the abdomen. The pincers, in turn, clacked over to the other ends of the legs and fixed themselves into position. Next, they collected the torso and head sections and stuck them on to the front of the abdomen.

The creature was putting itself back together. Its eyes popped open, as bright as before. As the final sections of its legs snapped back into place, it scuttled back and forth, testing its reassembled limbs. Finding one leg longer than the next, it swapped over various joints, holding the pieces up to the light and comparing them until they were all approximately the same length.

A few of the more badly burned sections of the creature remained on the floor. It sniffed at these discarded pieces, and gobbled them up hungrily. ‘Freshly baked eats!’ It craned around, turning its attention back to the humans.

Fighting back her rising nausea, Romana ran down the corridor towards the torch lights. One man fired another shot in the creature’s direction, and part of the wall exploded into flames. As the fire engulfed the hallway, the man grabbed her shoulder and hauled her forward roughly. ‘Come on!’

‘We’ve got him! Over here!’

The skullguards clicked off the safety catches on their guns and walked away. The Doctor blinked, and tried to work out what had happened.

He peered out over the top of the casket. The guards were converging around a coffin at the opposite end of the hall, beside the side entrance. There was something rather familiar about the whole scene.

One of the guards made a ‘get up’ gesture with his rifle, and a figure rose from behind the coffin, his arms above his head. As he stepped out of the shadows, the Doctor could make out the man’s curly brown hair and genial grin.

The Doctor boggled. Of course, they were arresting him. Well, they were arresting an earlier version of him who had, unwittingly, come to his rescue. He marvelled at the sheer deliciousness of it. He had often wondered, when he came to the aid of some unfortunate soul, what it felt like to be rescued and now that it had happened to him he found it rather enjoyable.

The previous Doctor shambled across the hall, gazing appreciatively at the surroundings. The Doctor was disconcerted by how often this chap was ruffling his hair, and rubbing his chin. He hadn’t realised how mannered he was; he wished he could shout out, ‘Stop fiddling with your ear!’ And as for that body posture… well, he would have to do something about that.

But, overall, he was impressed with what he saw. Those clothes made him look rather striking. You handsome devil, Doctor.

As the guards conducted his previous self towards the staircase, the Doctor decided to make the most of the distraction. Keeping his head down, he weaved his way over to the side entrance. Reaching the door, he gently pushed it open and slipped unseen into the corridor.

He checked his watch. Ten minutes to midnight. He straightened his scarf, and started down the corridor. He had to get back to the TARDIS as soon as possible. With every passing minute, Romana’s time trail would be fading.

Since the encounter with the creature, Romana’s rescuers had barely spoken. After running for what seemed like an age, they arrived at the deck with the wide staircase. Above them, a single chandelier slowly rocked back and forth, the tapestries and paintings coming to life in the drifting shadows.

For the first time, Romana could see her rescuers properly. Two men in faded blue uniforms, both with heavy, untidy beards.

Romana recognised them. The last time she had seen them, they had been standing at the top of the staircase, black fluid oozing from their mouths, before transforming suddenly and fatally into Gonzies.

The younger officer motioned for them to halt. ‘All right. I think we’ll be safe here for a minute.’

‘What was that thing?’ said Romana.

‘An Arachnopod,’ said the older officer bitterly. He stepped towards Romana, and leaned into her face. ‘And who are you?’

‘Romana,’ she smiled at them in turn, reading their name badges. Captain Rochfort and Lieutenant Byson. ‘You saved my life back there. I’m terribly grateful.’

‘Where have you come from?’ asked Rochfort, eyeing her warily.

‘I’m afraid that’s rather difficult to explain,’ said Romana. ‘And I don’t think you would believe me even if I did.’

‘Try.’

‘Well, what would you say if I told you I had only just arrived here –’

‘Impossible,’ snapped Rochfort. He turned away. ‘We’ve searched every spacecraft in the hyperspace tunnel. Every single spacecraft.’ He faced Romana with a sneer. ‘And the tunnel’s been sealed off for almost two months. There’s no way you can have “just arrived”.’

‘I did say you wouldn’t believe me.’

‘She could be a passenger, sir,’ said Byson. ‘She could have been hiding out on one of the lower levels. Just a suggestion, sir.’

