Doctor Who. Zamper

by Gareth Roberts

  They came to an open doorway and Smith turned back to address the others. Her long grey hair was dishevelled and her face dripped with sweat. In her eye was a dangerous look that Forrester had seen before in civilians. In a bad situation, inspired by cheap holo-cable shows, they started to see things like they were part of a story, complete with winners, losers and martyrs. It took years of street exercise to loosen that way of thinking. ‘Through here,’ said Smith, slipping off her thick woollen jacket. She stood aside to let them pass. Bernice helped Hezzka through the door. Cwej helped Taal through the door. They looked like attendants in an old peoples’ home.

  Something overturned, way down below. The tubes, in that irritating way they had, muffled and twisted the clangor, making it impossible to trace. ‘Probably just something falling over,’ she said without the slightest conviction. Cwej caught her eye and smirked. She was forgiven, then.

  Another crash. Forrester swore and waved at Bernice to hurry up with Hezzka. ‘Get him through, get him through!’ She looked back down again, slapping her fists against her sides in frustration. Not one gun in this place.

  Hezzka slipped through the door, grunting and mumbling like the old man he resembled. Taal and Cwej hopped down, and Forrester followed as another series of crashes reverberated and a ghostly ululation was carried up to their ears.

  It was only when she hit the concrete floor of the small garage, and heard the servos on the door activate, that she realized Smith was still outside. A quick glance about the garage revealed only that it was clean, crowded with small vehicles, and that the main exit was closed.

  ‘What’s Smith ruddy playing at?’ said Taal, who was already showing signs of recovery as he staggered over to the nearest air-buggy. ‘We’ve got to get out!’ He threw open the back door of the buggy. ‘Well, come on!’

  The others were frozen. Before Cwej or Bernice could do anything dumb, and both looked as if they might, Forrester raised a hand. ‘We’re getting out.’ She pointed to Bernice. ‘Get Hezzka aboard that thing, both of you. Then get the door open. Move!’

  ‘I don’t have to follow your orders,’ Bernice started to say, but she and Cwej were already bending down to lift the floundering Hezzka, who had closed his eyes to shield himself from the indignity.

  Without stopping to think Forrester leapt up the entrance platform of the garage and hammered on the door. Her trembling fingers hovered over the locking panel. ‘Smith! I’m going to open this door for three seconds. You are going to get in here!’

  There was no answer.

  Forrester kicked the door. ‘Listen! Forget it. Nobody’s a hero!’

  ‘Leave – go now!’ Smith shouted back. ‘I am not stupid!’

  The screech of the approaching loops cut through the air. Forrester’s hand settled over the door control, her long fingers fitting between the moulded ridges of its edges. She rested her forehead against the cool concrete of the door and cursed again and again. She didn’t actively register the noise of the garage’s exit door as it was winched up.

  ‘We’re ready!’ she heard Cwej cry.

  The cry of the loops got nearer.

  Forrester removed her hand from the door control. ‘Nothing we can do,’ she shouted to them as she leapt over the sides of the buggy and jolted into the passenger position. Cwej powered up the motor, they were lifted up on a cushion of air, and they sped out of the Complex. Hezzka’s weight tilted the buggy back and Cwej compensated, wrenching the steering stick forward and angling the nose section upward.

  Nobody said anything.

  Forrester let her aching head fall back on the padded rest and watched the stringy, violet-edged morning clouds pass by.

  There were tears in Smith’s eyes as the loops slithered into view, dragging the lumps of raw stubby tissue at their bases behind them and screeching wildly. She prepared herself, flattened herself against the garage door. Her lips were twitching.

  ‘Ah, Smith,’ said the voice of the Management as the creatures coiled to strike. ‘Curious to the last. I remember how we suffered at your hands, your foul experiments on our brothers.’

  She managed to speak. ‘You ordered me to experiment!’

  ‘I was a confused young boy,’ he said defensively. ‘We all make mistakes in our youth. Not to worry. I’ve sorted myself out now. Nicely, I think.’

