Engines of War

by George Mann

  To the Doctor, it was utterly breathtaking. He had come here often in his other lives – particularly his fourth and his eighth, those of a more romantic persuasion – although now those days were like distant memories, dreams that had happened to somebody else. Now, there was nothing but the War. It had consumed him, remade him into something new. A warrior.

  Just like the Doctor, the War had changed the Tantalus Spiral, too. Once a peaceful haven, it was now blighted by the Dalek occupation. It had become a war zone, like much of the universe – a staging post from which the Daleks could continue their crusade to populate eternity with their progenitors and wage their ceaseless campaign against the Time Lords.

  That was why the Doctor had come to the Spiral – the Daleks were massing here, and he needed to get a measure of their strength.

  There was one simple and effective way to do just that.

  ‘Right then,’ he growled. ‘Come and get me.’

  Above the TARDIS, the Dalek saucers began to converge. They were not yet in range for their energy weapons, but the Doctor knew that at any moment he could expect a barrage. He stepped forward and took the controls once again.

  ‘Wait for it,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Wait for just the right moment …’

  He flicked a switch and opened the communication channel. A hundred or more Dalek voices were chanting in a riotous cacophony. Their words were barely discernible, but he knew very well what they were saying: ‘Exterminate! Exterminate!’ Even now, the sound of it made his skin crawl.

  They were getting closer. Still, the Doctor waited.

  The lead saucer finally moved within range, scudding overhead.

  ‘Now!’ bellowed the Doctor at the top of his lungs, cranking a lever forward and gripping the edges of the console so that his knuckles turned white with the strain.

  The TARDIS shot straight up like a rocket. It caught the saucer completely unaware, colliding with its dome-encrusted belly and ripping through at an immense velocity, erupting through the top of the ship and spinning off, twisting on its axis.

  The electrics inside the saucer fizzed and popped, visible through the ragged hole. It listed, spinning out of control, its weapons blazing indiscriminately. One energy beam took out a neighbouring saucer, while the damaged ship itself went spinning into another, which proved too slow to take evasive action.

  On his monitors, the Doctor watched the shells of damaged Daleks drifting away motionless into the void as the ships themselves burned up.

  ‘That’s done it, old girl,’ he said, manipulating the controls once again to swing the TARDIS out of the path of another energy weapon. The Dalek saucers shifted like a flock of birds, swooping after him, their cannons spitting death all around him. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Follow me …’

  Like the pilot of a stunt aeroplane – which he’d made a point of watching with the Brigadier, back in his UNIT days on Earth – the Doctor ducked and weaved the TARDIS, left, right, up, down, looping across the void, leading the Daleks on a merry chase, but always staying one step ahead of their guns.

  All the while, the baleful glare of the Eye regarded them impassively.

  ‘Right, isn’t it about time …’ The Doctor broke off, grinning, as a hundred or more Battle TARDISes phased out of the Vortex behind the Dalek fleet. ‘Now we’ve got you,’ he crowed, rotating a handle and dipping the TARDIS, bringing it back around on itself so that he could zip underneath the oncoming wave of Dalek saucers to join his comrades.

  Weapons transmuted from the outer skin of the Battle TARDISes – plain, white lozenges with an outer shell of living metal that could morph into shields, or any number of predetermined gun emplacements. The TARDISes scattered, shooting off in a hundred different directions as the Daleks attempted to reverse their course, coming about to face the enemy who had so easily outflanked them.

  Time torpedoes launched in a wave, a score of them finding their mark and freezing their targets, trapping them in a temporal holding pattern, a locked second from which the saucers could not escape. The Dalek ships bloomed into silent balls of flame as the Time Lords followed up with a volley of explosive rounds.

  The Daleks weren’t backing down, however, and as the Doctor’s TARDIS burst through the surface of another saucer, sending it spinning toward one of the planets below, they managed to set loose their own first volley, detonating TARDISes with every strike.

  The Doctor watched as the dying time ships blossomed, their interior dimensions folding out into reality, unfurling like violent flowers to swell to their true size before burning up in the vacuum. His fingers danced across the controls and the TARDIS danced away, just as the Dalek ships spat a second volley.

