by Paul Cornell
"What, are you scared? It won't be dark for hours yet." Tegan stared at her.
"I'm going on my own." Nyssa stood up.
"Hey, wait up, what's wrong?"
"I don't like this place at all. You can't feel there's evil here, all around us, Tegan! You're not sensitive like I am, you weren't brought up to know how people are feeling because they'll always be feeling kind!" She turned and ran off towards the shopping centre.
Tegan followed as quickly as she could, but by the time she'd turned the corner that the Trakenite had disappeared around, there was no sign of her. "Damn..." she muttered. "What's got into her?"
The Doctor had returned to the TARDIS carrying shopping bags. He frowned at the graffiti that had appeared on the side of the blue box, a big multicoloured signature with artistic sparkles and highlights. Then he inclined his head and grinned. It was actually rather good. Besides, one trip in the vortex would erase it.
He opened the door and went inside, placing the bags at the foot of the hatstand. A flashing light on the console indicated that the task he'd set the TARDIS computers was complete. The intelligent listening program had been checking all broadcast news bulletins in the last two hours and preparing a digest of what was happening. There wouldn't be any direct references to vampires, of course, but hopefully he'd be able to make some inferences of his own. He'd sent Nyssa and Tegan out to get more human reactions ... and, he admitted to himself, to make sure that Nyssa could go out in daylight. That, at least, wasn't a problem.
He pressed a control. The first few reports concerned various assaults and murders in the Greater Manchester area. As they came in, the Doctor used a light pen to pin-point them on a map on the viewscreen. No pattern emerged. On any night of the week, in any particular area of town, it was possible to be attacked. That in itself was worrying. If the Undead no longer felt constrained by the need for secrecy, not to mention the desire to limit their numbers they must be feeling very confident. A spokeswoman from a neighbourhood watch group came on an afternoon phone-in and told the story of how a gang of youths had leapt over fences from garden to garden down her street jumping higher and faster than she thought possible. A policeman urged the public not to go out alone at night. A father whose son had gone missing made a desperate plea for him to be returned. The Doctor closed his eyes, then flicked the control impatiently. Other news. American TV evangelist Victor Lang's appearance at the Old Trafford stadium had jammed the switchboard of the ticket office. His organization were now advising that the event was sold out.
There was Lang himself "As far as I can see, the city's under siege by the forces of evil. Now you may smile, but what else do you call it when ordinary people can't go anywhere for fear of what might happen? I haven't got a profit motive here, we're as full as we can be. I just want to tell everybody out there: it only takes a minute. Put your hands together, close your eyes or, if you're driving, just think of Jesus. The power of prayer can turn this around."
Well, that would help with the matter of belief, at least. Hopefully the Sikh, Hindu and Muslim communities in the city would have similar gatherings. Between them, they were going to need all the faith they could get.
Nyssa had run down the street far faster than she expected to. It was as if her body was a paper aircraft that her legs were blowing along. If she'd lifted them, she would have flown like a dart, she knew she would.
But she didn't want to fly.
All her protests to Tegan had been lies, though she could feel a sleeping presence of evil about the city. She was hungry, but she knew just what the hunger was.
She'd seen a healthy young man in an Umbro shirt go by. She'd imagined sinking her teeth into the muscles of his arm, and sucking the hot and nourishing soup inside.
She had to eat something ordinary, but the thought of normal food ... it would be like eating hay. Nyssa wasn't sure she could do it any more. The urge to kill something -
Why had she come so far from the TARDIS?
She sped into a darker side street, grateful that the clouds had come down and heavy rain was gushing into the gutters. Her hair was heavy with water, and streams of it were running down her nose, but at least she could feel it. A human thing to feel.
"Spare some change?" He was sitting in a sleeping bag, curled up in the doorway of a boarded-up shop. He wore an anorak hood, and beneath it his face was pale and unshaven. "Nice day for it, eh?" His hand was held out towards her.
Nyssa stared at him. A shudder racked her body again. With a great effort of will, she said, "Do you know anything about the people who have disappeared?"
