‘I don’t know what it is,’ Ace said, ‘but it looks important.’ It reminded her of the trunking at the back of a starship’s central processor banks; and of the tubing inside a tissue regrowth cabinet. ‘Life support system,’ she breathed. ‘I think we ought to damage it.’
‘What?’
‘Well, that oxtail soup down there is the Spinward Corporation, according to Benny. Right?’
‘Always said corporates had no guts and no balls,’ Daak laughed.
‘Yeah. Just brains. But brains need energy, don’t they? Present company excepted. And oxygen. Even when they’ve been puréed, I suppose. Those pipes must be for something. I think we’ve just found the soft underbelly of the Spinward Corporation.’
Defries and Benny had climbed round the stanchion.
‘Great,’ Defries said. ‘So what are we going to do – stand here and shout insults at it? The Dalek Killer’s led us up a blind alley.’
‘Laser through the pipes,’ Benny suggested.
‘It might come to that,’ Defries said. ‘But I’m prepared to bet those pipes are self-sealing. It could take hours. And we’re all running low on power. And,’ she added, looking up into the shadowy void of the dome, ‘we’re going to need every shot we’ve got. Look.’
Winged shapes, clattering eerily as they swerved through the air, were descending towards them.
‘I don’t know what they are,’ Defries said, ‘but I doubt if they’re friendly. We can try to hold them off with our blasters. But we need explosives to take out the island or the junction box up above. Ace?’
‘One grenade left, Belle.’ Ace extracted a black cylinder from her backpack. Her fingers pressed buttons on the control panel. ‘High explosive, but contact detonation. There was nothing fancy in the shuttle.’
Defries peered over the end of the girder. ‘You mean you have to throw it, and it has to hit the target?’
‘You got it. If it doesn’t hit the island,’ Ace tried to stifle an inappropriate giggle, ‘I guess it’ll just sink into the brains.’
Defries looked upwards again, anxiously. ‘We have to try something,’ she said. ‘Benny, find what cover you can and start shooting at anything with wings. Ace, you’re going to have to use that grenade. One good throw. That island’s as big as a forceball pitch.’
‘It’s also a hell of a long way away,’ Ace replied. She remembered now why she’d hated sport at school. The whole team relying on her to get it right; always ready to blame her when she failed. And now it wasn’t the threat of being lasered in half that knotted her stomach: it was the inevitability of the sense of failure, of letting down her team, that would follow a muffed throw, But she lifted the grenade above her head and took aim.
She hesitated. ‘From what Benny said, the Doctor must be somewhere down there. Right underneath that central area.’
The grenade was snatched from her hand.
She turned. There was no-one behind her. Then she saw Daak swinging above her, hanging by one hand from a cable that ran up the stanchion, his other hand holding the grenade. He was already a couple of metres above the girder. He stuffed the grenade into the waistband of his tattered trousers and climbed higher, out of reach.
‘Daak!’ Defries started to shout. ‘That’s our one hope–’
‘Shut it, Agent,’ Daak yelled. ‘This has got to be sure. One grenade, that means just one chance. We can’t risk a throw. I’m going up to that there mass of spaghetti, and I’m going to make sure.’
Ace looked up, tracing a route from the stanchion to a diagonal girder, an almost vertical cable; a narrow pipe and then a short piece of wider ducting, Yes, it could be done. It would need strength and agility, but Daak had plenty of both.
Did she have the strength and agility to catch him? Probably not, she thought, but do I have a choice? Her gauntlets gripped the cable and her boots sought purchase on the metal upright.
Defries pulled her back. Ace swung round, her gauntlets curled into iron fists. Defries ducked, fell, threw out her arms to save herself from falling off the girder.
‘Ace! Not here, Ace. Not now.’ Defries’s voice was calm but her face was full of fear. ‘We’re under attack and we’re a hundred metres up.’
Ace shook her head angrily. ‘Sorry.’ She muttered curses at herself. ‘But you heard him. He’s going to kill himself.’
‘He’ll be lucky if he gets the chance,’ Defries said. ‘Look. He’s attracting some attention. Professor Summerfield’s a good shot, but she can’t hold them all off. Get shooting, Ace.’
