Having secured the knotted end of the length of rope to a conveniently sturdy stalagmite at the mouth of cave 74D, the Doctor tossed the coil down, tested its strength, and then descended hand-over-hand with the ease of experience. There was a small drop at the end of the rope, and directly beneath was a pool of the glutinous substance used by the Zamps to aid their locomotion. The Doctor had no wish to get stuck, and so twisted himself as he dropped, alighting neatly on a dry flat area. ‘Come on, then,’ he called up to Smith, having to shout over the increased warbling of the Zamps. There was no response, and he sighed as he recalled his thwarted preference to remain alone. ‘Smith!’
He saw her swing over and grab hold of the rope. ‘I’ve never done this before.’
‘Oh, really?’ Satisfied that she was safe, the Doctor examined his surroundings. The cavern was swarming with Zamps, their clammy bodies overlapping as still more joined the sub-herd through openings on the opposite face of rock. They moved slowly and purposefully, flocking towards the massive structure. Carefully, the Doctor hopped over a gathering of Zamps to take a closer look. This close the artifact was even more impressive. A white vapour drifted at its base, through which he glimpsed more Zamps, packed even closer together.
‘It’s incredible,’ said Smith, leaping between the patches of slime to join him.
The Doctor knelt down and picked up a handful of stones. ‘I’m going to try something.’ He threw the stones at the base of the structure. Incredibly they halted in midair, then were scattered gently and harmlessly. ‘You see, it’s protected. Further proof of their independent thought.’
‘They’re maintaining a telekinetic barrier.’ Smith scratched her head and closed her eyes. ‘All of this is entirely contradictory to their nature. I mean, I know the Zamp brain to the last cell. They just cannot do this sort of thing.’
‘Perhaps,’ said the Doctor, moving closer to the structure, ‘and I don’t mean to be rude, you were looking at it the wrong way.’
Ivzid shook himself awake, astonished to find himself not only still alive, but also undamaged in body and mind. He scanned himself quickly, disengaged his battle-drive to conserve energy, and looked about. He had been deposited at the main entrance hatchway of the mighty star cruiser. In the dim green light, the craft appeared suitably majestic, its neutrino-tickler attachment, a massive studded prong set at right angles from the flank, appearing particularly fierce and daunting. Best of all, the craft looked almost complete. It might still fulfil its destiny as the great tool of vengeance. Ivzid saw himself piloting the vessel, single-footed, out through the gateway and to a tumultuous welcome from Big Mother and the fleet. Yes, he must examine it, now.
As he lurched forward, a slow movement from the darkness caught his attention. He swivelled his left socket to investigate, and saw two or three of the repulsive mollusc-creatures slithering towards him. They twittered like babes. The macabre sight sent a cold shiver along the joint of Ivzid’s neck. He lifted one of his front feet aggressively. ‘Back. Back, I say!’
The beasts came closer. They seemed to be ailing, and there were patches of what looked like diseased tissue along their long necks. The noise they made, which grated at his nerves, contained a pathetic pleading quality, rising in scale. Shuddering, Ivzid circled quickly around their path and scuttled up to the entrance hatch of the craft. To his delight, the airlock hatch was unsecured, and he pushed it open, moved through quickly, and slammed it shut behind him. Perhaps it had been foolish; but no, he had been chosen, selected by destiny, and was protected. He had been waiting for this all of his life. He had always been different, set apart, misunderstood. His hour had come. Soon, all who had doubted him – in particular the treacherous Hezzka – would be made to pay, and would have to apologise.
His throat was dry, but that was only natural. A true warrior, Hafril had said, confronts his fears. Only an idiot fears nothing.
He motored along the airlock tunnel. This would most probably lead directly to the flight deck and the battle station. If the controls were powered up, he thought, what was to prevent him activating them and flying up and out through the slipway? A fitting judgement would then befall Zamper. It would be necessary to test the neutrino-tickler, perhaps to boil the core of the system’s artificial sun. The parasites, the repulsive shipbuilders, and Hezzka, all would die a slow, agonizing death, the sun would grow to fill the sky, peeling their skins away…
Ivzid halted suddenly. His mouth dropped open.
The airlock tunnel led nowhere.
Confused, he carried out a sensor appraisal of the ship’s interior.
The ship was hollow.
