Doctor Who: Shining Darkness (5 page)

Garaman must have noticed her discomfort.

‘Not a fan of mechanicals?’ he said with a smile.

‘Give me a video recorder or an mp3 player and I’m fine – it’s just…’ She waved in the direction of the little robot. ‘Well, don’t you think they’re a bit
creepy
?’

Garaman’s eyes flicked up to Mesanth’s.

‘Mechanicals are just tools,’ he said reassuringly. Then he turned to the robot. ‘What?’ he barked, and Donna winced slightly.

‘Ogmunee wishes me to tell you that we will arrive in the system in one hour,’ said the thing in a fluting, childlike voice.

Garaman ignored the robot and then, when it didn’t move, he motioned it away with a sharp gesture. The little thing toddled off.

‘Do they…’ ventured Donna. ‘Are they…? I mean, do they think? Like us, I mean.’

‘Like organics?’ asked Mesanth. ‘Not really. They can ape – if you’ll pardon the expression – organic behaviour and responses, but it’s all just programmed, regardless of what the promechanicals would have you believe.’

‘The promechanicals?’

‘The trendy thinking-classes who go on about mechanicals having rights, feelings, that sort of nonsense.’ Mesanth paused and leaned closer to Donna. She could smell something like lavender and fish. ‘Do you have mechanicals in your galaxy, on your world?’

Donna rolled her eyes.

‘Don’t get me started,’ she said. ‘Robot Santas! I mean, how wrong is
that
? I was kidnapped by one – took me off in a taxi. On my wedding day! Can you believe it? And the robots on Planet 1 – they were just weird.’

Garaman nodded sagely.

‘It seems that even in your galaxy, things are the same.’

‘It’s in their nature,’ said Mesanth with a sorrowful shake of the head. ‘Our scientists proved it decades ago: mechanicals are unable to think or feel the same way that organics do. It’s the way they’re made. Not their fault, but true nonetheless.’

Donna nodded. From the bits the Doctor had told her about his previous trips, robots were bad news. And the ones she’d met here hadn’t exactly endeared themselves to her.

‘It seems,’ said Garaman, warming to her, ‘that we have more in common than we might have imagined. Perhaps,’ he paused and glanced at Mesanth, ‘we should be a little more hospitable to Donna. Apologies for my earlier actions. Perhaps, when you understand the
Dark Light
’s mission, you might find it in your heart to forgive me.’ Garaman smiled tightly, but Donna didn’t reciprocate. The man had a lot of forgiveness to earn yet.

‘Perhaps, as a small gesture, you might like a guided tour of the ship?’

As apologies for threatening to break a finger, it was a bit limp. But it was a start. And it would give her a chance to find out more about her kidnappers.

THE CONTROL ROOM
of
The Sword of Justice
was a hive of activity as Li’ian ushered the Doctor in. Mother was nowhere to be seen, but Kellique and Boonie were hunched over the sensor displays. Three or four robots of assorted – and bizarre – design were scuttling around, like shiny, hyper-trendy kitchen gadgets. The ship groaned and creaked unnervingly.

‘Doctor,’ said Boonie, catching sight of him. ‘We’re just about to arrive in the Karris system.’

‘Are we?’ enthused the Doctor. ‘Marvellous. Where’s that, then?’

‘Sorry – I forgot that you’re not familiar with our galaxy.’

‘Well, there’re a lot of galaxies out there, Boonie. Have to spread myself about a bit.’ He squeezed in between Boonie and Kellique and peered down at the sensor display. ‘So what’s so special about this Karris system, then?’

‘It’s where the cultist ship is.’

‘The cultist ship? Oh, you mean Donna’s ship! Why d’you call it “the cultist ship”, then?’

There was another of those looks between Kellique and Boonie.

‘Oh, come on!’ exclaimed the Doctor. ‘You can’t keep talking in riddles like this. Imagine if we all did: “I think I’d like a… you know… one of those bowls with a handle on it. Full of that stuff. Liquid. Warm.”’ He let his shoulders sag. ‘We’d be here for ever at that rate.’

‘I’m sorry, Doctor, but you’ve been on our ship barely two hours. Until we know whether we can trust you, I think it’s better that we play our cards close to our chests.’

