‘It would help,’ the Doctor had announced several times, ‘if the corridors were straight.’
Some of the corridors were straight, or at least ran straight for many metres. But most of them were curved, or meandering. At least one long passage must have been a spiral, because they had walked far enough round a uniform bend to accomplish two circles. That passage, like a few others, had ended at a stairway: up or down were the only choices. The Doctor had assured them that they were now on the same level as they had started on, but Francis wasn’t convinced.
He resented the automatic assumption that he would look after Elaine, even though he had to admit that he was so tired and amazed that even scribbling in a notebook or commenting on the decoration were beyond his capabilities,. In fact Elaine wasn’t much trouble. And when he felt he couldn’t walk another step; or wanted to question the wisdom of setting off down an unlit passage, he could always say Elaine’s so tired or Elaine’s a bit nervous.
There were no doors. There were no dead ends. Every corridor led to other corridors, or to stairs. They walked along corridors so narrow that they had to turn sideways, and through corridors as wide as barns. Corridors that sloped down more and more steeply, so that they had to sit and shuffle down the last few metres, Corridors that twisted upwards like corkscrews. Once they came upon an irregularly-shaped room as wide as the grazing meadow on the east bank of the Slow Brochet; eleven passages led from it. But there were no dead ends.
‘Look at this, Doctor.’ Bernice was gazing at yet another painting in yet another curving corridor. ‘I’m sure this is a representation of the Perseus myths. This could be Medusa, don’t you think? And then here, much larger, Andromeda and the monster from the sea. He’s very nasty. Mind you, I can’t say I fancy this Perseus much, either. Doctor?’
‘Hmm?’ The Doctor looked up from his notebook. His face was mournful. ‘I’m afraid we’re completely. lost.’
This seemed to Francis an opportune moment to slump to the floor. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could have another bite of that cheese, is there, Benny? I’m worried about Elaine. She’s almost exhausted.’
‘No I’m not,’ Elaine stated, destroying Francis’s plans for an impromptu picnic. ‘I want to see what’s round the next corner.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Bernice said, grabbing Elaine’s hand and skipping out of sight.
‘Come along, Francis,’ the Doctor said, and followed Bernice and Elaine.
Francis dragged himself to his feet and plodded round the bend.
He found the Doctor, Bernice and Elaine at the end of the corridor, staring aghast at the floor in the middle of the next junction of passages.
The Doctor’s hat.
They had reached the place they’d started from.
Bernice stepped forward and picked up the hat.
‘Damn!’ she said. ‘I thought I’d seen the last of this particular fashion accessory.’
The Doctor took it from her and placed it on his head. ‘Mutually accessible centres,’ he said, ‘in three dimensions and with no dead ends. The worst kind of maze.’ He looked glum. ‘We might as well have a rest. Here’s as good as anywhere else.’ He sat down.
‘Will we find the way out?’ Elaine asked.
‘Oh yes,’ the Doctor said gloomily. ‘But it might take a few years. How much cheese did you managed to pocket as we left the cell, Benny?’
‘Enough for another chunk each.’
‘Then I can foresee some difficulties.’
Francis had a sudden, terrible realization. ‘Perhaps there isn’t a way out!’
The Doctor sighed and covered his face with his hands. ‘Thank you, Francis,’ he said. ‘It might have been more diplomatic not to mention that possibility.’
Elaine started to cry.
The rain had started again. In the windless valley, it dropped from the sky in vertical sheets. Thunder rumbled among the tumbling bags of cloud.
It was cold, and drenching, even at first. Soon it was falling in icy, clattering streams, as if above the clouds the bottom of a reservoir had been suddenly pulled aside.
The fires continued to burn, but now they produced blankets of smoke as dark and dense as black treacle.
Visibility was so poor that Defries could hardly see the runway in front of her. She checked the pilot’s array. OK for automatic lift-off. The filthy conditions wouldn’t help: the droids probably had infra-red sight, and heat-seekers don’t notice a rainstorm when they’ve got a rocket trail to home in on. And that assumed there wasn’t a ground-controlled auto destruct.