There was a battle going on. Ace had been dimly aware of it for some time, but now she realized that beads of laser light were swinging in crazy arcs all round the stub of girder on which she and Defries were standing. Only the reflective coating of her suit had prevented the enemy weapons identifying her as a target. And it was in any case a miracle that none of the random energy pulses had hit her.
Ace pulled Defries towards the stanchion. The metal would withstand all but the most concentrated laser fire. It protected their backs, and protruding flanges gave them some cover on both sides. There was no sign of Benny, but Ace assumed that the Professor had, taken up a position on the other side of the stanchion.
The attackers were androids with wings. They were barely humanoid, with bodies that dwindled from wide torsos to legless, conical abdomens. Their small heads were carried on long, flexible necks, and their blasters were housed in chest orifices. Wings, made of plates of wafer-thin metal, sprouted from a large dome on each android’s back.
Their flight was as erratic as the locomotion of their ground-travelling equivalents, but they were therefore difficult to shoot at. Both sides were using a great deal of laser energy to very little effect.
Ace couldn’t count them, but she thought there must be more than twenty. Most of them were above Ace and Defries, fluttering round the diagonal girder along which Daak was trying to climb.
Why doesn’t he put that stupid chainsword away and get a move on, Ace thought, as she tried to target one of the androids. Daak had stopped half-way up the girder and, holding on with one hand, was flailing the air with his chainsword, None of the androids flew within reach of the weapon.
Got one! Ace turned to grin at Defries, but Defries was too busy ducking and shooting as two androids swooped towards her position.
Another android, one of its wings in shreds, fluttered towards the grey-brown expanse below. That, Ace reckoned, must have been Benny’s.
Daak was moving again now, swinging wildly from side to side in an attempt to avoid the lasers’ targeting. He hadn’t stowed his chainsword across his back, and Ace watched aghast as he swung himself too far, reached out with his left hand, and failed to grasp the side of the girder.
Ace fancied she could see the look of anguish on Daak’s face as he relinquished his grip on his chainsword and grabbed the girder with his right hand. He, and she, and even the androids, watched the chainsword twist and tumble as it fell. It looked no larger than a pin when it finally hit the surface without a sound, and disappeared.
I hope he left it running, Ace thought. It might sever a few synapses.
‘Good heavens!’ The Doctor looked up from the screens that everyone In the chamber had been silently watching. ‘Yes, of course. It’s been staring me in the face.’ He struck his forehead with the palm of a hand. ‘Pool is an agglomeration of human neurons. A vast concentration. At least ten to the power eighteen. There are more human brain cells on this space station than there are stars in this galaxy. Many more. Pool is a gestalt mind – a collective personality.’ The Doctor’s expression of amazement was replaced by a frown. ‘No wonder he seems so confused.’
Francis didn’t understand the Doctor’s words.
‘You’re right, Doctor,’ Lacuna was saying, ‘but there are only a few dozen complete personalities that make up the gestalt. Most of the neurons are reconfigured with new and augmented synaptical connections. Memories and personalities are lost.’
Elaine was gripping Francis’s hand so tightly that he yelped. ‘Elaine!’ he whispered, and saw that her eyes were brimming with tears.
‘They cut a hole,’ she sobbed. ‘They cut off her hair, her beautiful hair. There was nothing inside.’
Francis understood.
He seemed to see himself, small and alone, in the centre of a circular chamber that expanded when he tried to see its perimeter. Then he was back in his body again, shivering. A cold wind had wrapped itself round him, although there was no draught.
Christina. Her face filled his thoughts. Christina smiling, Christina angry, Christina’s mouth half opening, lips moving, eyelids slowly closing.
And all the others. Apprentice Scribes who had been his boyhood playfellows. Edwin the Farrier, who had bullied him. Beatrice who had made him a man. Oswald. Sophia, Rosalind.
Christina. With his eyes closed he could see her as clearly as if she were standing in front of him. Christina dancing. Running, laughing, her arms reaching for him.
He opened his eyes. He tried not to look at the screens. He felt bile rising in his stomach as his gaze was dragged to the sluggish sea of grey and brown.