  ‘Phase!’ he bellowed over the communications rig, and the Time Lords did as he commanded, their TARDISes blinking suddenly out of existence. They appeared again a moment later, having leapt two seconds into the future to avoid the crackling beams of the Dalek weapons, which faded away harmlessly into space.

  Their return volley was far more effective, detonating countless Dalek saucers.

  ‘Retreat! Retreat!’ The chorus of Dalek voices, now diminished but still audible in the background, had changed. They were attempting to regroup, pulling back toward the Eye and using the wreckage of their fallen brethren as cover.

  ‘We’ve got them on the run, Doctor!’ called a satisfied female voice over the comm-link.

  ‘Stay with them!’ he replied. ‘Press the advantage.’

  The Time Lords, now outnumbering the Dalek vessels two-to-one, did precisely that, surging forward, some going high, others going low, trapping the retreating Daleks between them.

  The time torpedoes did their work, stuttering the Dalek retreat, and within seconds, space above the Tantalus Eye was filled with the wreckage of the remaining Dalek fleet.

  ‘Well done, Doctor,’ said the woman on the comm-link. She sounded jubilant. This was Captain Preda, Commander of the Fifth Time Lord Battle Fleet. ‘We led them on a merry dance indeed.’

  ‘Don’t count your victories too soon, Preda,’ replied the Doctor, his tone grim. ‘I’m not sure it’s over yet. There could be more of them, lurking in the shadow of those planets.’

  ‘Then let’s take a look,’ said Preda. The comm-link buzzed off, and the Battle TARDISes, assembling themselves into a spearhead formation, slid closer toward the Tantalus Eye.

  Warily, the Doctor fell in behind them, keeping an eye on his monitors.

  The ambush came without warning. There was no alarm, no indication that anything was awry, that they’d triggered some sort of trap. One second there was nothing, the next an armada of Dalek stealth ships had blinked out of the Vortex.

  The Doctor had seen these ships only a handful of times before – sleek, ovoid vessels of the purest black, devoid of the usual winking lights that typically marked a Dalek saucer, and twice as dangerous. They were a recent and unwelcome development. They were said to sit in the Time Vortex like spiders at the heart of a web, detecting the vibrations of passing TARDISes. Only then would they make themselves known, shimmering into existence to catch the Time Lords unaware.

  It was elegant and deadly and – the Doctor realised – Preda and her fleet had just been caught in their web.

  The Time Lords had no time to react. Not a single one was able to dematerialise before the Dalek weapons cracked them open like tin cans, spilling their insides into the cold vacuum of space.

  The Doctor roared, slamming his fists into the controls and sending the TARDIS spinning sideways in an evasive action that saved his life. Nevertheless, the TARDIS caught a glancing blow on her right flank and was sent into a wild spin. With the stabilisers unable to compensate, the Doctor slammed to the floor, rolling off the central dais as the ship juddered.

  The TARDIS, out of control, hurtled headlong toward one of the planets below.

  Chapter Three

  The TARDIS plunged through the planet’s upper atmosphere like a dropped stone, tumbling end over e
nd, leaving a rippling trail of black smoke in its wake.

  Inside, the Doctor clung to the metal rail that ran around the edges of the central dais. The engines were screeching and stuttering as the ship tried to right herself, but the trajectory was too sharp, and they were falling too fast.

  The ceiling was still showing a projection of the view from outside, but now it was nothing but a disorientating jumble of images: snapshots of a bruised, purple sky; sweeping continents encrusted with bristling ruins; flames licking angrily at the edges of the ship’s outer shell.

  With a gargantuan effort, the Doctor released his grip on the railing and lurched over to the console, catching hold of a hooped cable in an effort to stop him from being sent sprawling to the floor. He tugged on it for support, but to his consternation it came away in his hand, one end decoupling from its housing and causing him to swing out wildly, windmilling his other arm until the ship tipped forward again and he could grab hold of a nearby lever.

  He steadied himself as best he could, rocking with the motion of the tumbling ship. ‘Right, let’s see if this works …’ he said, tossing away the loose end of the cable and jabbing at a series of buttons and switches on the control panel.