The boy raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Yeah, everybody has. Pitches going everywhere these days. For a while, people were saying that there was a new shelter, but nobody knew where it was. Hey, stop looking at me like that. What's that look mean then?"
Nyssa closed her eyes and made herself concentrate on a rural idyll on Traken. It wasn't as if this man was one of her own kind. He was just a beggar. He'd probably die of the cold soon anyway. She didn't even have to kill him, because now there was no law - it sang inside her, a distant edict that might have been something she'd dreamt - you could convert as many as you wished now, for soon the feeding would be enough for everyone.
He'd like it. He wouldn't be cold any more. He would taste really good.
She opened her eyes again, and saw that the man was shouting at her. She couldn't hear what he was saying, because that didn't interest her. What was interesting was the different emotional smells rising from him, anger and sadness. She could almost see the wave of them around his body.
"Has anybody come back?" It felt like a flirtation, talking about something else when they both knew what they were actually thinking. His scent was that of something that knew it was prey.
"Why should I tell you anything? What are you on, anyway? You enjoying this, are you, standing there on whatever you're on!" He was yelling, shaking a gloved hand at her.
"Stop." Nyssa froze him with a glance, hit his brain motionless with her eyes. "Tell me the exact details of who you've heard of that has returned after going missing."
He began to do so, in a halting voice, the voice of a rabbit. Nyssa listened to him impassively. She was interested in what would happen when he stopped.
Tegan got back to the TARDIS soaked and angry.
"Where is she?" she asked, flapping the umbrella outside the doors before hanging it on the hatstand.
"If you mean Nyssa, I've no idea." The Doctor looked up from a cricket bag that he was packing with provisions. "You mean that you've left her alone out there?"
"I've left her - Listen, she gave me the slip. I don't know what she's playing at but shugglubburghhh ..."
The Doctor had slipped a capsule of some sort into her mouth. He breathed into his hand and waved it in front of her nose. His palm reeked of garlic. "I've been chewing the real thing," he explained. "You've just swallowed a concentrated dose of the stuff."
"Thanks a lot." Tegan wrinkled her nose. "Did I say romance on Wednesday? You'll be lucky."
They both turned around as a dripping figure staggered in through the doors. Nyssa stared at them pitifully, and hid her hands by folding her arms around herself. "I have ... some information," she muttered.
"Where on Earth did you get to?" Tegan asked as the Doctor closed the doors. "I was worried sick."
"I told you I was hungry...." Nyssa leant heavily on the console, and turned to look Tegan in the eye. "I found something to eat."
The Doctor had popped out of the console room. He returned carrying a large towel, which he handed to Nyssa. "So what did you discover?"
"A large number of people that live on the street have gone missing." Nyssa began to dry her hair. "And they are starting to return. Once they do, they're not like their old selves. They can be violent and unpredictable. They don't seem to keep their old lifestyle for long. The man I talked to said that there were fewer homeless people on the streets every day. He added that nobody woul
d take any notice until students started to go missing. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah." Tegan flapped her newspaper to dry it off a bit. "That's just what's starting to happen. The children are being taken, and unwary students, people who live alone. The city's in a real panic."
"Interesting ..." The Doctor took the paper from Tegan. "Normally vampires don't exhaust their food supply by overfeeding. They're aware of their vulnerabilities and don't like to make their existence known. It seems that these individuals don't worry about such considerations any more. Oh, Nyssa - " He took another garlic capsule from his pocket and absently popped it in her mouth. "Here you are."
Nyssa swallowed in a reflex action. It felt like a stone going down, and she fought to stop herself from retching. "What is it?"
"Garlic. Slow-release capsule. Should keep you going for several days."
Nyssa took a deep, slow breath. "Good," she said. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have some things to do. Call me if you come to any conclusions."
Tegan shook her head. "I'd say something about bad breath, only it'd be true."