Smith and the Doctor reached the base of the structure at last, their feet inches from the strange moat of milky vapour and the slimy mass of Zamps passing, they now saw, in and out of the structure through a ring of seven small holes. Smith took the Doctor’s hand. ‘Very unscientific of me, I know, but this is making me scared.’ She looked away from the slithering mass of cold, clammy bodies. ‘They make me feel sick.’
‘We probably make them feel sick.’
Smith peered at the gleaming jutting sides of the artifact. ‘It’s made of metal. They must have brought it here from the yards. There was a ship in construction, in yard six.’
‘Then,’ said the Doctor, ‘most of the raw materials probably ended up here, as part of that.’
Smith shook her head. ‘Impossible. The Management would have called our attention to that. He’s very keen to maintain the construction rate. He oversees it personally, they just wouldn’t have been able to do that.’
‘You really have missed the point, haven’t you?’ the Doctor said kindly. ‘I was hoping you’d work it out by yourself.’
‘Work what out?’
He turned her to face the screeching slithering sub-herd. ‘They are the Management.’
Chapter 7
After the echoes of the Management’s final pleas had spiralled away into the darkness, Mr Jottipher’s own involuntary whimper broke the throbbing silence. It was as if a part of himself had died. Twenty-two years in unquestioning service, and now the eye that watched and the hand that guided, was gone, with a merciful but distressing swiftness. ‘Oh dear. Oh dear.’ He sniffled.
‘It was only a machine,’ he heard the Secunda say. A soft yellow light flashed around the office, making her lined face a hanging spirit-night mask. The illumination came from a large torch she had taken from her desk drawer.
‘Emotional of me, I know. Perhaps foolish. He always seemed more than a machine,’ said Mr Jottipher, groping in the dark for the arm of a chair. ‘Forgive me, Secunda, I need to sit down.’ Dabbing his tears with the sleeve of his jacket, he observed her picking up the coder terminal that secured the vault. ‘You seem rather well-prepared, I must say.’
‘Everything has been planned, down to the last detail.’ As she spoke, she examined the coder terminal. ‘That is the essence of good business.’
‘You’ll never find the right combination. It’s impossible.’
‘You’ve missed a crucial fact. I don’t need to.’ She tapped the side of the vault with her painted fingernails, making a tinny sound. ‘The power’s off.’
Mr Jottipher stood on shaking legs. It felt odd to be contradicting anything the Secunda said. ‘It’s armour-plated. You’d have to blow it open.’
She reached out and straightened his collar. ‘I am going to blow it open. From the inside.’ Seeing his doubtful expression, she went on, ‘Mr Jottipher, who was it, do you think, that compiled our dossier on the Chelonians?’
‘Oh dear.’ His throat dried and his tears froze in an instant as he recalled the marauding reptilian twosome at loose, somewhere, in this darkness. ‘Well, of course, you did.’
‘Correct.’ She fingered the numbered pads on the terminal. ‘My scrutiny convinced me that their delegation was unlikely to come here unarmed.’ She gestured to the vault. ‘Their weapons can be operated by a remote signal. Unnoticed, I primed the f
ootgun before it was placed inside the vault.’
‘Goodness. But how do you intend to send the signal?’
A heart-stopping cracking and splintering noise came suddenly from the door. Mr Jottipher saw the shadow of fear that flickered over the Secunda’s face as she lifted her torch and they saw the claws of one of the Chelonians coming through the partition of the door and pushing apart the slats, the creature’s brutish force triumphing over the unpowered security mechanisms. Mr Jottipher put the back of one hand over his mouth, whether to stop himself screaming or because his stomach threatened to turn he was unsure. The Chelonian growled, curled its prehensile foot around one slat of the door, heaved the white rectangle off its hinges, and then thundered into the room. To Mr Jottipher’s relief, it was Hezzka, and he was alone. His internal additions rasping, he reared up in front of them. ‘Well?’
Mr Jottipher hardly dared to move. Thankfully, the Secunda had regained her composure and was beaming steadily at the Chelonian. ‘I’m doing all I can to restore the power supply, General. I really shouldn’t worry. These technical problems are very trivial. Why not return to your guest room, and I’ll make certain –’
‘Cease your prattling!’ Hezzka’s crocodile eyes swivelled malevolently around the office. Strings of drool on his sharpened teeth caught the light, making him all the more fiercely impressive. He raised a front foot and indicated the vault. ‘We are leaving. You will return our deposit. Now!’
