Doctor Who BBCN13 - Sting of the Zygons

by Doctor Who

  ‘Nice shooting, Romand,’ the Doctor called hoarsely. ‘You’ve got him on the run.’

  ‘I am trying to hit him,’ the Frenchman retorted. ‘Damned things, the other one wouldn’t hold still for us either. . . ’

  ‘Who’s “us"?’ Martha yelled.

  But the Doctor had already seen Victor and Ian. They were making tracks for the cover of a primitive bulldozer, dwarfed by the Skarasen as it slowly raised its massive paw from beneath tons of soil and sand.

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  Now the engine had cut out, it seemed calmer, but its strength and power were still breathtaking.

  Romand spared the giant creature a nervous glance, then fired again at Brelarn. The Warlord was still retreating. He could get away, the Doctor realised, like Taro had got away. And with the Skarasen, he could make good on his threats to devastate the world. . .

  The Doctor jumped up, cleared his burning throat. ‘Romand!’ he shouted. ‘Switch on the engine of that digger!’

  The Frenchman looked baffled. ‘What?’

  ‘And Martha, you must get this thing started. Starter button’s the big one on the right.’

  ‘But why-?’

  ‘Do it, both of you!’ He climbed out onto the roof of the crane cab and signalled to Victor and Ian with his arms. They waved back and he cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Engines on!’ he bawled, his throat raw. ‘Every machine here, anything with a motor, switch it on!’

  The last of his words were lost in a sputtering roar as Martha fired up the crane’s engine. Remand’s digger rumbled into life too, the vibrations nearly knocking the Frenchman clear as filthy steam poured from its funnel.

  The Skarasen threw back its head and let rip with a roar that managed to all but drown out the chorus of engines. But Victor had got the bulldozer started, and Ian was already racing to another digger.

  ‘You’re making it angrier,’ Martha shouted.

  The Doctor swung himself back down into the cab. ‘We can’t let the Skarasen get back under Zygon control. It’s healed now, it won’t be dangerous of its own free will. . . ’

  The Skarasen opened its jaws and plunged towards Romand’s digger. He jumped down, dropping the gun, and ran for the cover of the crane as giant teeth tore into the steel framework.

  Martha stared at the Doctor. ‘Not dangerous?’

  ‘It’s just extra-sensitive right now,’ he shouted back, patting the crane’s controls. ‘The engines make vibrations, right? Nasty sonic vibrations, disrupting all those sensitive diastellic commands. . . and 176

  hopefully disrupting the Zygon control matrix before it can take full effect.’

  Just then, Romand pitched up, panting for breath, and Martha helped him inside. ‘What is he talking about?’

  ‘He’s giving that thing a brainstorm and hoping the sun comes out again afterwards,’ Martha translated.

  Romand shook his head wearily.

  The Doctor looked up at the angry Skarasen. ‘I’m sorry.’ he said.

  ‘I’m so sorry, this pain won’t last long. You’ve already thrown off the real chains, now try to throw off the mental ones too. . . ’

  ‘I don’t think it’s listening.’ Martha shouted, as the Skarasen’s head snaked out towards their crane. She grabbed the Doctor and Romand by the hand and pulled them both from the cab. ‘Jump!’

  They all three landed awkwardly together and fell to the ground.

  The Doctor stared in wonder as the whole crane was mashed up inside the creature’s jaws, as the wheels were spat out like pips.

  Ian and Victor had abandoned their own vehicles, no doubt figuring they were likely next targets. But without the threat of bullets, Brelarn had ventured back out from hiding. He marched towards them, clutching something in his gnarled hands.

  It was the activator.

  ‘You will calm the Skarasen, Doctor.’ he proclaimed, raising it aloft,

  ‘with your own ingenious device.’

  ‘I can’t.’ the Doctor snapped, helping Martha to her feet. ‘That thing’s useless now.’

