Doctor Who: Festival of Death: 50th Anniversary Edition (6 page)

Disconcerted, she looked around. The ship had changed. The pillars were no longer caked in mould, but were freshly painted. The statues stood upright, adopting classical poses atop carved foliage. The wood hadn’t rotted at all and Art Deco lamp fittings gleamed. The carpet was a lavish red, not faded and threadbare.

Romana stroked the banister. It was solid. She took a deep breath,
closed
her eyes and let her lungs empty. Whatever was happening, this was not her imagination.

She opened her eyes. The corridor was brand-new, immaculate and opulent. Huge tapestries covered each wall. Chandeliers twinkled their gentle magic.

The silence. It suddenly struck Romana; she could not hear a single sound.

She walked to the medical bay. The doors swung open to reveal the ward – empty. Every bed was unoccupied, every piece of instrumentation was turned off. Above her, the lights glowed with a strange intensity. It was noon of the artificial day.

There was a melodic chuckling. On the opposite side of the medical bay, hidden behind one of the beds, Romana caught a glimpse of a figure. A small girl, no more than six years old. Her eyes were wide and inquisitive. As she realised she had been spotted, the girl giggled and bobbed down behind the bed.

Romana walked across the room, placed the bags on the bed and peered over it. There was no one there, just empty floor. It had only taken a few seconds to reach the bed, and the girl couldn’t possibly have moved from this spot without being seen, so where could she have vanished to?

As if to answer her question, the double doors on the far side of the medical bay swung shut.

Romana dashed off in pursuit.

‘And then they all died. Permanently, this time.’ said the Doctor. ‘Of course.’

‘He’s feigning ignorance,’ said Metcalf. ‘An obvious ploy.’ While Investigator Dunkal had recounted what had happened, the Doctor had made himself comfortable on Metcalf’s desk. He was now twirling his scarf tassles. ‘And yet it is perfectly plain the Doctor was behind the recent catastrophe. Only yesterday I discovered him tampering with ERIC in this very office.’

‘ERIC being the station’s computer supervisor?’ said Dunkal.

‘Indeed. Sadly missed. But what more proof do you need?’
Metcalf
leaned back in his seat. ‘Let me share a thought with you, Investigator. If it wasn’t the Doctor, then whose fault was it? Have any other suspects presented themselves? I think not.’

‘You do have a point there.’ Dunkal mulled this over, and then eyed the Doctor. ‘Explain yourself, Doctor. Just who are you, and what are you doing here?’

The Doctor hopped on to his feet. ‘I’ve told you. I’m the Doctor, and as for what I’m doing here – wasting time. Metcalf, I take it you’re the person in charge here? Correct?’

‘I am the Executive,’ Metcalf said appreciatively.

‘Listen to me, and listen carefully,’ said the Doctor. ‘I have reason to believe that the hyperspace tunnel we’re sitting in is about to collapse.’

‘He’s stalling,’ Metcalf sneered. ‘Playing for time. Ignore him, Investigator.’

‘Time is the one thing we don’t have. According to my friend here…’ The Doctor waved at the robot dog ‘… there will be a total loss of hyperstatial viability in about three and a half hours’ time. The geostatic pressure will cause the tunnel to close in, crushing you, me, and everyone here into a singularity.’

‘What absolute nonsense!’ Metcalf laughed. ‘This conduit has remained safe for over two hundred years!’

‘Flapdoodle,’ said the Doctor. ‘Total poppycock. The hyperspace tunnel is inherently unstable.’ He stared at Metcalf with two saucer-like eyes. ‘You have a public address system? Order an evacuation immediately.’

‘I shall do no such thing.’

‘You don’t seem to understand. If anyone remains on this G-Lock…’

‘Oh, I understand perfectly, Doctor,’ said Metcalf. ‘You are trying to distract us with wild fairy stories.’

‘Wait a moment.’ Dunkal moved forward. The two Investigators seemed to be almost taking the Doctor seriously. ‘Doctor, do you have any proof of this?’

‘If our friend Rige hadn’t silenced K-9 he could have told you,’
said
the Doctor bitterly. ‘Before I was so rudely arrested, I was heading for the interface, which might provide some explanation for this breakdown. So if you’ll just let me…’

‘Of course,’ said Metcalf. ‘If you’ll just let him leave, he’ll show you. He’s treating us like idiots.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ said the Doctor. ‘But in your case, I am prepared to make an exception.’

