‘We’ve got you trapped like a rat in your own basement,’ Jenny said. ‘Your so-called weapons are all gone. So you tell us what exactly we’ve overestimated.’
‘If you stay down there, you will eventually starve,’ Vastra added. ‘If you leave in your ship, the Shadow Proclamation will immediately spot the engine signature. I imagine they have forces in the area as they must have tracked you to this system or you’d have left a long time ago. So surrender to us and let the Doctor plead your case.’
‘Plead my case?’ Milton echoed. ‘Oh, you mean argue for some sort of reduced sentence so that instead of being executed I just get locked up for ever. Mmmm.’ He stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘No, doesn’t sound that great, actually. Especially as I’ve had a better offer. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be on my way.’
‘A better offer?’ Vastra said. ‘What offer would that be?’
‘Someone else wants your horrible weapons?’ Clara asked.
‘Oh I’m sorry, I should have mentioned it earlier. But well, one doesn’t like to boast. The Senior Deputy Shadow Architect has just been in touch. Offering complete immunity. A pardon. In fact, the Shadow Proclamation would rather like me to go and develop my horrible weapons for them.’
‘The Doctor always offers last chances,’ Clara said. ‘So this is yours. Just give up the weapons. Come out of your bunker down there and we can help you find some other way to make a fortune or whatever it is you want to do.’
‘Not very tempted, I’m afraid. So if it’s all right with you, I’ll just say my goodbyes and be on my way. Oh, and it actually is “goodbye”, I’m afraid. You see, I really can’t let any of you live after this. I suppose it’s to do with pride.’
‘What do you mean?’ Vastra demanded.
‘Well, pride and also of course I do so hate anyone to get the better of me,’ Milton went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘So I’m afraid the Doctor and all of you really have to go. Once I’m well clear I shall be launching distronic missiles to destroy this whole area.’
‘You’re going to destroy London?’ Clara said, appalled.
‘Well, most of southern Britain, really. Sorry about that. Anyway, I’d better be going. And I imagine you have some goodbyes of your own to say to each other. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure.’
The screen went black.
The pre-flight checks were complete. While the computer went through the final activation sequence, Milton leafed through his notes. Yes, there were some ideas in here that would certainly interest the Shadow Proclamation. He gathered the notes together and rested them on the console in front of him as the ship slowly turned on its axis and started along the gentle slope that led up to the launch ramp.
The ramp was concealed inside the coach house. The horses in the stables beside it would get a shock, though the blast shielding would make sure they were unharmed. At least until he launched his missiles. It was a shame, Milton thought, as he had quite enjoyed his enforced stay here. That said, the city was a mess – maybe levelling it, together with much of the surrounding countryside, would allow the primitive natives to rebuild something rather better in its place. He was probably doing them a favour, in the long run.
He checked his safety harness was securely fastened as the ship tilted backwards. A few moments later there was a burst of thrust from behind. Milton was slammed back into his seat as the ship shot up the ramp. His papers slipped from the console, falling to the floor.
The wooden doors shattered into splintered fragments as the ship exploded out of the coach house. Smoke and flame trailing behind it, the small craft climbed rapidly through the smoggy air before bursting through the clouds and into open sky.
Clara watched from the window.
‘There he goes,’ she said.
‘Don’t feel bad about what’s going to happen,’ Silhouette told her, resting a hand gently on Clara’s shoulder. ‘He had a choice. For all his charm, he is a sadistic murderer.’
‘Will he launch the missiles?’ Jenny asked.
‘He won’t have time,’ Vastra told her.
‘We hope,’ Clara murmured.
*
The G-force eased off as the ship reached the upper atmosphere. Milton quickly checked the instruments.
‘All systems are online and functioning normally,’ the computer reported in a husky female voice. Milton had selected it from an option palette of over a hundred possible voices.
‘Alone at last,’ he said. ‘Just you and me.’