  ‘Do it,’ Brelarn insisted. ‘Or I shall go from here and slaughter all humans I encounter. Females. Infants –’

  ‘It doesn’t work! Without my modifications it’s just a simple transmitter. . . ’ Suddenly the Doctor realised the Skarasen had stopped roaring. Its eyes seemed fixed on Brelarn. ‘And it’s transmitting now on the recall frequency! Get rid of it, Brelarn. Chuck it away!’

  ‘You cannot deceive me!’ the Zygon thundered, holding the activator aloft.

  The Skarasen’s hideous head darted down, drooling jaws open wide.

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  ‘No!’ screamed Brelarn. He dived clear of the Skarasen’s teeth, rolled over and scrambled back up, raised his hand ready to hurl away the activator. . .

  But the Beast of Westmorland would not be denied. Its teeth closed on Brelarn’s arm. The Zygon Warlord screamed as the Skarasen’s head lifted back up into the pale morning sky, taking him with it. Then the scream choked away, and the great jaws twitched as they chewed.

  ‘Good God,’ cried Victor, as he and Ian came running up. ‘It ate him!’

  ‘It ate the signal device,’ the Doctor corrected him. ‘Brelarn just happened to be attached.’

  ‘From Warlord of the Zygons to Breakfast of the Skarasen. . . ’

  Martha turned to Romand, Ian and Victor. ‘Good to see you. But what are you lot even doing here?’

  ‘We realised Brelarn was missing from the dead and wounded at Goldspur,’ Ian told her breathlessly.

  ‘Yeah, noticed, thanks,’ said the Doctor, his eyes still riveted to the Skarasen.

  ‘We came in Mr Romand’s motor car to warn you, Victor added.

  ‘And I couldn’t help but notice my own car was –’

  ‘Not now, Victor.’ The Doctor was staring up at the Skarasen, willing it on. ‘Come on. . . come on, my beauty. . . ’ It roared again, and stared down at the lakeshore. ‘You’re confused, I know, you’re not sure what’s going on. You’ve eaten that duff old activator ’cause you thought you had to, but now with your control matrix kaput, nothing’s coming through, nothing’s screaming at you. Free will. Doesn’t it feel good?’ He nodded, encouragingly. ‘And then you look down and you see, right at your feet. . . ’

  ‘A dead Skarasen,’ said Martha.

  Romand nodded. ‘Its own kind, no?’

  ‘And to any animal,’ said Victor, ‘such a sight spells danger!’

  ‘A Skarasen isn’t “any animal",’ the Doctor said softly. ‘So the question is, does it know how to spell at all. . . ?’

  Abruptly the Skarasen backed away from the corpse on the lakeshore, splashing out into the depths of the lake. Then it turned 178

  and submerged, its enormous neck and head crashing beneath the surface. A few moments later, the huge, beached corpse of its twin lurched, scraping against the shingle as it was dragged deeper into the lake.

  Ian stared. ‘It’s taking the dead one with it.’

  ‘Its place is in the water now,’ murmured the Doctor. ‘Not here.’

  The charred, broken head of the dead Skarasen dipped beneath the shiny grey surface of the lake. The water churned and seethed for a few moments. Then, all was calm.

  ‘Well.’ The Doctor slowly puffed out a long breath ‘What a clever boy. Beast of Westmorland spelling test, ten out of ten!’ He smiled round at Victor, Ian, Romand and Martha. ‘And B-Y-E spells See-ya, Skarasen! ’

  ‘And G-O-O-D riddance!’ Martha laughed.

  ‘Has it really gone?’ Ian marvelled. ‘Gone for good?’

  ‘For good? It’s gone for brilliant! ’ the Doctor told him. ‘There’s a subterranean channel leading out into the Irish Sea. The Skarasen will find its way to freedom. That’s lovely. Isn’t that lovely?’ He glanced over at the digger and the ’dozer, whose engines were still rumbling away. ‘But that racket’s ruining what ought to be a very promising morning.’