‘Investigators, you have heard the Doctor. He has refused to explain himself, and despite the fact that I have positively identified him you still refuse to confine him.’

‘But what if he’s…’ protested Dunkal.

Metcalf puffed himself up. ‘May I take this opportunity to remind you that I am the Executive here. I will be most displeased if you do not confine this man immediately. I am perfectly willing to contact your superiors, with whom I carry no small importance. Remember that.’ Metcalf enjoyed the Investigators’ fearful expressions. ‘This meeting is now terminated. Take him away. And take that ridiculous robot dog with you, too.’

Romana found herself on a balcony overlooking a deep shaft. Below her, dozens of identical balconies dropped away into the darkness.

The girl had been playing games with her; always slipping out of sight or disappearing down a stairwell. Several times Romana had felt sure she had lost her, only for a door to swing shut, the girl’s laughter ringing out. And each time Romana thought she had cornered her, she would find that the girl had vanished, only to reappear in the distance, giggling at Romana’s confusion.

Romana had lost all sense of direction. The chase had taken her further away from the medical bay, and the passages had doubled back on themselves taking her deeper and deeper into the ship. This was the third time she had arrived at this chamber, each time on a lower level.

There was a flash of blue material on the level below. Romana had a fleeting impression of the girl running into the shadows, before losing sight of her. The girl’s laughter rang out.

Romana made her way down the next set of stairs. The game continued.

The cubicle consisted of a door, three metal-grey walls and bench, with a bare light bulb providing the sole illumination.

The Doctor squatted on the bench, rubbing K-9’s ear sensors between his palms. Since they had been slammed in this cell he had concentrated his efforts on reviving him.

‘K-9, can you hear me?’ asked the Doctor.

‘Affirm. Affirm.’ K-9’s eyes glowed back to life. ‘Affirmative, mistress. Master. Auditory recognition circuits now fully recovered. This unit is operating at sixty per cent efficiency.’

‘Good boy. Soon have you up to seventy per cent in no time.’

‘Apologies, master.’ K-9’s head drooped. ‘I have failed in my duty to protect you.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ the Doctor said. ‘Could’ve happened to anyone. You’re still my best friend, you know.’

K-9’s chin lifted slightly. ‘Query. Is Romana mistress not your best friend?’

‘Well,’ considered the Doctor. ‘She’s my best friend too, but in a different way. You wouldn’t understand. Anyway, K-9, do you think you can still lead me to the real-space–hyperspace interface?’

K-9 triangulated. ‘Affirmative.’

‘You’re a good computer.’ The Doctor got to his feet and surveyed the cell door. The lock was an electronic tribocipher device; the sonic screwdriver would make short work of it. He extracted it from his pocket with a flourish. ‘Now for the fun part of getting captured. Escaping.’

‘Curiouser and curiouser.’

Romana turned the corner to find a corridor unlike any other. The passage continued for about thirty metres before disappearing into pure blackness which swelled and rippled like a wall of oily liquid. It was as if the passage opened on to nothingness itself.

The corridor was lined with numbered doors for passengers’
cabins
. A plaque announced,
Corridor 79
.

As she approached the blackness Romana could discern the small girl standing on the edge of the void. She was perfectly still, her dress flapping in a soundless wind. The girl beckoned.

Romana found herself being drawn forward. The encroaching blackness was making a whooshing sound, a repetitive sucking like a tape of an orchestra being played backwards.

She could almost reach out and grab the girl, she was so close. She could make out the details of her face, her hazelnut eyes, the pattern on her dress. And yet there was something unreal about her. As though she had been superimposed over a backdrop.

The blackness glooped and surged.

Romana clutched the girl by the shoulders and hugged her to her chest, lifting her away from the blackness. She attempted to carry her down the corridor, but her legs failed to respond. She was glued to the spot.

The sound of laughter roared up from nowhere. There were cheers, clinking glasses, conversation. A party, a hundred people celebrating together. But there was no source for the laughter; Romana and the girl were still alone.

The girl kicked against Romana, trying to wriggle out of her embrace. Romana tightened her hold.

The laughter reached a deafening volume, and suddenly switched to pandemonium. A hundred people screaming as one, a hundred people crying out in absolute terror.