‘I’m afraid that until the Management comes back online that won’t be possible,’ said the Secunda. ‘I do apologize.’
‘Our hands are tied,’ said Mr Jottipher. ‘There’s no way into the vault.’ Lying came with surprising ease. ‘There’s no possible way to open it.’
Hezzka snarled. ‘This reeks of treachery. You will open the vault immediately!’ He turned to face the vault, and a thin membrane, light blue in colour, slid over his eyes. Mr Jottipher recalled the folder prepared by the Secunda, which had made special mention of the Chelonians’ ocular enhancements. A hook-shaped line of lights sparkled under the membrane, augmenting Hezzka’s vision with a sensor overlay. ‘The security mechanism is inoperative and there is no power. The vault must be blasted open.’
The Secunda turned to Mr Jottipher and smiled. In languid tones, almost a whisper, she said, ‘General, I absolutely forbid it.’ The sarcasm was lost on Hezzka, who pushed them aside, knocked over the desk, and positioned himself directly before the vault.
‘Ivzid’s gun has come in useful after all,’ he muttered.
The Secunda pulled Mr Jottipher into a far corner, shielding them both behind the leaves of a large potted palm.
Mr Jottipher covered his ears as a shrill electronic tone came from somewhere inside Hezzka’s shell. He couldn’t fathom this part of the Secunda’s plan, which would for sure give Hezzka full access both to his money and the footgun. Her grip on his arm was all that reassured him. If she remained in control, surely nothing could go wrong. The signal rose in pitch, making his eyes water.
A second later, the far wall exploded outwards, showering them with small pieces of rubble. A wave of searing heat rushed over them, and the room was illuminated for a few moments by the pulsing golden glow of the reactivated footgun.
Then silence.
The Secunda withdrew her arm from his and stood. Mr Jottipher remained on the floor, his hands over his face. The first stage of fear had passed, and he felt oddly lightheaded. The explosion echoed in his singing ears. He heard the Secunda make an approving noise. ‘You can get up now, Jottipher.’
When he dared to look, he saw that the office was showered in pieces of the wall, as was Hezzka. One of the largest chunks of reinforced concrete had settled squarely on the General’s head, and his shell was covered in brickdust and oddments of still-glowing shrapnel. In the light from the Secunda’s torch, Mr Jottipher saw a trickle of fluid emerge from the flattened section of Hezzka’s shell just above his neck. Just when he dared hope that the beast was dead, Hezzka shuffled and moaned, one of his eyes fluttering open for a moment. ‘Madam, he’s still alive.’
‘Unimportant.’ She shone the beam of her torch on the broken metal door of the vault, which had been blown half-off its mounting and lay crumpled like a piece of discarded silver foil. The vault itself was shrouded by a thick cloud of dust. Coughing and fanning this away with her hand, she advanced. The strongbox and the footgun lay together on the floor, both barely scratched despite the force of the blast. The Secunda wrapped her hand in her daintily-embroidered handkerchief and lifted the weapon by one of its smoking corners. ‘Wonderful.’
‘It’s still functioning?’ Mr Jottipher hopped nimbly around Hezzka, terrified that the thing would wake.
‘Oh yes. Chelonian war technology is superbly constitutioned.’ She nodded to Hezzka. ‘He didn’t expect it to be primed and set to maximum, poor thing.’ She smoothed her gown, disarrayed by the blast, into its familiar shape. ‘We’d better be going.’ Playfully she nudged the end of the gun under Mr Jottipher’s heart. ‘With this, nothing can stop us.’
‘Then, er, wouldn’t it be safer, er…’ He gestured to Hezzka.
‘Mr Jottipher! A cold-hearted murderer!’ She giggled and passed him the torch, then took aim between Hezzka’s closed eyes. ‘Yes, I suppose it would give me enormous pleasure. I’ve never killed anything, you know. At least not directly.’ She adjusted the settings on the side of the weapon. ‘Well, it’s never too late to start, eh? After all, it’s little more than an animal, really.’
Mr Jottipher closed his eyes. ‘No. No, we mustn’t.’
Amused, she asked, ‘Why mustn’t we?’
‘It’s wrong.’ He pushed her gun arm down. ‘It’s a thinking, living creature. A monster, granted, but…’
She laughed cruelly. ‘Very well. If it upsets you. We’ll just slow him down a little, then.’