‘And the Dekseller-class Smart Torpedoes approaching rapidly from sector nine,’ the computer reported.
‘What? Show me!’ Milton stared at the main screen, his brow furrowed with worry and disbelief as he watched two tiny points of light approaching the marker that represented his own ship.
‘Analysis confirms that the torpedoes are standard smart weapons as deployed by the Shadow Proclamation. Impact in 57 seconds. Evasive action advised.’
Milton switched to manual control. The computer was predictable, and the torpedoes would be programmed to expect the standard responses, evasion techniques and countermeasures.’
‘Seems someone at the Shadow Proclamation didn’t get the message,’ he said as he swung the ship in a wide arc. ‘Open a communications channel to the Senior Deputy Shadow Architect. Call him back at the communications node he contacted me from before.’
A small screen showed the countdown to impact. Milton kept an eye on it as the communication system connected. For the moment, the number was remaining at about the 50-second mark as he dodged the ship round. If he could keep away from them for long enough the torpedoes should run out of fuel before he did. But it would take a long time and a lot of concentration.
‘Connection established.’
The main screen flickered and the image of the Senior Deputy Shadow Architect appeared. He smiled pleasantly. ‘And what can I do for you, Orestes?’
‘You can get these torpedoes off my tail,’ Milton said, struggling to steer the ship wide of the approaching weapons.
The smile became sympathetic. ‘Ah, I’m afraid I can’t help you there.’
‘If you give me the command access code, I can disable them myself,’ Milton told him. ‘There’s a standard protocol, you must know it.’
The ship juddered as one of the torpedoes narrowly missed. It shot past, already swinging round to come back at the ship.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know the code you mean.’
‘You must!’
‘In fact, I confess I don’t really have any idea what you’re talking about.’
‘What?’ Milton was finding it hard to concentrate on avoiding the torpedoes and follow what the Deputy said. ‘It’s a standard code.’ He had to shout above the warning klaxon now sounding in the cabin. ‘It’s given to all senior officials of the Shadow Proclamation – you must know it.’
‘Ah, now I think that might be the problem.’ The sympathetic smile was back as the man nodded slowly. ‘Who exactly do you think I am?’
Milton dropped the ship suddenly and one of the torpedoes shot past just above him. ‘You’re the Senior Deputy Shadow Architect,’ he said through gritted teeth. But even as he said it a terrible suspicion began to form in the back of his mind. ‘Unless …’ He stared at the screen in disbelief.
The screen where the pale, drawn features of the Senior Deputy blurred and shimmered before settling into a blank face, devoid of features or expression.
‘Affinity?’
‘I’m flattered that you even remember me,’ Affinity said. ‘But really, you should have realised sooner. Did you actually think anyone would offer you a pardon?’
‘I saw who I wanted – saw what I needed to see,’ Milton realised. ‘Heard what I wanted to hear.’ Somehow, even though it was a blank, the face on the screen seemed to be smiling back at him. ‘I believe that is called “working as designed”.’
Milton tore his attention away from the screen, just in time to dodg
e one of the torpedoes. He had to maintain concentration. He could get through this. He forced himself to smile back at Affinity.
‘You’ll forgive me, but I am rather busy right now. Rest assured, though, that as soon as I have dealt with these torpedoes I shall launch my own missiles at you. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to concentrate, so if you’ve quite finished gloating.’
He reached out to cut the communications link.
‘I wasn’t gloating,’ Affinity said quietly. ‘I just wanted to keep you talking. I just wanted to keep the link open between us here and your ship.’ The screen cut out. Affinity’s voice faded. The last that Milton heard was: ‘Silhouette says goodbye.’
Then he was alone again, accelerating past one torpedo and dipping under the other. He could do this. They were getting closer. He looked at the countdown.
Time to Impact: 23
He’d allowed himself to be distracted. Concentrate, and he could do this.
‘I just wanted to keep the link open …’ What had Affinity meant by that?