The girl’s face was suddenly covered in jagged cracks, and split open. Her body crumbled to ash in Romana’s arms, leaving Romana clutching at thin air.

Romana gasped herself awake. She was lying on the metal gantry floor of the docking bay. There was no sign of the girl. The two shopping bags lay unwanted by her knees, their contents spilling on to the ground.

Four figures in black cloaks surrounded her. Their faces were screaming skulls. Together, they reached out for her.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

THE CARPEL WAS
close to breaking point. Gelatinous fluid gurgled out of the splitting skin, and with each pulsation of the womb the egg visibly expanded. Inside the egg, the baby rotated, its umbilical cord coiling into the veins of the mothertree.

‘The moment of birthing approaches,’ announced a birthsayer. ‘Gallura will soon be alive.’

A hush fell over the sternum chamber. Birthsayers and elders hobbled about, making preparations for the birth. As the mothertree palpitated, the walls started dripping and the veins straddling the stem began to throb. The chamber flashed from bright green to near darkness with each beat of the mothertree’s heart.

Nyanna remained still. Every muscle in her body was taut, her fronds prickling in the heat. The elders were right; the birth of Gallura portended the end of their race. Within her lifetime, every Arboretan would be killed, until only Gallura remained.

‘The end of us all,’ she whispered to herself.

The oldest birthsayer placed a withered hand on her shoulder. ‘Do not allow yourself concern. Whatever will be, has been so always. There is no end, as there was no beginning. We travel the Path of Perfection.’

‘The Path of Perfection,’ repeated Nyanna.

‘We can do the best of which we are capable, nothing more. Remember that,’ croaked the birthsayer. ‘Destiny shapes us, we do not shape it.’

‘I wish there were some other way.’

‘There is no other way. An infinity of lifetimes has taught us that,’ the birthsayer said. ‘It is the Arboretan legacy.’

*

The four skull-masked guards had escorted Romana, at gunpoint, to a spacious, well-lit office containing some painfully hideous sculptures.

The guards stood on either side of her and an overweight, puffy-faced man faced her across a desk. Beside him were two men in black-and-silver uniforms; one in his fifties, chomping on a cigarette, and one with greasy hair and shifty eyes.

‘I am placing you under arrest on suspicion of drug-trafficking. Although you have the right to remain silent, we have the right to infer guilt from your silence.’

‘I wasn’t drug-trafficking,’ said Romana. ‘These are medical supplies. There are people in the medical bay in urgent need of anaesthetics. At least, I think there are.’

The man behind the desk watched her, his eyes filled with contempt. ‘Ah, yes. The casualties. Most unfortunate, of course, but these are extraordinary circumstances, which we couldn’t have possibly accounted for.’

‘There are people down there working without even the most rudimentary medical supplies,’ said Romana. ‘What sort of a shambles are you running here?’

‘Shambles? The G-Lock is at the forefront –’

‘With all due respect, I think we’re drifting off the topic,’ interrupted the elder of the officers. ‘Lady, it’s immaterial who or what the drugs were intended for. The fact remains that you were found in possession of… Investigator Rige?’

The other officer consulted his notebook. ‘Opiasamin, Tutranol, Novovacuous, Phenyzide and several unidentified substances, Investigator Dunkal.’

‘Exactly,’ said Dunkal. ‘And the penalty for drug-trafficking is most severe.’

‘Severe,’ echoed Rige.

‘Look, this is very simple,’ said Romana. ‘Ask anyone in the medical bay, they will vouch for me. They all seem to be under the impression that the Doctor and I saved this place from…’

The man behind the desk sat bolt upright in delight. ‘The Doctor? You know the Doctor?’

‘We travel together. He is my… companion,’ Romana replied curtly. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Oh, we know the Doctor,’ the man sneered. ‘Investigators, may I present to you – the Doctor’s accomplice!’

Romana was taken aback. ‘Accomplice?’

Dunkal looked doubtful. ‘You never mentioned anything about an accomplice before, Executive Metcalf.’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said Metcalf. ‘This woman, this woman…’

‘Romana,’ prompted Romana.

‘Thank you. This woman, Romana, aided the Doctor in his sabotage of the necroport. She is his co-conspirator. And now she compounds her not inconsiderable crimes by smuggling narcotics. How guilty can you possibly get?’

Dunkal consulted with Rige. ‘He does have a point there.’