Nyssa ran straight to the laboratory. Thankfully the experiment she'd left was still intact. An attempt to construct synthetic haemoglobin, an artificial blood substitute. They still didn't suspect, and swallowing the garlic had probably cleared up any lingering suspicions. It was just as well she was still able to do that. Perhaps the properties of the herb would slow down her transformation.
If she could complete this experiment successfully, then no harm would come. She could manufacture as much as she liked, and use her new abilities to help the Doctor defeat the other vampires. It would, she thought with a survivor's chilly optimism, be interesting to be a vampire. For one thing, the Master would not be able to evade or control her next time they met. She would be able to reach into him, to hypnotically bring Tremas to the surface. She and her father could work together then on the problem of vampirism, perhaps come up with a cure that might be used on other people.
She worked for six hours, using the chemistry skills she'd learnt at her father's side. Traken had made great advances in biochemistry, far beyond Earth's level of achievement, and their scientists had designed an artificial plasma years ago. The trouble was that it generally needed large vats and high pressures to produce. Nyssa was hoping to simplify the process.
Finally she held in her hand a beaker containing a thick red emulsion. She placed an electric stirrer in it at intervals as it cooled, making herself wait until it was a reasonable temperature to drink. Her throat already felt full and heavy, as if she had a glandular infection. She sniffed the beaker. It certainly smelt like blood, but it didn't excite her as she'd expected. Still, perhaps that was a result of being back in the TARDIS. She hadn't felt such a disabling urge to feed since she'd returned, just a nagging hunger.
Nyssa carefully drank the contents of the beaker, licking her lips afterwards to make sure there was no sign of it on them. A pleasingly warm drink. She washed out the beaker and put it back on the bench.
The Doctor was circling the console, selecting controls like a choosy aunt might pick chocolates. "Nyssa!" he smiled, glancing up. "How are you?"
"I'm fine." Nyssa wandered into the console room, feeling slightly stronger than she had. "I'm sorry if my behaviour has seemed strange. As I told Tegan, it's because I can feel the evil in the city. I almost want to run and hide." She glanced towards the doors. "There must be hundreds of them out there."
"Yes, which is why I'm fine-tuning the TARDIS defence systems. We shall conduct our campaign in daylight, while making sure ..." he flicked a final switch, "that nothing can reach us here at night." He stood back, satisfied. "I worry about you. So does Tegan."
"I understand that. I'll try to be more sociable." She felt the blood substitute warming her. "I was meaning to tell you, there are tales of vampires in Traken legend."
"Are there?"
"Before the Union was formed, all manner of evil things happened. The story goes that there was a village where the dead would return to their relatives at night, and tell them awful stories that sent them mad."
"What happened?"
"A party of Proctors was formed, and they put a silver stake through the heart of every grave in the village. Nobody was ever troubled again."
"Well, it's possible that those were real vampires, but legends of the Undead persist in several cultures without any foundation. The dead are always with us, and in conditions of poverty or hunger, it's often tempting to think that there's another existence after this one."
Nyssa paused. "Do you think vampires ... are necessarily evil?"
"Well, that's a very difficult question. You might as well ask if a shark or a tiger is evil. They're predators, I don't think they have much choice in the matter. It's best to think of it as an unfortunate medical condition. Who knows, perhaps some day there'll be a cure."
Nyssa stood there for a second, and smiled. "Perhaps. Good night." Then she left.
"Good night." Feeling slightly more at ease, the Doctor glanced at the console one last time, and adjusted a dial slightly. "Let's hope we won't be disturbed."
Nyssa's eyes opened.
She had been lying in the darkness, drifting through something like sleep. She had been thinking of falling up into the sky, of being lost in that emptiness.
Something had happened in her throat. There was no pain, but something had suddenly moved or torn or...
She sat up, and went to the mirror on her dressing table. She pulled aside the shawl she'd thrown over it when she went to bed. Her reflection had been a ghostly blur then, and she didn't want to see it deteriorate. She was still just as faded. "Lights up, please," she called. The TARDIS responded, flooding the room with light.