‘Yes, my thoughts exactly, Byson,’ said Rochfort. ‘A stowaway.’ He ran his lascivious eyes up and down her body. ‘And she doesn’t look like she’s been going hungry.’

‘You think she might know where we can find some food, sir?’ said Byson eagerly.

‘Indeed I do, Byson.’ Rochfort raised his gun towards Romana. ‘Well?’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.’

Rochfort squeezed the barrel of his blaster against Romana’s cheek. ‘You must have found a food source or you wouldn’t be standing here now, would you? Well, where is it?’

‘I can’t help you,’ said Romana calmly. ‘I haven’t got any food, and I haven’t been hiding anywhere. If you will only listen –’

The blaster pressed harder. ‘I am going to count to three, and if you don’t tell me what I want to know, me counting to three will be the last thing you will ever hear,’ spat Rochfort. ‘One.’

‘I keep telling you, I don’t know,’ said Romana.

‘Two.’

‘You are making a dreadful mistake.’

‘Three.’

‘Maybe she’s run out of food, sir,’ said Byson hurriedly. ‘It would explain why she came up here, sir.’

Rochfort held the blaster to Romana’s cheek, letting her feel its cold metal against her skin. Then he withdrew it and replaced it in his belt. ‘I suppose that could be the case.’

Romana exhaled. ‘Thank you,’ she said, rising above the indignity of the situation. ‘Now, perhaps, you could answer a question for me.’

‘Go on.’

‘What year is it?’ Romana suspected she already knew the answer, but wanted her fears confirmed.

‘What year?’ said Rochfort. ‘What sort of a damn idiot question is that?’

Romana raised an eyebrow.

‘I don’t think it would do any harm, sir,’ said Byson.

‘All right,’ said Rochfort. ‘The year is 2815.’

The Doctor bounded around the corner and came face-to-face with a jostling horde of tourists. They were smiling and shouting excitedly, all attempting to push through to the Great Hall.

The crowd was packed solid. The Doctor considered his next move. If he tried to make his way through the crowd they would undoubtedly hamper his journey back to the TARDIS. But if he backtracked, he could waste valuable minutes racing around the G-Lock and lose Romana’s time trail altogether.

A dull clanging interrupted his thoughts. Twelve chimes, the last heralding an eruption of cheering in the crowd. Party poppers exploded, spraying the crowd with black streamers.

The Doctor scraped the streamers from his hair, and decided to find another way back to the TARDIS. He wanted to be alone. The celebrations seemed hollow, and there was something insufferably superficial about the company of humans. And he knew that most of them would be dead soon, and he couldn’t bear the the thought of being unable to intervene. But what could he do? If he interfered he could destroy all history, and condemn countless others to death. It was the burden of guilt every time traveller faced. He couldn’t save these tourists any more than he could go back and rescue Joan of Arc, Thomas More, or the Big Bopper. Any more than he could save K-9. Or, indeed, himself.

As the Doctor strode away a breeze ruffled through the crowd and, in the distance, the cheers turned to screams.

Rochfort banged three times on the iron doors. ‘Captain Rochfort!’

The doors to the Great Hall cranked open. As soon as there was a gap wide enough to squeeze through, Byson pushed Romana inside and bustled in after her. Rochfort followed and the doors clanged shut behind them.

The hall was shrouded in darkness. Hundreds of pale, frightened passengers were huddled in the shadows, sitting amidst piles of crates and food containers, their bodies wasted away, their clothes ragged. As Romana and the two officers stepped forward they raised hopeful faces towards them, and a murmur of expectation drifted through the hall as people nudged each other awake, whispering that Captain Rochfort had returned. But the hope soon disappeared as they realised that he was empty-handed.

Romana surveyed the bleak panorama. Most of the passengers were old, their skin gnarled and thin. They slept fitfully amongst the garbage, waiting for the end. At the far end of the hall, where the light bulbs ended, there was the shape of a fountain where the necroport had once stood. Or would stand. The fountain still dribbled water, barely enough for the survivors to drink and wash. And beyond the fountain were dozens of human forms, draped in tablecloths.

It was important to remain detached, Romana told herself. To observe, and not to let these people’s lives touch her. Because if she didn’t remain impassive she would be crying at the futility of it all.