  ‘I’ll turn them off,’ said Ian, happily running
to oblige.

  ‘I’ve already switched off the Opel’s engin’,’ said Victor sadly. ‘What’s left of it. I hadn’t realised you –’

  ‘Sorry, Victor.’ Martha was pointing, her face grave. Everyone looked. With the Skarasens gone, they could see straight across to where Victor’s car lay smashed against the tree.

  Taro was crawling past the wreck of the motor car, forcing herself up the hillside.

  ‘Thought I’d killed the thing,’ said Romand coldly. ‘With the same pistol they were ready to turn on the King.’

  ‘Wait here.’ said the Doctor, striding off purposefully towards the injured Zygon. ‘All of you. I’ll be back.’

  ‘Doctor!’ Martha called, but he didn’t look round.

  ‘Shall we go after him?’ Victor wondered.

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  ‘No.’ Martha shook her head a fraction. ‘Give him a minute.’

  Taro wasn’t moving fast, she couldn’t. The Doctor soon caught up with her. He could see she was bleeding from her side. As he approached, she hissed, tried to crawl a little faster.

  He stood a few metres away from her. ‘Is that wound serious?’

  She lay still, panting for breath. ‘You will kill me before I can die from it.’

  ‘Will I?’ He walked over and sat beside her, just out of reach. ‘Why would I do that, then?’

  ‘Why would you not?’

  ‘Because you’re not all the same. And because I know you’ve lost just about everything.’ The Doctor looked towards Martha and the others, back in the valley, and sighed. ‘I hope none of them ever find out what that feels like.’

  The distant drone of the machinery died. An eerie silence settled over the valley.

  Taro’s brows were knitted together in a fierce frown. ‘I do not seek your pity, Doctor.’

  ‘That’s good, ’cause I’ve got none to give,’ the Doctor retorted. ‘Just a proposition to put to you. Go back to your ship, summon your surviving crew, wherever they might be, and rejoin the children. I checked your relays, you’ve got enough power left for a single trip.

  Leave here, hide yourselves and return to the amber. Sleep.’

  Taro hissed weakly. ‘To await a rescue that may never come?’

  He came closer. ‘It’s the best I can do.’

  Taro grabbed his hand in hers. ‘Your body is weakened by my venom,’ she croaked. ‘A further sting. . . ’ She looked up at him. ‘I could kill you.’

  ‘And then my friends would kill you,’ he said evenly, not resisting.

  ‘Your crewmates would starve to death, and your children would have no one.’ He looked her in the eyes. ‘I won’t give you a second chance, Taro.’

  Slowly, with a wheezing breath, she let go of his hand and turned away. The Doctor sat beside her in silence as the minutes passed, as 180

  the sun climbed slowly into the sky.

  From the field beside the TARDIS, Martha surveyed the majestic sunset. The red sun sat low in the sky, reducing the rugged landscape to a series of sharp black shadows. And a dark, spidery spaceship was whizzing by high overhead, the whine of its drive systems devastating the silence. She looked round at the select audience who’d gathered here besides her and the Doctor – Victor, Romand, Ian and Lord Haleston. They held their hands over their ears, staring as the ship slowly dwindled into the pink sky.

  ‘No more Zygons, then,’ she murmured. They’re really leaving.’

  ‘Somewhere nice and remote,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘North Pole? Or the South Pole. Somewhere polar, anyway.’

  ‘We should have killed the lot of them,’ said Lord Haleston darkly.

  The Doctor sighed. ‘That’s right, your lordship, end the day on a smile.’

  ‘I certainly shall,’ Ian informed them. ‘Nanny Flock has taken to her bed. Nerves and bruises, Dr Fenchurch says. He’s given her a tonic.’

  He grinned nastily. ‘And I’ve swapped it for cod liver oil.’

  Romand laughed. ‘A taste of her own medicine, yes?’

  Haleston cleared his throat. ‘A little respect and decorum, if you please, gentlemen.’