Nyssa winced. There was blood all down her nightdress. It was coming from her mouth.
She stretched her jaw open and tried to see her gums.
Suddenly she doubled up. No pain, just an all-powerful muscular spasm. From her mouth poured another gout of blood.
She fell off the chair onto the floor. A shudder started in her stomach and rammed up to her mouth. She spat something out in another rush of fluid.
The garlic capsule. Surrounded by a hard knot of fatty deposits. It lay on the rug in a fan of red. She didn't want to touch it.
She pushed herself up to a sitting position. The blood on the floor had that different smell to it. Her chemical substitute. Her body hadn't absorbed it at all.
She was hungry. Desperately hungry.
She must have food now.
She must have blood.
She'd sit here and die. She'd make herself sit here and die.
She started to sweat, a fast boiling like every drop of liquid in her was dissolving away. There was still no pain. Pain would be welcome, rather that than this terrible craving.
She stood up, like a puppet jerked to its feet. Her hands were curling into animal shapes. Sobbing, she stumbled towards the door.
The corridors of the TARDIS had dimmed with night. Nyssa marched along, her bare feet making no noise. She wasn't cold in her bloodied night-dress. Her head was fastened straight forward, her eyes brimming with salty swift-evaporating tears.
The first door was Tegan's.
She knocked on it. Three quick knocks.
"Who is it?" came the call.
"It's me. Nyssa." The voice was her own used as a trick. Calm and normal. This is beyond my control. I can't help it. It's not my fault.
"Wait a second." The door opened. "Hi, what - " Tegan was still dressed, she'd been reading. She looked down in horror at the blood. "My God, what happened?"
"Help me, Tegan!" Nyssa stepped forward, falling into her friend's arms. They staggered back into the room and the door swung closed behind them.
"I'll get the Doctor," Tegan muttered, trying to guide her to a chair.
"No, don't." Nyssa grabbed Tegan's arm.
Tegan stared at her, suddenly scared by the young Trakenite's strength. "I was r
ight," she gasped. "You're - "
"Help me, Tegan, don't let me die. Let me have some of your blood. You won't feel any pain, I won't harm you. Please, I need it!" Nyssa gently pulled Tegan towards the corner of the room, her voice imploring her.
Tegan shook her head, dazed. "No, I can't ..." she muttered, watching the depths of Nyssa's eyes. They were trying to make her dream. "No!" She gave the Trakenite a sudden shove, sending her sprawling onto the floor, and ran for the door.
Nyssa was there first, ricocheting up from the floor. Her palm slammed the door closed.
"How could you ask me that?" Tegan shouted, backing away. "After all that stuff with the Mara!" She made a visible effort to concentrate. "I have faith in Primo Levi, in your book! I have faith in you, Nyssa. You can't touch me."
Nyssa reached forwards, her arms open in a pleading gesture. "You haven't got faith in what I've become, Tegan. As you say, you've gone through it yourself. You understand it too much. Your faith isn't enough to hold me back. I have to eat. I need blood. I can't help myself. Please - " She stepped forward.
"Get away from me!" Tegan lashed out, catching her across the cheek with her fist.
Nyssa turned, her eyes full of sudden rage, and pinned Tegan to the wall. She lunged at her neck, snarling.
"Nyssa! Nyssa, don't!" Tegan screamed, kicking and punching uselessly. "Doctor!" Nyssa's mouth paused, a millimetre from where her sharp teeth would touch the soft flesh of Tegan's throat. A muscular spasm shook her.
With a great roar, she threw Tegan onto her bed and dived out of the door. A great breeze followed her, causing books to leap from shelves and papers to flutter around the room.
Tegan curled up where she'd been thrown, and started to cough out big sobbing breaths.
Nyssa burst out of the TARDIS and ran down the street, weeping. Around her, whirlwinds erupted, scattering cans and rubbish across the pavement. She sprinted around the corner, heedless of where she was going, and bounced off the bonnet of a taxi as it sped down the street.