Doctor Who: Dreams of Empire: 50th Anniversary Edition

by Richards, Justin

  The Doctor was halfway through the second verse of the ‘Skye Boat Song’ when he noticed that one of the monitors was tracing Victoria’s progress along a corridor. He put down his recorder.

  The system had arranged the images on the screens so that the Banqueting Hall was the adjacent image. It seemed to have keyed itself to Victoria as an interesting movement to track – probably since she was a stranger. If she kept walking along the corridor, she would leave the right side of one monitor to reappear on the left of the next as she entered the hall.

  But she did not.

  Victoria continued down the corridor and into the hall. The Doctor watched her off the side of the screen showing the corridor, and waited for her to appear in the Banqueting Hall. She never got there. The image continued to show an empty room, the armour arranged like sentries around the walls, as if these silent soldiers were also waiting for Victoria’s arrival.

  The Doctor frowned, tapping his recorder on his chin.

  Victoria paused on the threshold of the room, once again taking in its size and magnificence. The table had been cleared, and the room seemed empty. Along each side of the room, the empty armour stood impassive and impressive in alcoves and against the bare walls. At the far end of the room, three archways faced Victoria across the chessboard marble floor. The centre arch was a doorway, higher than the other two. The side arches were merely deep alcoves, a suit of armour displayed on a plinth in each. In the angles between the arches crossed swords were fixed in position, and above them a massive painting depicted a bloody battle in intricate and unpleasant detail. Victoria grimaced and looked away.

  As she turned, she noticed a slight movement in one of the alcoves off to her left. For a moment she thought the suit of armour it framed had moved, had somehow taken on life and stepped down from the low dais. Then she realised that it was a man that was moving. He was dressed in dark combat fatigues rather than the full armour the soldiers wore when on duty. He was facing away from her as he stepped backwards down off the dais. He had been standing so close to the armour that Victoria had not been able to distinguish the two in the shadows of the alcove.

  She was about to call out, but something about the man’s furtive manner stopped her. Instead, Victoria moved further into the room, and concealed herself in the nearest alcove, watching as the man moved on to the next suit of armour.

  He had a small device in his hand. She could not make out the detail, but he stepped up on the dais, close to the armour, pressing the device to the panel on the breastplate. Across the room, Victoria could hear a faint electronic warble. Then after a few seconds the sound stopped, and the man stepped down from the armour. He moved on to the next one.

  But before he reached it, he paused, as if sensing he was not alone. He turned directly towards Victoria, staring across the room towards where she was pressing herself desperately back into the alcove. His face was worn and craggy, a long scar running the length of one cheek. His expression suggested that whatever he was doing, he was not keen to be found.

  Even though she realised that the man could not see her, Victoria instinctively pushed back further into the shadows. It was a mistake. The back of her leg connected with the low dais on which the suit of armour was standing, and she felt herself toppling backward. She grabbed out for support, catching hold of a long lance that was grasped in the metal gauntlet above her. But it was not fixed in position, and pulled free in her hand. Victoria continued her fall, trying not to cry out even as she saw the lance falling forward out of the alcove.

  It clattered to the floor, the sound resonating in the large room. The man with the scar turned back towards the alcove. And this time, as she struggled to her feet, Victoria knew that he had seen her.

  *

  The image was unchanged. The Doctor sat frozen before it, going through the possibilities. Had Victoria paused between the points of view of the cameras for some reason? It was possible, but if so then she had been there for an awfully long time. Another possibility was that there was another doorway that he could not see from the cameras. But the more he thought about that idea, the less the Doctor liked it. For one thing, the expert system was keyed to Victoria, and would have tracked her through that doorway. And if the cameras there were not working, then it would have picked her up as soon as it could. More to the point, the Doctor did not remember a doorway at that position, and he trusted his memory rather more than he trusted any computer.

  So he sat and examined the images on the screens. His distrust of computers meant that he was not as inclined as most people to take for granted what he saw on the monitors. Still, he had a tool, so he might as well make use of it. The Banqueting Hall was obviously empty, the main camera covering both the doorways. But there was movement. Lamps flickered slightly, throwing shadows across walls and floor, illuminating and reflecting off the armour and the wall hangings.