Christina. All that was left of Christina.
He retched, thin vomit spattering on the floor.
The Doctor stepped sideways briskly. Francis looked up, wiping his mouth, to see impatience struggling with concern on the Doctor’s face.
‘Francis, what on earth’s the matter? Are you ill?’
‘Christina...’
‘What? Who?’ The Doctor took his arm. ‘Come and stand over here. Lacuna, don’t you have any chairs? Wrap yourself up warm, Francis. That’s it. Now what’s all this about, eh?’
‘All those people!’ Francis suddenly knew that he had to make the Doctor understand. ‘Doctor, all those people – generations of people. Killed off like cattle, so they could be put into – into that...’ He retched again.
The Doctor patted his shoulder. ‘It’s a bit of a shock, I suppose,’ he said. ‘But what an achievement, eh? An organic computer on this scale – remarkable.’
‘No, Doctor.’ Francis was almost weeping with anger and frustration. ‘It’s obscene.’ He looked into the Doctor’s eyes, and saw incomprehension, sympathy – and disdain. The Doctor had said that he wasn’t human, but Francis had not comprehended until now that the mind behind the little man’s clownish, owlish face was as alien as Lacuna’s. More alien than Lacuna’s. Francis looked away. ‘I hope the Dalek Killer destroys it,’ he said as vehemently as he could.
‘It’s alive,’ the Doctor said gently. ‘It’s sentient. More intelligent than any other entity for thousands of –’
‘Doctor!’ Lacuna interrupted him, and gestured wildly at the screens. ‘The androids are failing. The Dalek Killer has a bomb. He’s almost in a position to blow up the feed lines.’
It was true. Francis forced himself to look at the screens again, and he could see that there were less of the winged creatures flitting among the struts and cables. As he watched, two more fluttered downwards, trailing sparks and smoke. The three women were wreaking havoc with their guns that fired streaks of light.
And the man, the Dalek Killer, was clambering grimly along ducts and girders towards the misshapen nexus of pipes and cables. The black cylinder was in his hand, ready to be hurled from close range.
‘Well, do something!’ the Doctor snapped at Lacuna. ‘He’s determined to die and he’ll take Pool with him if he can.’
Lacuna slowly shook her great head. ‘Pool is defenceless. You were right, Doctor. There is depletion of power. Proliferation of unnecessary loops. The process is accelerating. Even communication is difficult.’
‘In a human, I think the condition would be known as fear. But if Pool won’t help himself...’ The Doctor’s eyes widened, as if he had suddenly remembered an important, fact. ‘Lacuna, can you unjam Ace’s personal radio? And where’s a voice transmitter?’ He ran back and forth among the consoles, skidding to a halt as he found the controls he wanted. He turned to Lacuna. ‘Well?’
‘The transmitter is operative, Doctor. You can talk to Ace.’
‘It might help if you were to call off the androids,’ he said, exasperatedly. ‘They’re not doing their job but they’re something of a distraction.’ He bent over the console, pressing buttons at random. ‘Ace? Ace? Are you there? Can you hear me? Ace?’
Francis realized that the Doctor was about to do something wrong. He and the Doctor were, at least for the moment, on opposing sides. He should throw himself at the Doctor’s back, grapple with him, break the machinery at which he was working. Do something.
He looked at Elaine, and found that Elaine was looking at him. He tried to smile. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he said, and turned away.
‘Ace? Ah, there you are. Ace, listen to me. This is important. You remember our conversation in the TARDIS? I realize now whom you were talking about. You can’t let him do this, Ace. He can’t sacrifice himself now. You’ve got to stop him.’
The droids were pulling back. They’d stopped firing. Defries continued to shoot, locking her beam on to the diminishing targets and sending light-fast bursts of energy into the shadowy interstices of metalwork high above.
She realized Ace had stopped firing. Was the girl hurt?
Suppressing a grunt of pain, Defries lifted herself on to one elbow and looked round.
Ace was OK. She was still crouched in the niche where the upright descended to join the girder. She’d holstered her blaster. Her head was tilted to the side, and her face was wearing an expression of annoyance and confusion.