  ‘Oh well that’s all right, then!’ She closed her eyes and her body slumped as one of the loops swooped down and almost tenderly showered her with droplets of a foul-smelling substance. She fell. It thwacked her across the back, then propped her prone body up against the wall.

  She couldn’t move her legs.

  Her senses faded out. The screeches disappeared along with the voice.

  ‘It’s such a relief. I’ve finally got what I intended to do. No compromises. I’m talented, I’m an achiever, and nothing’s going to stop me…’

  Each crew member had found its way to its station aboard the egg-carrier, guided by the superbly efficient mind of the Management along the curving white arteries of the upper levels. The Zamp herdmind had not created a better design. Even the smallest of the control mechanisms had been crafted with utmost forethought. The tenacious loops squealed gleefully as they curled sections of their bodies around the spoke and hook-shaped instruments that bristled from the walls. In the lower levels nestled ranks of eggs, safely incubated. From each, soon, would sprout a fully adult loop.

  Time for the off.

  Power was diverted to the carrier’s concealed thrusters; the acutely sensitive scanner array confirmed that the slipway was free of obstruction; the defence auras were shifted up to full capability.

  The carrier shook, bellowed, glowed, and lifted, its irregular sides sliding effortlessly through the cavern. It angled forward slightly and its enormous bulk entered the slipway.

  Two minutes later it burst from a wide gouge many miles from the Complex, engaged its secondary thrusters and soared up through the atmosphere.

  ‘There it goes.’ Cwej pointed to the thick white vapour trail left by the curving carrier as it shrieked upward, its sonic boom pressing down on his forehead. Momentarily he lost control of the buggy; Forrester slapped him hard against the wrists.

  The shadow of the carrier passed over them, accompanied by a wave of displaced air that howled across the empty purple plain of Zamper and blew stinging particles of grit in their eyes.

  Hezzka spoke falteringly. ‘Bernice… this TARDIS of yours… without the Doctor… can it be flown?’

  ‘He’ll be back,’ she said.

  ‘I hope so.’ His shell creaked as he shuffled to make himself more comfortable. ‘It can go anywhere?’

  ‘Theoretically.’

  ‘Good.’ He nodded. In the daylight the dent in his brow looked more serious. ‘I will request to be dropped off back at Chelonia. I would like to see my grandhatchlings. You see… I don’t care anymore. About the usurper or the cultural reformation. Let history take us where it will.’

  ‘I’m sure the Doctor will be happy to take you there,’ she said.

  The newly-arrived parasite had identified himself more formally as the Doctor only after Frinza had menaced him at the point of a gun. With a lack of concern that seemed almost ill-mannered he had covered the end of the weapon with the fingers of one hand and pushed it aside, muttering all the while of ‘pointless distractions’. He also displayed a most singular familiarity with minor points of daily etiquette, nodding his head slightly to the guards at the door of the shuttle bay as he swept out in the manner of a touring dignitary. He claimed that he was in possession of facts vital to the security of the fleet but refused to specify until audience with the supreme authority was granted. Frinza had flatly refused; the Doctor had then nonchalantly swiped a communicator from a wall-point, patched himself through to Big Mother’s personal input with ease, and uttered a string of words in narrow dialect. He was restrained instantly, but a matter of moments later Big Mother’s hollow whisper came into Frinza’s personal l
ink ordering him to grant the request.

  And so the Doctor was led at gunpoint into the imperial chambers in the rear of the flagship. Frinza had attended this quarter of the vessel only three times before, keeping to the background, as his temperament dictated, at official functions and cheese and leaf-extract parties. The chambers were grand, almost a separate estate in themselves. He was too young to recall the time before the fall, but as he escorted the Doctor along the bejewelled and velvet-draped corridors that connected the outer aft companionways to the maternal sanctum Frinza could well imagine the majesty of the old court in Chelon City. No matter what hardships the crews of the fleets had endured over the past thirty cycles, Big Mother had always done conspicuously well for himself. Frinza checked his thoughts. To think along such lines was to invite downfall. The maternal family were exemplars of civility and a symbol of the past’s importance. That made the granting of the Doctor’s request appear ever more bizarre.