When the lights went out, Bernice turned and grabbed Forrester about the waist. ‘We’d better stick together. I know my luck, and I don’t fancy running into a Chelonian in the dark again.’
‘And what difference am I supposed to make?’
A distant explosion echoed suddenly along the tunnel, the repercussion zigzagging over their heads.
Forrester jumped. ‘What the hell was that?’
‘Something blowing up.’ Bernice listened closely to the raging after-rumble of the blast, which was distorted as it passed above, between and around the coiling plastic tubeways of the darkened Complex.
‘Something on the surface?’ Forrester pushed Bernice gently away. 'It came from above.’
‘Wait a moment.’ A sinking sensation tugged at her stomach. As firmly as she was able she said, ‘I’ve lost my way.’
‘Well, think,’ said Forrester. ‘You remember the layout, you said.’
‘In the light, maybe, perhaps, just about. Not in the dark. We were going up, weren’t we, along this tube we’re in now?’
‘You mean we were going down.’ There was a couple of seconds silence, then Bernice heard Forrester slam her fist against the side of the tube. ‘We were going down.’
‘I thought we were going up,’ said Bernice, feeling rather ashamed. ‘Chris. Were we going up or down?’
There was no response from Cwej.
‘Chris?’ Forrester now kicked the tube. ‘I don’t believe it. Where’s he – oh, hell.’ She kicked the tube again, once with her left foot and once with her right. ‘He’s gone after the girly.’ She moved towards Bernice and tapped her on the shoulder. ‘I’ll get him. You get away from here and get the Doctor. Meet you back at the TARDIS.’
‘Roz.’ She thought for a moment, then took the folded report on the test flight from the back pocket of her jeans and handed it over. ‘You have this. Go on, it’ll lead you there.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’ll collect the Doctor from Smith’s lab and he’ll find a way somehow. Now, go and get Cwej.’
‘You don’t even know your way out of here. We
should stick together.’
Bernice gripped her hand tightly, curling her fingers around the report. ‘Just let’s do it, okay? Do you trust me? I trust you.’
Forrester pulled her hand away. ‘You sound like the Doctor.’ Already she was walking away back down the tube.
‘I know,’ said Bernice. She turned and climbed the tube, advancing slowly into the dark labyrinth. ‘As long as I keep going up.’
The woman who had called herself Christie reached the computer terminal and set to work. The pace of events since her arrival had surprised her, and she’d been forced to advanced a plan that she’d not anticipated would come about for months. She located the feebly glowing panel that must, she reasoned, control what was left of the Complex’s secondary power store, and re-routed with ease a number of subsidiary functions. The panel had been designed for direct use by the servitors, and only by cracking their emergency over-ride cyphers, a chicane of multi-levelled integers, would she be able to proceed. Her advantage was the set-up on Zamper. The consortium had not foreseen the eventual demise of the place, and therefore had not accounted for it in the design of the security systems. That Zamper could be penetrated by an enemy was, to them, unthinkable, an error of judgement that left their most secret designs all but exposed.
As she worked to gain access to the design store, she reflected that her mission could not have proceeded more efficiently. Every freeloader in East Galaxy viewed Zamper as the great uncrackable, its position in the midst of the war zones and its legendarily fearsome defences enough to dampen the ambitions of the most enterprising. Over the last fifteen or so years, it was rumoured that Zamper’s rate of production was falling, and in consequence that its role as the spine of the region’s finance markets was slipping slightly. Opportunists had taken this as evidence that the conquest of Zamper might now be possible, but none ever returned, and the attentions of the mercenary community had turned back to easier pickings.
On her way back from a raid on a pharmaceutical base she’d come across a vessel that could only have been the Zamper supply ship, marvelled at its ability to pass unchallenged through the disputed borders, and hopped aboard. Killing the girl Christie had been easy enough, taking her place easier still. All the while she’d expected to be challenged and exposed, but as rumour suggested, the Management had been distracted. Getting in was the big problem; once inside, her plan had been to play her part until the end came, however long it took. Things were falling into her hands. Only the arrival of the strangers blotted the outlook. The older woman and the man were enforcers, she could tell that from the way they looked at each other and the questions they’d been asking. It meant East Government were on her back, probably that they’d had the idea of jumping the supply ship themselves and left it too late.
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