‘Ace?’
Ace tapped her collar. ‘Comm’s working,’ she said, and listened to it for a few more, moments. Then she sighed and stood up. ‘It’s the Doctor. He’s done a deal. They’ve called off the droids, and there won’t be any more attacks. But I’ve got to stop Daak.’
‘What? Like hell you will.’ Defries stood up, the pain in her chest overwhelmed by a feeling that she recognized as panic. ‘The DK’s our only hope. That grenade is our only hope.’
‘No. The Doctor’ll sort it. Daak’s got to live. He’s still got things to do.’
‘He’s just a DK. He’s not even–’
‘Daak!’ Ace’s shout echoed and dwindled in the cavernous web of metal. ‘Abslom Daak! Listen to me!’
Above them, the tiny figure crawling along the top of a pipe stopped for a moment, and then continued. He was about to disappear into the tangle of tubes and ducts. He was holding the grenade above his head, ready to throw.
‘Daak, it’s all over. We’ve won.’
The figure stopped again, but didn’t lower the grenade.
Defries saw an unreadable expression cross Ace’s face. Ace’s shoulders drooped, and she closed her eyes. Then she straightened.
‘Daak! Daak, please come back. I love you!’
There was a long moment of silence.
Defries watched her mission end in failure. She saw Daak lower the grenade and alter its programming. She heard his exultant whoop as he hurled it, harmless now, into the Void. She saw him turn and start to retrace his tortuous route, almost falling in his eagerness to return.
Ace looked defeated. ‘Sorry, Belle,’ she said with a strange smile. ‘I had to do it. I had to.’
‘Would someone care to tell me just what is going on?’ Professor Summerfield was edging round the stanchion. She joined Ace and Defries on the projecting stub of the girder. ‘I hope I’ve misunderstood, but it seems to me that Ace’s romantic attachment has just lost us our last chance to prevent this,’ she waved her arms in a circle, ‘this monstrosity from wiping out an entire planetary system and it’s inhabitants. Please tell me I’m wrong.’
Ace looked furious. ‘The Doctor called me, OK? Daak has to live. The Doctor’s got it all under control.’
‘The Doctor’s got it all under control?’ Bernice’s voice dripped sarcasm. ‘You’ve forgotten a lot in three years, Ace. You should
know him better than that. He’s a prisoner down there.’
‘Look, I know what I’m doing, OK?’
‘Do you? Do you really?’
‘Shut it, both of you.’ Defries had decided that someone had to take charge. ‘Check your power packs. Mine’s out.’
As Defries had feared, neither Ace nor Bernice had more than a few minutes’ more power in their blasters.
‘The droids are coming back.’ Defries pointed to the winged creatures spiralling down towards them, and then to a contingent of androids shuffling along the girder. ‘I think the best we can achieve now is a dignified surrender.’
‘It isn’t over ’till it’s over,’ Defries had whispered to Bernice as they were jostled together in the middle of a crowd of lurching androids. ‘Ace usually has something up her sleeve.’
Bernice had been unable to interpret Ace’s behaviour. When they had, emerged into the station’s corridors, Ace had stood alone, her arms crossed and her lips tight, occasionally cursing as an android nudged her. When Daak had been brought to join them, Bernice had expected Ace to run to him; instead, she just smiled crookedly and raised a hand in greeting. Daak had looked confused: he marched straight to Ace, but seemed not to know what to do next. He had stared down at her, grinning vacuously; from time to time the smile would be replaced by a frown, and the Dalek Killer would demand the return of his chainsword. Ace was patient with him, but not affectionate. Daak, in Bernice’s view, was acting daft. Or perhaps he was in shock. Then again, perhaps rough, tough Spacefleet troopers manifested peculiarly understated displays of romantic love.
Bernice couldn’t work it out. But she was still angry. Her temper wasn’t improved by the trip through the convoluted passages of the space station. The androids seemed more incompetent than ever, almost falling over each other as they herded the prisoners through kilometres of intricately decorated passages. Only the vast numbers of the black-robed machines had prevented Bernice attempting to escape.
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