  The Doctor zoomed the image in close to one of the lamps. He could see that the flickering was not random, but followed a definite rhythm, a sequence. This in itself was not evidence of anything wrong. The lamp might be programmed to flicker in that way for effect – to simulate candlelight, for example.

  So he zoomed closer. Then closer still. Eventually, almost at the maximum level, he found what he had been looking for. A mote of dust spiralled downward, catching the light as it fell past the lamp. It tumbled, end over end, caught against the backdrop of a painting as it fell. The Doctor leaned forward and watched its slow and circuitous descent.

  There – that was it.

  The Doctor snapped his fingers in satisfaction and grinned. Then his expression became more serious as he ran through the implications. On the screen the speck of dust was falling again. And once more, as it had almost reached the bottom of the picture, its pixelated form jumped mid-frame back to the top of the image and started descending again, following exactly the same path.

  ‘Victoria!’ the Doctor exclaimed, as if it were a mild expletive. As the perfect digital recording of the empty Banqueting Hall was fed back into the surveillance system yet again, the Doctor ran for the door.

  ‘It’s confirmed,’ Warden Mithrael reported back to Trayx and Captain Logall. ‘The ship is a Haddron cruiser.’

  ‘Very well.’ Trayx nodded. He was not surprised. In fact he had already briefed Logall on the assumption that this was the case. ‘I imagine you did not expect to see action again for a while, Captain.’

  Logall dipped his head slightly. ‘That does not mean I shy away from it, sir.’ He raised his head again as he spoke, looked directly at his commander in chief. Then he glanced first at Mithrael beside him, then at Prion standing silent and still at the back of the room.

  Trayx smiled. ‘I’ve seen your service record, Captain. In fact I chose you to command the garrison here. If you can call twenty men a garrison.’

  Logall had stiffened visibly at this. He was frowning. ‘Forty fighting personnel if we include Kesar’s retinue, sir. And another dozen ancillaries and support staff.’

  ‘I can see you’re surprised.’ Trayx was still on his initial comment. ‘This posting was a reward rather than a punishment, Captain Logall. I needed someone with impeccable credentials, with a record that I could trust absolutely. There is nobody I would rather have with me in the hours ahead.’

  Logall relaxed slightly. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘You have your orders, Captain. If you need anything more, Prion will do what he can for you.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Logall saluted and left.

  ‘How long do we have?’ Trayx asked Mithrael when Logall had left.

  ‘Perhaps eight hours. If they don’t increase speed. They must know we’ve spotted them by now.’

  ‘They know nothing for sure,’ Trayx said quietly. ‘They may assume, they may even have information from their agent within Santespri if they are still in contact.’ He turned to his aide-de-camp. ‘What’s your assessment, Prion?’

  ‘We must assume their intentions are hostile,�
� Prion replied. His voice as ever was level and devoid of tangible emotion. He might as well have been discussing a chess problem. ‘We stand little chance in an outright battle, assuming the ship carries a full complement.’

  Mithrael shook his head. ‘It could carry a whole legion.’

  ‘Then we must assume it does,’ Trayx said. ‘Though that seems rather enthusiastic of Consul Mathesohn. If it is Mathesohn.’

  ‘We have information that Mathesohn plans to remove Kesar,’ Prion said. ‘He has several options open to him. An outright attack would be difficult to conceal or to deny under normal circumstances. A single assassin would be more efficient and deniable.’

  ‘So why the change?’

  ‘Again,’ Prion answered, ‘several possibilities. First a change in circumstances so that expedition and unquestioned success have become paramount. We have no information to support this theory.’

  ‘And second?’

  ‘Opportunity.’

  ‘Meaning what, exactly?’ Trayx asked. But he was beginning to see where Prion’s logical train of thought was leading him.

  ‘Mathesohn’s motives are purely political and self-centred,’ said Prion. ‘Removal of Kesar is but the first step, logically, to his own accession to the position of Emperor. There are other obstacles, primarily his fellow Consuls, since he does not place much store by public opinion.’

  Mithrael shook his head. ‘Jank won’t stand against him, any more than he would have opposed Kesar without considerable persuasion. So that just leaves –’ He broke off, turning to Trayx.