  As the great doors of the inner chamber slid apart a nurse adorned in pale green surgeon’s apron and cap motored forward with the unhurried and disdainful air of the maternal retinue. The nurse’s glance passed quickly over the Doctor. ‘Has this creature been properly fumigated?’

  The Doctor himself answered. ‘I am an enthusiastic washer, I assure you. Now please let me pass.’

  The nurse addressed Frinza. ‘It is not good for His Majesty to be placed under stress. He has become most agitated upon learning of this… beast’s presence on the ship.’

  The Doctor pushed past the retainer rudely. ‘Out of the way.’

  Frinza followed him into the large inner chamber, where the shockingly decrepit form of Big Mother hung like an overgrown hatchling in his reinforced webbing, his limbs drooping, drool caking his chin in a dry grey crust. His almost-white eyes flicked alertly over them as they were presented. Frinza had to step up his senses to see clearly in the dim light, but the Doctor seemed to have no trouble. The little parasite raised the circlet of white cloth on his head and said distinctly, ‘Ka’ shar-rath erd kallpok eyja gralk.’

  Big Mother grunted. ‘However your appearance changes, we would recognize your presumptuous character and want of manners, Doctor.’ Frinza drew himself up, startled. Big Mother addressed the parasite like a noble. ‘Tell us. What became of the fellow in the apron of colours?’

  The Doctor sighed and shook his head. ‘Cut off in his prime, poor chap.’ He patted his mid-section. ‘At least I learnt never to exercise on a full breakfast.’ He folded his body on the platform below Big Mother’s webbing and swung his stick back and forth sadly. It occurred to Frinza that this unlikely camaraderie might be explained in part by an examination of the Doctor’s physical processes. His sensor membrane confirmed the suspicion. The innards of the Doctor were substantially at variance with the organs of the Secunda. For a start, this one had two hearts. It seemed a most useful addition. The cell structure also was quite perplexing. Frinza had heard tales of freakishly advanced parasite species; it seemed the Doctor was a member of such a race. Even so, the informality exchanged between him and Big Mother was unsightly.

  ‘What is the nature of your urgent mission, Doctor?’ Big Mother asked in a more suitably curt tone. ‘We have lost our General Hafril.’

  ‘Hezzka.’

  ‘Yes, yes, and our First Pilot, er – yes, our First Pilot. Is this your work?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Whatever favour you may have done us in the past can be easily forgotten if you mean once more to oppose us.’

  A strange animal noise came from the back of the Doctor’s throat. ‘You know that I have opposed your activities as a matter of principle and would do so again.’

  Big Mother gnashed his gums. ‘Speak, Doctor. What is your interest in Zamper? Where is our brave General?’

  Before the parasite could reply the wall-point chirruped. ‘Answer that, Hezzka,’ said Big Mother.

  ‘I’m Second Pilot Frinza, Highness.’

  Big Mother rolled his eyes. ‘Can nobody stay in a job longer than a quarter-cycle these days?’

  Frinza toed the wall-point. The call was for his attention. ‘Sir,’ said the Environments Officer. ‘There’s a massive energy trace flaring on all wavebands of the sensornet. Its source appears to be a large object approaching from the Zamper gateway. We cannot identify or make a full analysis, the flaring is too strong.’

  ‘What is its approach speed?’

  ‘Estimate it will reach range of our close-range cannon in thirty-two minutes, sir.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said the Doctor. Frinza could not read the faces of parasites, but there was a gravity to the Doctor’s bearing that sent shivers along his shell. ‘It’s that I want to have a word about. In private, if possible.’

  Frinza turned his head. ‘Highness?’

  ‘Dismissed, He– Haf– boy.’

  Bernice was able to sleep for a while, resting her head against Hezzka’s big warm shell in the back of the air-buggy and trying to blot out Smith’s fate from her mind. The longer she stayed with the Doctor, the easier it became to forget the nasty things. When she woke she was certain that a good couple of hours had passed, but Taal told her it was closer to forty minutes.