Never mind. Something to consider later. Concentrate.
‘Silhouette says goodbye.’
Concentrate.
Silhouette? Oh no. Please, no.
Milton risked looking down, towards where his notes and papers had fallen. There was just one sheet of paper lying close to the command chair – where were the others? He swung the ship sideways.
Time to Impact: 17
He dared to look down again. The paper rippled, as if stirred by a breeze. His handwriting dissolved as he watched, smudging and spreading. The ink seemed to be moving, flowing, coming together to form a single word across the page.
Time to Impact: 13
He leaned down, staring closer. The word swam into focus:
Sorry
Concentrate. Ignore it.
Time to Impact: 10
The two torpedoes were closing from different sides. This was it – this was his chance. Time it exactly, accelerate away at just the right moment, and the two torpedoes would miss his ship and crash into each other. Problem solved.
Time to Impact: 7
At 3, Milton calculated. He reached for the main thruster boost control.
Time to Impact: 4
And a blizzard of paper shot across the cabin. A swarm of small folded birds, wings flapping in his face, edges cutting into him, stinging his eyes. The whole world was a swirl of white. Something cut sharply across his hand and he snatched it back with a yelp. He battered at the creatures with both hands, shouting and screaming in anger. A bird fluttered in front of his face, and he recognised the paper – recognised fragments of his own handwritten notes across its wings and body. He swatted it away angrily. Somehow he managed to clear the space in front of his eyes, just for a second.
Just long enough to see the screen.
Time to Impact: 1
Then the world exploded into light and fire.
A mass of flame burned impossibly in space for a moment, consuming the oxygen that spilled from the exploding ship. Then the fireball collapsed in on itself. The shattered debris and fragmented remains of the ship spun silently away into the blackness.
And in the middle of it all, a single paper bird flapped its wings needlessly as it drifted into the distance, swallowed up by the perpetual night.
Chapter
21
The air above the Carnival of Curiosities was clear and bright where the cloud had dissipated. The London smog had not yet reclaimed the evening sky. High above Ringmaster Empath’s outstretched hand, the heavens exploded in a sudden display of colour. Red, yellow, and orange blossomed out above the assembled crowd.
There were whoops and cheers, applause and gasps of awe. The air seemed to glow and shimmer, light dancing across before folding in on itself and fading to nothing …
The applause continued long after the lightshow had ended.
‘I think the Shadow Proclamation has finally caught up with our friend Mr Milton,’ the Doctor told Strax. ‘I saw his ship launch earlier.’
‘A clipper-class scoutship,’ Strax said. ‘Agile, but with little protective armament and woefully inadequate countermeasures.’
‘Quod erat demonstrandum,’ the Doctor agreed. Strax frowned. ‘Not a system I am familiar with.’ He gestured at the sky, where the lights had now faded away and the smog was slowly rolling in to fill the space. ‘The energy-discharge pattern of a Dekseller-class Smart Torpedo is highly distinctive.’
The Doctor suppressed a smile. ‘The trouble with you, Strax, is that you take all the beauty out of life.’
‘War is beautiful, Doctor.’
‘Ah now, there I think we shall have to differ.’
They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the acrobats performing and Empath – or David as he now was again – enthusing the crowd and leading the applause.
‘You must admit,’ the Doctor said at last, ‘that humans do have some talent and potential.’ There was no answer. ‘Mustn’t you?’
Strax grunted. ‘I have recently discovered a product of human ingenuity and engineering which I found quite impressive,’ he said. ‘Right here at this very entertainment hub.’
‘Really?’ the Doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘Care to elaborate?’
‘Gladly. The item may be obtained from one of these vending concessions.’ He led the Doctor back through the crowd towards the Frost Fair. ‘I believe it is called a toffee apple.’
*
‘Unfortunately,’ the Doctor explained to Clara, ‘Strax didn’t know you eat them. He thought they were for throwing at people.’