  ‘Yes, it leaves me. Are you suggesting,’ he asked Prion, ‘that Mathesohn sees an opportunity to dispose of Kesar in such a way that blame devolves to me?’

  Prion nodded. ‘Kesar’s assassination while you were also here would be difficult enough. Were you to maintain that Mathesohn sent a whole legion merely to kill a single unarmed and disabled prisoner, he could plausibly shift the blame to you and claim your account is a fabrication in order to cover your own involvement in the assassination. Or, if you are also killed in the action, that too serves his purpose.’

  Mithrael snorted. ‘The word of that sewer rat against the General in Chief – who would believe him?’

  But Trayx was not ready to dismiss the theory. ‘Probably enough people to engender an atmosphere of serious uncertainty. It would create the sort of political landscape in which Mathesohn excels and where honest soldiers such as ourselves are like blind men in a dark dungeon.’ He nodded seriously. ‘Once again, I think you have made an accurate assessment of the situation, Prion.’ He sighed. ‘Once again you tell us what as honest soldiers we dare not think for ourselves.’

  The monsters were everywhere in Jamie’s dream. Daleks glided after him as he ran down smoke-filled corridors, and Cybermen lunged at him from both sides. Somewhere in the distance a Yeti roared, and the rasp of his tortured breathing was an Ice Warrior closing in for the kill. It grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him fiercely and shouting in his ear.

  But the voice was not the dry throaty hiss he expected. ‘Wake up, Jamie,’ the voice shouted. ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’ And he realised that it was the Doctor’s voice.

  ‘Wha-? What? What is it?’ he mumbled as he slowly broke free of his dreams and regained the real world. The Doctor was leaning over him, shaking him by his shoulders. Jamie shook himself free and sat up.

  ‘Oh, Jamie. Oh thank goodness you’re awake.’ The Doctor beamed at him.

  ‘Aye, well now I am awake, what’s going on?’ Jamie demanded. ‘Decided you do need our help after all, have you?’ He looked round. The door to Victoria’s room was ajar. ‘Is Victoria awake as well?’

  ‘But that’s just it, Jamie.’ The Doctor’s expression was grave again. He was wringing his hands as he said, ‘Victoria’s gone. I think she may be in danger.’

  Jamie was on his feet immediately. ‘Why didn’t you say? Where is she?’

  ‘Well, I think she’s in the Banqueting Hall, but –’

  Jamie was already at the door. ‘Then let’s go and find her. Come on, Doctor.’ He turned left and headed off down the corridor.

  Exasperated, the Doctor was following. ‘Jamie!’ he shouted. ‘Jamie, come back. Oh dear, oh dear.’

  ‘No, Doctor,’ Jamie shouted back over his shoulder. ‘If Victoria needs our help –’

  ‘But Jamie, the Banqueting Hall’s this way.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jamie as he turned. ‘Aye. Well, I thought this might be a short cut.’

  But the Doctor did not seem to be listening. He was jumping from one foot to the other as if the floor was on fire under them, already edging back along the corridor. ‘I really think we should hurry.’

  Jamie caught the edge of panic in his voice. He started to run, aware of the sound of the Doctor’s footsteps close on his heels as he hesitated at a junction.

  ‘Left, Jamie,’ the Doctor called from behind him.

  Jamie nodded, as if he had known this and turned.

  ‘Other left!’ the Doctor shouted.

  The lance was heavier than it looked. It had occurred to Victoria that she might use this as a weapon. But she could barely lift it.

  ‘Keep away from me,’ she said, her voice an octave higher than usual in fear. ‘Who are you?’

  But the man with the scar said nothing. He was stalking towards her in a most unpleasant way, his face contorted into what might be a malicious grin.

  Victoria edged out of the alcove and backed away towards the door. ‘If you come any closer, I shall scream.’

  The man seemed unconcerned. But then, Victoria consoled herself, he had not heard her scream yet.

  Suddenly he lunged at her, grabbed at her as she turned to run. Victoria felt her hair yanked viciously as she turned, knew she was falling backwards. She screamed.