The only hope was to get off-planet now, in the confusion of the explosions. Where in Hades were the others?
Ace appeared in the open doorway of the cabin. Her boots were muddy to the knees, her hair was dripping, and her face was covered with rain-borne streaks of black. ‘I suppose this is what they call the fog of war,’ she yelled. Defries could hardly hear her over the rain.
‘OK to go?’ Ace shouted, even more loudly. The runway lights came on, two lines of haloed yellow flares that faded as they converged into the curtains of rain and smoke. Searing streaks of laser light sizzled across the illuminated path.
Defries cursed. ‘Runway lights off!’ she ordered. ‘Switch to voice reactive, you antiquated heap of shit, and get those runway lights off!’ The lights stayed on. A beam flashed across the runway only a few metres away from the shuttle’s nose.
Ace threw herself across the cabin. She studied the controls for a moment, then touched a button. The light went off.
‘You wouldn’t believe the age of some of the crates I’ve driven,’ Ace said.
Defries didn’t have time for talk. ‘Where’s Daak?’ she snapped.
Ace struck her forehead with her fists. ‘He isn’t here?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. ‘That stupid foamhead,’ she said, and made for the door.
‘Trooper!’ Defries heard herself almost screaming with anger. ‘Daak’s a dead man. Leave him. Get back –’ But Ace had jumped.
Defries punched the edge of the control panel. Her reinforced, glove created a satisfying dent. She smiled grimly: nothing and nobody was going to stop her finding and fixing the Spinward bosses in the Arcadia system. She started pressing buttons: life support, fuel system, ignition system, navigation processors.
‘Young love,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Gods, she must really like the big oaf. Should have defrosted him earlier. They could have rutted each other stupid on the Raistrick. Time and a place for everything, And this isn’t it.
‘Ready to roll. Nothing to do but sit here and wait to be fried. I’ll give them three minutes. Then I’m going, with or without them.’
Ace ran through rain that hissed like radio static, through mud that sucked at her heels, through rolls of smoke that cloaked the camp with the darkness of night and parted only occasionally to reveal nothing but clouds, almost as dark, racing across the sky above.
There wasn’t much blaster fire near her. She made for the fires and the sudden yellow flashes that lit up the central complex of buildings.
Now she’ll be convinced I fancy him, Ace thought. Ice-queen Defries. I’ll bet she goes for Cybermen. How can she think I’d even consider a nanoceph like Daak? I’ll bet he’s as useful in bed as a leaky hot-water bottle. All those muscles are an obvious attempt to compensate. And as for that chainsword... Still, he’s handy with it. What a mess.
She had reached the place where the Dalek Killer had entered one of the six squat buildings that made up the central complex. The hoverspeeder, its motors still idling, was attempting to wedge itself into the hole in the wall which Daak must have made with the vehicle’s front thrusters. Dismembered androids, some still twitching, lay in oily puddles on and around the speeder.
Ace couldn’t see Daak. The speeder was blocking her way into the building. She thought of crawling beneath the vehicle’s metal-plated skirt, but one faceful of exhaust-heated mud was enough to discourage her. She wiped the filth o
ut of her eyes and pulled herself into the wreckage of the cockpit.
The motors whined as she put the speeder into reverse. With a screech of metal and a shower of falling masonry, the speeder suddenly jerked backwards.
Ace was about to shut off the power, abandon the speeder and enter the smoking blackness of the building, when she heard Daak’s voice.
He was shouting, as usual. His voice was coming from above. She couldn’t see him, but she didn’t have time to consider many options. She put all the motors through the vertical jets and prayed that the speeder wouldn’t blow apart or shake to bits as it lurched up the side of the building.
Someone on the roof started shooting at her. She shot back. It passed the time.
Then she saw him. The Dalek Killer was on a balcony – a flat, unwalled slab that projected from a wide opening just below the top of the wall. It might have been a loading bay, or a landing pad for one-person fliers.
He was shouting, but that was all. He was standing hunched forward, facing into the building, his left arm across his stomach. He was holding a blaster there, awkwardly, firing occasional and random beams into the opening in front of him, The chainsword hung from his right hand. Ace could see dark liquid dripping from the motionless blades; she guessed it wasn’t lubricating oil.