Rochfort led Romana over to a pile of packing cases, and sat her down opposite him. Byson squatted next to them, swigging from a plastic water bottle.

‘Two months, we’ve been here,’ muttered Rochfort, as Byson passed him the bottle. ‘And we’ve got four days left until the food runs out.’

‘How have you managed?’ said Romana.

‘We’ve sent out search parties, scouring the ship for what we can find,’ said Byson. ‘Captain Rochfort bravely managed to salvage some provisions from the store rooms, before the Arachnopods got at them. But since then, nothing. Which is why we need to know where you’ve been hiding, in case there is anything left.’

‘What are these “Arachnopods”?’

‘Oh, come on,’ said Rochfort. ‘Do you really expect us to accept…’

‘I’ll come to that,’ said Romana. ‘Do me the courtesy of answering my questions, and then I will explain everything.’

‘Just after the collision…’ Byson placed his hands together, ‘… they came on board. One of the ships behind us was a prison transport, on its way to the internment labs on Murgatroyd. It was carrying these Arachnopods, a genetically modified life form. Basically, they were designed to be the ultimate killing machines.’

Rochfort’s eyes gleamed as if he were overlooking a chasm of insanity. ‘And then they started eating the crew and the passengers. We tried to fight, but they’re indestructible.’

‘Nothing’s indestructible,’ breathed Romana.

‘These things are. You saw what happened back in the corridor. Even if you blow it up, each section of its body has its own nervous system. They just put themselves back together again.’ Byson wiped his eyes. ‘And any bits which they can’t put back together, they just eat up and regrow.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘Oh, shortly after the attack, we got ERIC to hack into the
Montressor’s
computer records,’ said Byson, leaning back. ‘And a lot of good it did us.’

‘So you see, between the Arachnopods and starvation, we’re all that’s left,’ said Rochfort. ‘All –’

Romana interrupted: ‘218 of you.’

Byson pulled himself upright, and Rochfort started. ‘Yes. That’s right,’ said Rochfort. ‘Now how did you know that?’

‘Oh, just a guess,’ sighed Romana.

The floor started to judder and the Doctor was sent sprawling across the corridor. Grabbing on to the handrail, he steadied himself and swayed over to a map framed on the wall.

‘Aha!’ He licked a finger and pointed it down the shaking corridor. ‘Straight down here, left, up the stairs, along the gallery. Nearly there, Doctor.’

And then the lights sputtered out.

‘You mentioned a crash. How did it happen, exactly?’

Byson shifted uncomfortably, and looked to Rochfort for an answer.

‘Well?’ added Romana.

‘It was ERIC’s fault,’ said Rochfort. ‘There was some disruption.’

‘A build-up of geostatic stress, sir,’ said Byson helpfully.

‘Yes, Byson. And, naturally, encountering a build-up of geostatic stress, we decided to bring the ship to a halt. But then ERIC overruled us, and caused the ship to become lodged in the exit.’

‘Sorry, you’re saying the ship’s computer overruled you?’ said Romana. ‘I didn’t realise they could do that.’

‘No, what we’re saying is that the computer should have overruled the captain, but didn’t –’ Byson suddenly stopped himself.

‘The point is,’ said Rochfort rapidly. ‘The point is, ERIC is prepared to admit he was entirely at fault.’ He called towards the ceiling. ‘ERIC?’

> Leave me alone
.

‘No need to be like that, ERIC,’ said Rochfort. ‘Now, tell us, whose fault was it that the
Cerberus
became caught in the tunnel?’

> Go away
.

‘Whose fault?’

> It was my fault, Captain Rochfort. Mea culpa
, wailed ERIC. >
I have brought all this upon myself. How can I go on living with this on my conscience?

‘Thank you, ERIC.’ Rochfort faced Romana. ‘Now perhaps you will tell us where you came from. Properly, this time.’

Romana considered her words carefully. ‘The future.’

‘What?’

‘I come from the future,’ she said. ‘From the year 3012, to be precise.’

‘The future? How?’ said Byson.

‘I was caught in a rupture in the time–space continuum.’

‘Holy grief,’ roared Rochfort. ‘I have never heard anything so ridiculous.’ He got to his feet and brushed down his uniform. ‘She’s obviously lying. Byson, I think we should make another search of the lower levels. See if there’s any more of them down there.’