  Jamie gritted his teeth at the sound of Victoria’s terror and increased his speed. The Doctor was far behind him now. Jamie could feel the blood pounding in his ears, could hear his breath scraping against his throat as he ran.

  The man’s face was getting closer to Victoria’s, the scar stretched white down his cheek. She had her hands round his neck as he reached for her, but he hardly seemed to notice. His own hands were on her shoulders, lifting her, turning her, breaking free of her grip and pinning her arms behind her back.

  ‘That’s the last time you’ll scream,’ he spat at her. ‘Ever.’ His breath was unpleasantly hot in Victoria’s ear. She caught the smell of it at the back of her throat as she opened her mouth to scream again, as she realised that his hands were now around her throat and that she could not breathe. As her view of the room shimmered like a guttering candle. Then went out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  J’ADOUBE

  THE FLICKERING OF the light and the dancing of the shadows was the only movement in the room. Jamie skidded on the polished marble of the floor as he ran into the Banqueting Hall, saw Victoria’s inert body and tried to change direction. He was already kneeling by her prone form when the Doctor arrived beside him.

  ‘I haven’t run like that in years,’ the Doctor panted, mopping his flustered brow with a grimy handkerchief. He pulled his collar away from his neck as if hoping a cloud of steam would release itself into the atmosphere.

  ‘Doctor –’ Jamie’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet – ‘I don’t think she’s breathing.’

  At once the Doctor was all concern. ‘Oh, Victoria,’ he murmured as his face crumpled. He elbowed Jamie out of the way as he shuffled forward on his knees and craned over the girl, putting his ear close to her mouth. After a moment, he straightened up, pulled a small mirror from his pocket and held it under Victoria’s nose.

  ‘Well, Doctor?’

  ‘Give her a moment, Jamie, there’s a good fellow.’ The Doctor inspected the surface of the mirror, frowned, breathed on it himself as if checking it worked, then stuffed it back inside his coat.

  ‘Well?’ Jamie repeated anxiously.

  ‘I think she�
��s going to be all right,’ the Doctor said, placing his forefinger carefully along the line of Victoria’s jaw so that it pointed to the base of her ear. He was smiling faintly now, and patted Jamie reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘Now, help me to sit her up, will you?’

  Together they managed to move Victoria to a sitting position, the Doctor holding her legs down so she folded in the middle as Jamie struggled to lift her under the arms.

  ‘Steady, Jamie,’ the Doctor advised as he slowly raised her back from the floor. ‘Gently does it. There we go. Yes. Good.’ The Doctor clapped his hands together. ‘Well done. Look, she’s breathing quite normally now.’

  Victoria coughed in answer, her eyelids flickering. Then she opened her eyes suddenly wide, grabbed the Doctor and pulled him forward into an awkward embrace. He struggled to maintain his balance while Jamie fought to keep Victoria from falling back again under the Doctor’s weight.

  ‘Oh, Doctor,’ Victoria said through his coat between sobs. ‘It was awful. There was this man. He had a dreadful scar. He attacked me. I don’t know what happened.’

  ‘There, there,’ the Doctor mumbled soothingly. ‘It’s all right now. You’ll soon catch your breath.’

  ‘But the man…’

  ‘Oh don’t worry,’ the Doctor said as he managed to disentangle himself from Victoria’s grasp. ‘Jamie sorted him out, didn’t you Jamie?’

  ‘Did I?’ Jamie asked. ‘Oh, aye,’ he said quickly. ‘He just ran off when he saw us coming.’

  ‘You see,’ the Doctor went on, ‘there’s nothing to worry about now.’ He helped Victoria to her unsteady feet. ‘Why don’t you come back to our rooms and have a little sit down there? Then you can tell us all about it.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor.’ She leaned on him for support as they headed for the door.

  ‘You see,’ the Doctor said, ‘you’ve already got your colour back.’

  Like the battlements, the loading bay was open directly to space. The osmotic shielding kept the atmosphere from bleeding away into space. When a ship needed to dock, the area was cleared and the shields lowered, reactivated once the forward section of the ship was within the bay. The shield then melded itself to the hull of the ship, whatever shape it might be, creating a perfect, airtight seal.