He staggered, then straightened with a yell. He shook his rain-sodden hair away from his face, and sent a spray of drops into the air. He was now only a step from the edge of the platform.
Ace was getting bored with her laser duel. They were never going to hit each other, anyway. She unpacked a self-locating mine, punched in her identifier and gave it a simple verbal instruction. As if in reply, it unfolded its triangular wings.
She hesitated before launching it. These little whiz-bangs were among her favourite weapons. They were more intelligent and versatile than most, and they reminded her of playing with paper aeroplanes during lessons at school. This was her last.
Even if there were weapons on the shuttle, there wouldn’t be anything as advanced as the sleek little dart in her hand. She threw it upwards. It disappeared into the smoke.
Fifteen seconds.
The speeder was approaching the level of the platform. As it rose, the motors now screaming in protest, Ace could gradually see more of the opening from which the platform projected.
She didn’t like what she saw. Three androids, apparently unscathed and in untattered robes of black silk, were standing just inside the doorway. Daak’s shouted curses were becoming weaker, and it was obvious that he was unable to aim his blaster. The androids ignored the few bursts that issued from his gun and carved smoking scars in the wall.
Ten seconds.
The hoverspeeder’s cockpit was now only a couple of metres below, and slightly to one side of, the platform. ‘Daak!’ Ace shouted. ‘Daak, you musclebound prat, get down here. Jump! Or just fall over in this direction, for God’s, sake! Daak!’
He couldn’t hear. Ace’s voice was drowned by the shriek of the speeder’s motors. And Daak had apparently not heard the speeder, anyway. He was barely conscious.
Shit, Ace thought, I’ll have to jump across and get him. She checked the power level of her blaster, looked up – and saw the three androids simultaneously raise their hands and aim three blasters at the Dalek Killer.
Five seconds.
Too long, by about four seconds.
Ace threw herself at the speeder controls, stamping on the throttle override while wrenching the steering column forward.
The speeder froze in mid-air for just a moment, while its computers coped with the sudden assault on the automatic systems. Then it surged upwards and forwards with, a noise like a washing machine spinning itself to oblivion, and crashed into the underside of the platform.
Ace fell over, and didn’t even attempt to stand again. The floor of the cockpit was vibrating, the motors were screaming. Ace kept her foot rigid against the throttle override and lifted her head. The speeder’s weapons platform was jammed up against the underside of the platform: somewhere in the middle of the sandwich was a crushed laser cannon. On the top side of the platform, Daak had fallen over. He looked unconscious. He could have been dead. The three androids had fallen over, too, but they were still functioning, and were beginning to aim their blasters.
‘Come on,’ Ace yelled, willing the motors to sacrifice their entire future lifetimes of useful work for just a few more horsepower now – and with a grinding, tearing, roaring noise the platform cracked, buckled, and was ripped from the side of the building.
The speeder, with Ace on the cockpit floor and Daak lying on a concrete slab lying on the weapons deck, soared skywards, into coils of choking smoke.
Zero.
The building’s roof exploded, sending rays of ruddy light to gild the bulging bottoms of the clouds. The noise was like thunder, painfully loud but somehow indistinct. The speeder bucked and dived, and Ace struggled with the controls while chunks of hot stone and metal rained around her and sizzled in the ankle-deep puddles on the floor.
She got it down before the motors blew, and without tipping over. She told her wrist computer to give the speeder the settings for the shuttle hangar, and as the automatic pilot cut in she turned, intending to climb up to what was left of the weapons deck.
Daak was standing, swaying, at the back of the cockpit.
‘Microbrain,’ Ace said, ‘you very very nearly got yourself killed.’ She almost added too soon.
He didn’t look well. There were deep gouges in his left forearm, and the only reason they weren’t bleeding was that the flesh was also burnt. He was still holding his stomach, but Ace couldn’t see the damage there. The most impressive wound was down the length of the upper part of his right arm, where the flesh had been sliced away. Ace thought she could see the bone. She could certainly see lots of blood.