They had all spent the evening at Paternoster Row, Affinity and Silhouette included. But now the Doctor was itching to get back to the TARDIS. Clara knew it would do no good to suggest they spend a few days relaxing in Victorian London. She knew that look. But she did insist they say a proper goodbye rather than simply slipping away as the Doctor wanted.
Vastra, Jenny and Strax walked with them to where the TARDIS stood, thinly coated with snow. An icicle descended from the door handle and the windows were frosted over. Silhouette and Affinity were also there. Affinity wore his hat pulled down low so that the brim shadowed his empty face.
‘I’d like to say it’s been fun,’ the Doctor said. Clara nudged him with her elbow. ‘But, well, yes,’ he admitted. ‘It’s had its moments.’
‘Where you off to now, then?’ Jenny asked.
‘Who knows?’ Clara said.
‘No doubt there are enemies waiting to be vanquished,’ Strax said. He slammed his fist into his open palm. ‘Show them no mercy. Press home your initial assault with determination and brutality.’
‘Thanks,’ Clara told him, ‘we’ll do that.’
‘We’ll rain down toffee apples on them,’ the Doctor promised, suppressing a smile.
‘We shall see you again soon,’ Vastra said, shaking the Doctor’s hand. ‘You know you are always welcome.’
‘Thank you.’
‘As are you,’ Vastra said to Silhouette and Affinity.
‘Will you be all right?’ Clara asked them.
‘They’ll be fine,’ the Doctor said before either of them could answer. ‘Don’t fuss. Come on.’ He turned to unlock the TARDIS.
‘We shall,’ Silhouette agreed. She linked her arm through Affinity’s.
‘I don’t know where we will go or what we will do, but Silhouette is right,’ Affinity agreed.
‘Won’t you go back to the Carnival?’ Clara asked.
‘Perhaps,’ Silhouette agreed. ‘Or perhaps we shall set up on our own. The future is such an adventure, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, well said,’ the Doctor told her, turning to bundle Clara into the TARDIS ahead of him. ‘Well said indeed. Now come on, can’t stand here gassing and dawdling all day, can we? No, we can’t. Bye, then.’
As the distinctive sound of TARDIS engines faded away, the snow and ice and frost that had clung to its police box shell fell to the ground. An empty squ
are on the pavement was all to show it had ever been there.
‘Will you join us?’ Vastra asked.
Silhouette shook her head. ‘Perhaps another day. But for now, we must make our own way, decide who we are and what we will do.’
‘Thank you,’ Affinity said. ‘For everything.’
Two figures walked arm in arm along the Embankment. The woman wore a long scarlet cloak, the hood pulled up over her head. The man was dressed in a suit, his hat pulled down low.
They stopped above the Frost Fair, looking out across the frozen Thames. The light played across their faces – one delicate and beautiful, the other empty and blank.
Then the blank face seemed to shimmer. It dissolved into various other faces, flickering through them as the man spoke.
‘Who would you like me to be?’ he asked.
The woman reached up, her fingers gently stroking his cheek. ‘I love you for who you are, not what you look like,’ she said. ‘Just be yourself.’
And his features settled finally into the smile of a young man in love.
Acknowledgements
A novel is always a collaborative process, a Doctor Who novel even more so.
Thanks are therefore due not only to Steve Tribe for sterling editorial advice, and to Lizzy Gaisford and Albert DePetrillo for being BBC Books, but also to everyone involved with bringing the Doctor to our screens and pages – especially in his most recent incarnation.
I hope we’ve done him justice!
Available now from Broadway Books:
MIKE TUCKER
ISBN 978-0-8041-4090-4
‘Well, I doubt you’ll ever see a bigger insect.’
Gabby Nichols is putting her son to bed when she hears her daughter cry out. ‘Mummy, there’s a daddy longlegs in my room!’ Then the screaming starts … Kevin Alperton is on his way to school when he is attacked by a mosquito. A big one. Then things get dangerous.
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