  ‘You won’t tell Mother and Father, will you, sir?’ Ian asked, wide-eyed. ‘I should hate to set back their recovery.’

  ‘He’ll be far too busy helping out with the recovery of my motor car,’

  said Victor, smiling at Haleston. ‘Won’t you, old buck?’

  ‘Yes, sorry about your car,’ said Martha. ‘You’re insured though, yeah?’

  He looked at her blankly. ‘Insured?’

  The Doctor lowered his voice. ‘No proper car insurance till the 1930s.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Martha. ‘Unlucky.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Victor. ‘After living through all that has happened here, I feel as lucky a man as the King, himself.’

  ‘As do we all,’ Haleston suggested, ‘for playing our small part in protecting the life of the monarch.’

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  ‘Long live King Edward,’ cried Ian, and Martha joined in the chorus of agreement.

  The Doctor nodded. ‘Though why he was named after a potato will always be a mystery to me.’

  Haleston’s face darkened, and Martha hid her smile by turning towards the TARDIS. She thought of all the people who’d be coming home just as they were leaving. Little Molly, reunited with her family.

  Ian’s parents back together with Teazel. The real Mrs Unswick, taking back ownership of her Lodge. And poor Clara, who’d be visiting her parents’ church for a final time. Martha was still wearing the girl’s cardigan. She wanted to bring it out into the stars with her; a little piece of the girl she’d never known, that would fly forever.

  ‘I take it,’ said Lord Haleston, his grave voice interrupting her thoughts, ‘that you have some luggage stowed away in this extraordi-nary object?’

  ‘Lots,’ Martha agreed. ‘We’ll just go and get it.’

  Romand took her hand and kissed it. ‘And then, my dear, it will be my privilege to run you to the station in my motor car, yes?’

  ‘If my own car wasn’t in pieces, I’d offer the same service myself,’

  said Victor, pressing a kiss against her other hand.

  Martha smiled at them both. ‘And if I was going to the station, boys, I’d take you up on it.’

  Ian looked puzzled. ‘Then, how are you getting home?’

  Martha smiled round at them all one last time, as the Doctor unlocked the TARDIS door and slipped inside.

  ‘Don’t let appearances deceive you,’ she said, giving Ian’s hand a fond squeeze. ‘This is our home.’

  Ian watched her follow the Doctor into the strange-looking police box and close the door. Victor and Romand frowned at each other, and Lord Haleston started to mutter something about inappropriate behaviour under his breath.

  But then, a groaning, grating sound started up, and a strange breeze with it. The light upon the police box began to flash. Slowly, the entire box faded from view. Everyone was left staring at the square of flattened grass left in the box’s wake.

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  Lord Haleston’s face twitched as he struggled valiantly to keep calm.

  ‘Preposterous,’ he squeaked at last. ‘How dare the wretched man!

  There must be an order to the world, a proper place for everything!

  Dear, oh dear. . . ’ He turned and bustled away, muttering under his breath.

  ‘Impossible,’ breathed Victor.

  ‘Indeed,’ Romand agreed. ‘And yet I think, perhaps, for the Doctor and Miss Jones, the impossible is their proper place.’

  ‘That’s for certain.’ Ian grinned. ‘Happy travels, Doctor, Martha.

  The more impossible, the better!’

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  Acknowledgements

  The author would like to thank everyone whose care and contribution have enhanced this book. In particular Justin Richards and Gary Russell (green lights, guidance and encouragement); Steve Tribe (extra editorial input); Philippa Milnes-Smith (special agent); Linda Chap-m
an (equine advice and support); Paul Magrs, Mike Tucker and Jason Loborik (sanity-saving); Russell T Davies and Robert Banks Stewart (obviously); Terrance Dicks (for Doctor Who and the Loch Ness Monster); and not forgetting Jill and Tobey Cole (patience, kindness and fun).

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  Document Outline

  Front Cover

  Contents

  Prologue

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  Acknowledgements

  Back Cover