  The roar of the rushing wind prevented her from talking to Cwej or Forrester, and she was too tired to shout. She let her head fall back on Hezzka again, and angled her face towards his head. ‘You’ll like the TARDIS,’ she told him. She smiled when she saw that his eyes were also closed. He looked dignified even in sleep, and she was reminded of Ice Lord Savaar. She looked over at Taal, who was crumpled, ungainly and lascivious. 'Ah, why can’t a man be more like a reptile?’ she mused.

  And it was then she realised, with a little jolt of the head, that Hezzka was dead. Exhaustion had claimed him. She shivered and wiped away a small tear, straightened up and shouted, ‘Chris, Roz. The General’s dead.’

  Forrester looked back. Bernice knew her well enough by now to realize that holding a grudge against her would be pointless. If it had been her own hand on that door control… well, that was the whole point, really. She wouldn’t have got herself in a corner like that. It was only people like Forrester, like the Doctor, like Ace, who put themselves in such situations. Most people, herself included, just froze. ‘We’ll stop and lift him off,’ Forrester said matter-of-factly. ‘Without the weight we can pick up speed.’

  Taal suddenly stood up, his head twisted over his shoulder. ‘Oh my God. Oh no. No!’

  Bernice followed his gaze.

  Another buggy was pursuing them. Its seating was occupied by six of the loop creatures.

  As the Doctor explained the situation, Big Mother’s head slumped further in his webbing. All of the worry and perplexity in which his aged brain had been immersed for however long was lifted and he saw the enormity of his plight with clarity. It was the seriousness of the news that had perked up his faculties, he realized. The monotonous snippets which he was more commonly plagued with by his underlings were so much of a blur that they barely registered, but the Doctor’s grave pronouncements had struck a heavy chord in his heart. It was certainly true that a continuity of character was present in whatever form this ancient enemy inhabited. The unfortunate turn of events that had brought them face-to-face many cycles ago – Big Mother’s yacht had been trapped for months at the centre of an agglomeration of frozen stellar matter and the Doctor had succeeded in digging them all out – had forged a bond that, while it could not be considered a friendship, took the form of a grudging mutual realization that for one to kill the other would be appallingly vulgar. Big Mother could not be merciful or thankful to the Doctor, such lowly and platitudinous expressions were the reserve of commoners, but he could at least refrain from ordering his death during their meetings, no matter how irritating or obstructive the freakish parasite became.

  At the Doctor’s entreaty, the bridge had patched through the visual scan of the fast-approaching egg-carrier. They watched as the strange grey shape slipped through the yawning purple gateway, its ene
rgy trace coating it in a repeated fall of crackling white waves. It was hard to be certain, but from the agitated way in which the Doctor twisted and rattled his cloth-covered stick, Big Mother assumed his visitor was in a state of great agitation. ‘There’s no alternative,’ he concluded. ‘Believe me when I say that I truly wish there were.’

  The implications of his words hung in the air like a wind that blows from fallow pastures. At length Big Mother said, ‘You are asking us to destroy ourselves?’

  The Doctor gnawed his knuckles. ‘If only there’d been more time. But if those creatures reach populated space the consequences would be horrific.’

  ‘Why us, why now?’ asked Big Mother. ‘There are parasites destroying themselves throughout this star-sector. Can they not sacrifice themselves for a nobler purpose?’

  The Doctor shook his head firmly. ‘By the time such a deterrent could be set up the creatures might already have multiplied a thousandfold. They could be unstoppable.’ He came disrespectfully close to Big Mother. ‘In time they would reach the empire. Then on to Chelonia itself. Your race would be obliterated or condemned to a miserable life of drudgery, as little more than cattle.’

  Big Mother spat. ‘Impossible. The empire would triumph.’

  ‘I’m not one of your courtiers,’ the Doctor snapped. ‘Listen. I may not agree with your viewpoint, but I can at least understand it. You know as well as I do that the empire is finished.’

  ‘Heresy!’ Big Mother shook with fury. ‘You can only go so far, Doctor.’ He indicated a small space between his front feet. 'At present you are that far, that far from death!’

  ‘We all are!’ yelled the Doctor. ‘And believe me, if you don’t stop these creatures, all our deaths will be pointless and prolonged. The Management has no mercy.’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘Do you really want your race to be conquered?’