‘What you need,’ she went on, ‘is a month in sick bay and a steady supply of regen tissue. What you’ll get is whatever we can find on the shuttle. If Defries hasn’t zone without us.’
Daak shook his head, slowly, and took a step forward.
‘Can you hear?’ Ace suddenly realized he might have taken other damage. Head wounds. ‘Try to say something. You could try “thank you” for a start.’
Daak took another painful step. His face twisted into a grin. ‘Give us a kiss, girlie,’ he said thickly.
‘Get –’ Ace was cut off by the jolt of the speeder coming to rest. The shutting down of the motors was lost in the roar of louder engines. The shuttle was looming over them, a dark, angular shape in the darkness. Just beginning to taxi. The cabin door beginning to close.
‘Belle!’ Ace called. ‘Defries! Cut the engines and get us aboard.’
The roar decreased in volume. The shuttle stopped, trembling, as if straining at a leash. A silhouette appeared against the light streaming through the cabin doorway.
‘Ace?’
‘Belle. I’ve got him. He needs help.’
‘So do you. Psychotherapy.’ The shuttle’s emergency steps, with Defries balancing on the end of them, extended down to the speeder’s cockpit. ‘Black hole in Hades, Ace,’ Defries said as she jumped from the steps, ‘the Dalek Killer’s more dead than alive. He’ll slow us down.’
‘I couldn’t leave him, Belle. I can’t let him die.’
Defries looked disgusted, but she helped Ace manhandle Daak on to the retractable steps. ‘He’s just a DK. He’s already on borrowed time. And he isn’t even – gods, but he’s heavy. I’ll explain some other time.’
Me too, Ace thought. She’s got a nerve, banging on at me about not caring. Ice-queen Defries isn’t the half of it. She makes that bastard Kane look like a social worker. What am I supposed to do, stand and watch while the droids fry him? Let him bleed to death?
They were in the cabin. The door slid shut. Defries turned to the controls. Ace felt the shuttle begin to move. ‘Medical kit?’ she said.
‘See what you can find,’ Defries said over her shoulder. �
��He’s your boyfriend. I’m getting us off this planet as fast as I can.’
Ace found painkillers, plastigraft, artificial blood. The shuttle trembled violently as it accelerated along the runway. With a lurch, the vibration ceased. The shuttle was airborne. Ace knew she had to work fast, before they all had to strap in.
‘If I didn’t need you, Defries,’ she said, pumping drugs into Daak’s arm, ‘if I could get up there without you...’
Defries didn’t even look round. ‘Junk it, trooper. I’ve got a job to do. You’re under orders to help me do it. Don’t-forget that. I’ve lost the Raistrick. I’ve lost Celescu’s troops. I’ve lost Johannsen. I can’t afford to fail now. I’m not going to. Those responsible will pay.’
Ace moved out of range of Daak’s left hand and stood in thought for a moment, averting her eyes as the shuttle broke through the cloud cover. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘OK, that’s cool.’
Defries laughed. ‘Don’t you ever say “Yes, ma’am” when you acknowledge an order?’
‘No, ma’am,’ Ace said, ‘seems like I never do.’
It’s almost as if he knows where he’s going, Bernice thought. Who does he think he’s fooling? And if his whistling Amazing Grace is supposed to keep our spirits up, he needs a refresher course in building team morale. I suppose it’s his idea of a pun.
The Doctor was being irritatingly cheerful. He would stride ahead to the next junction of corridors, twirling his umbrella, and then wait impatiently for the others to catch up. Usually he would choose the next direction without hesitation, but sometimes he would wait, head cocked, as if listening for far-off sounds. Once, he licked his finger und held it aloft in the airstream before lowering it to point decisively along a corridor that appeared to Bernice no different from the other two that also ran from the junction.
With a worried glance at Elaine and Francis, she hurried forward to walk alongside him.
‘Doctor, you win, all right? You can have the gold medal. You can slow down now. Francis and Elaine can’t keep up. Will you maintain a more reasonable pace if I bombard you with inane questions?’
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