The Doctor shrugged.

‘Fair enough, but Li’ian thought that maybe it was time we were all a bit more communicative.’

Boonie threw Li’ian a glance, which she returned.

‘It’s true,’ she said, holding her ground. ‘The Doctor might have been dragged into this accidentally, as he claims. Or… or he might not. He’s certainly not as stupid as he looks.’

‘Go on,’ said the Doctor to Boonie. ‘Say it: “No one could be as stupid as
he
looks.” Believe me, I’ve heard it before. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Now why don’t you just tell me what you’re up to, and I can decide whether to help you or to stop you.’ He beamed brightly at them.

The three Andromedans exchanged silent glances before Boonie finally nodded.

‘Li’ian might have a point.’

He straightened up and walked over to his command chair, beckoning the Doctor.

‘What d’you know about the Cult of Shining Darkness?’

‘Good name for a band?’ He pulled a thoughtful face. ‘Something a bit rocky, a bit glam. An album band,’ he decided. ‘Not much good for singles. Getting close?’

Boonie sighed.

‘What you said about no one being as stupid as you look…’

The Doctor grinned back. ‘OK, OK – this Cult of Shining Darkness. Never heard of them. What do they do?’

‘Until a few years ago,’ Boonie said, his voice low and deadly serious, ‘they were nothing but a bunch of cranks. Cranks with money and brains, but still cranks.’

‘And since then?’

‘Since then – since the death of their leader, a woman called Khnu em Llodis – they’ve been quiet. Until two months ago, that is.’

‘And then they resurfaced?’

Boonie nodded.

‘So what exactly does this cult believe in? I mean, cults normally believe in something don’t they, even if it’s complete nonsense – and it usually is. Part of the job description.’

The Doctor noticed how Boonie glanced at Kellique and Li’ian, who were following the conversation from the sensor control panel.

‘They’re organic supremacists.’

‘Meaning they’re not too hot on robots?’

Boonie winced slightly. ‘The correct term – well, the
most
correct term – is machine intelligences, Doctor. The
cultists
call them “mechanicals” which should give you some idea of how they think.’

‘So “robots” is bad, then?’

Boonie winced again.

‘Unless you’re talking about non-sentient appliances, yes, generally. Any that rates higher than a forty on the Lipanov scale is a machine intelligence.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Although you ask a dozen machine intelligences and you’ll get a dozen different answers. Some prefer “designed organisms”, some prefer “non-organics”.’ He shook his head and gave a tired grin. ‘It can be a minefield at times.’

It was the Doctor’s turn to smile wryly.

‘You know, wherever I go in the universe it’s the same.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Still, it’s all about courtesy, isn’t it? If a vending machine wants to be called “Barbara”, it’d be rude to call it anything else.’

‘Exactly! And believe me, if the cultists got their way, every machine intelligence would be nothing but a “mechanical”. They wouldn’t even rate a name like – what was it? – Barbara.’

The Doctor nodded and rubbed the back of his neck.

‘So: cultists not too hot on sentient rights for all, then?’

‘They refuse to believe that machine intelligences
are
sentient. They consider them as tools mimicking sentient behaviour. Despite all the evidence, they see anything non-organic as nothing but a collection of parts.’

‘And what does Mother have to say about this Cult of Shining Darkness?’ He glanced around the room. ‘I notice she’s not here. Busy?’

‘Mother keeps herself to herself a lot of the time. She’s
not
the Cult’s greatest fan, as you can imagine.’

‘And you lot,’ the Doctor said, glancing around the room. ‘You’re on a mission to track the Cult down? Why?’

‘Because,’ said Kellique from the other side of the room, ‘they have to be stopped.’

The Doctor frowned. ‘Stopped? Stopped from doing what?’

Boonie shook his head.

‘That’s what we’re trying to work out.’

Suddenly, Kellique let out a little cry of surprise. Before anyone could stop him, the Doctor was at her side, peering at the sensor displays.

‘It’s gone!’ said the woman, her hands flying frantically over the controls.

‘Hyperjumped out of the system?’ the Doctor muttered, gently elbowing her out of the way. He shook his head. ‘No, there’d be a residual trace, even if just for a few seconds – hold this, will you?’

He’d stripped down to his shirt sleeves and was holding his jacket out for Kellique. Silently, and still somewhat shocked, she took it as he began to mess with the controls.

‘Doctor!’ barked Boonie. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m trying,’ said the Doctor, pulling out the access panel in the base of the controls, rolling onto his back and sticking his head inside, ‘to boost your sensors. Judging by the last few seconds of your sensor log, your little culty friends have just switched their shields into overdrive.’

‘Which means?’

‘Which means,’ said the Doctor through gritted teeth
as
he tugged at the circuit boards and crystals, rewiring them, ‘that whatever they’re doing, they’re rather keen to make sure that no one else knows about it.’

Seconds later he emerged, sprang to his feet and set about fiddling with the sensor controls again.

‘There!’ he cried triumphantly. ‘Got ’em!’

Garaman’s ship was, Donna decided (on the basis of the few spaceships she’d seen so far) decidedly palatial. Spotlessly clean (due, no doubt, to the oodles of little robots running around, polishing everything to within an inch of its life). Garaman had other things to deal with, so Mesanth had offered to show Donna around. Which, considering the finger incident, suited her fine.

Mesanth was quite the opposite of the slimy little man – gracious and entertaining and (appearance aside) not the least bit threatening. She was still getting used to the creature’s odd, bouncing walk (and still hadn’t summoned up the courage to ask whether Mesanth was male or female, so she decided to plump for male, just on the basis of ‘his’ voice) but managed to keep up with him well enough. Her thoughts, though, were still on the Doctor, and how they were going to get her back to him. She’d brought it up with Mesanth as he’d given her a quick look in the ship’s engine room. (If she’d needed any evidence about Mesanth’s gender, that ought to have clinched it: what woman, thought Donna as she tried to look interested, would have suggested a trip round an
engine room
, for god’s sake?)

‘It’s tricky,’ said Mesanth, leading her back out into the corridor where a creature a little like a huge armadillo
trundled
past, flicking its tail in a sort-of-wave at them. ‘Our… our
mission
is of the utmost importance to us,’ Mesanth said in that slightly haughty way of his.

‘And getting back to the Doctor is of the utmost importance to me. Can’t you just send him a message? Tell him I’m here?’

‘Garaman would never allow it, I’m afraid. But look at it this way: this Doctor friend of yours – he’s not going to leave the planet without you, is he?’

‘He wouldn’t dare!’

‘Well there you are: he’ll wait until we return you to him.’

‘And when, exactly, will that be?’ Donna stopped dead in the corridor and one of the little cleaning robots – a chrome dome like those things that cover your food up in posh restaurants – made a little detour around her feet. ‘Only I don’t exactly get a sense of urgency about it. And what if the Doctor thinks I’m dead, or gone for ever? How long’s he going to wait before he decides I’m not coming back?’

Mesanth shrugged with his two side arms which just made Donna want to punch him.

‘What can I say? Apart from Garaman’s, um, unfortunate outburst earlier, I don’t believe we’re treating you badly—’

‘You’re keeping me prisoner on a ship that’s going in the wrong direction!’ exploded Donna. ‘Your boss almost broke off my finger! It’s a pretty twisted idea of not treating someone badly!’

A pale, haughty-looking woman in overalls was just coming out of the control room as Donna finished
her
tirade, and gave her an awkward smile. Donna just grimaced at her. In the control room, Garaman was in a huddle with two other humans. They abruptly stopped talking as Donna and Mesanth entered.

‘We’ve picked up the ship,’ said Garaman to Mesanth, eyeing Donna.

‘In the system?’ Mesanth danced over to Garaman and cast his eyes over the instruments.

‘Entering it. Behind us.’

Mesanth’s gaze snapped up to Garaman.

‘It’s them,’ Mesanth said crisply.

‘As long as we’re sure it’s them,’ said one of the other humans – a bald man with ridiculously muscled arms and skin the colour of dark mahogany. ‘If it’s anyone else, we might be in trouble. Has she been checked for homing devices, tags?’ He stared at Donna. And not in a good way.