  Its engines screaming in protest, the TARDIS made a juddering attempt to dematerialise. Outside, visible through the transparent ceiling, the world seemed to fade away to nonexistence, replaced by the swirling hues of the Time Vortex.

  Just as the Doctor was about to issue a heartfelt sigh of relief, however, the view stuttered as if it were just out of reach, and returned to flickering images of the desolate, spoiled world beneath him, seen only in snatches as the ground seemed to rush up to meet the falling TARDIS.

  He hammered at the controls furiously, to no avail. Even the central column had now ceased its ponderous rise and fall, as if the TARDIS herself had anticipated what would come next and was withdrawing into herself, shutting down her vital systems.

  ‘I’m sorry, old girl,’ said the Doctor, hanging on to the console for all he was worth. ‘I think we’re in for a bit of a bumpy landing …’

  *

  Her mouth was full of soil, her left cheek was smarting and she was pretty sure she’d broken at least one of her ribs. She couldn’t remember where she was, what she’d been doing. Comforting blackness offered to consume her. She welcomed it. Sleep. Sleep was what she needed. Sleep would –

  ‘Locate the other hu-man.’ The rasping, metallic sound of a Degradation stirred her to wakefulness. Of course! The escarpment. The landslide. The Degradations. Only a few seconds could have passed. She remained rigid and still. Did they think she was dead?

  She was partially covered by the loose soil. She could feel it weighing down on her legs. That was good – at least she could still feel her legs. The mud must have cushioned her fall. She shifted her foot, ever so slightly, and felt the heaped earth give way. She’d be able to break free, then. She wasn’t buried too deep.

  She was still clutching the stolen Dalek weapon. It felt smooth and cold against her palm, and hummed with power. Not only that, but she had the element of surprise. They weren’t expecting her to suddenly start shooting again. And by the sound of it, they hadn’t found Finch. They hadn’t –

  ‘Cinder!’ Finch’s worried cry echoed from the ruins. Cinder wanted to scream in frustration. What was he doing! He’d give away his position, make himself an easy target.

  Well, she supposed he’d forced her hand …

  With a gasp, Cinder heaved herself up out of the heaped earth, twisting as she rose, spitting soil. She didn’t have time to take stock of what the Degradations were doing. She saw one of the Gliders, hovering a few metres off the ground with its back to her, and took aim, releasing two shots. Still turning, she got the other Glider in her sights and squeezed off another two shots.

  They detonated into bright balls of flame, one after the other, showering the ground with burning debris, and Cinder dived for cover, rolling behind the shell of the Dalek she had taken out from above. There would still two Degradations to contend with, and she didn’t much fancy her chances against the cannon.

  ‘Cinder!’

  She scrambled to her feet to see the tall, broad silhouette of Finch up ahead, bursting from behind a broken wall and rushing out into the road. He was wearing dirty black coveralls and carrying an old-fashioned machine gun, with which he rained down shells on the remaining Dalek creatures as he ran. The bullets pinged ineffectually off their armour, but his plan – if indeed it was a plan – had worked, and he’d distracted them long enough for Cinder to take cover.

  ‘Cinder – get to safety, now!’ he bellowed. He sprayed the Degradations with another burst of useless ammunition, then turned and ran.

  ‘Eradicate!’ burred the Dalek with the cannon, rotating its mid-section to track him as he ran.

  ‘Finch!’ cried Cinder. ‘No!’

  The cannon fired, emitting a pulse of eerie, ruby-coloured light. It struck Finch in the back and seemed to engulf him entirely, encircling his body, whispering around him as if looking for a way in. He stopped running, twisting around in obvious agony and thrashing as if trying to free himself of the beam’s deadly embrace. There was no escape.

  He opened his mouth to scream, and the stream of light rushed in through the orifice, pouring into his body, choking him. He clutched at his throat with both hands, scrabbling for breath.

  As she watched, tears pricking her eyes, Finch’s flesh began to glow, taking on the same odd, pinkish hue as the light. He seemed to disintegrate before her, fading out of existence, as if the light inside of him was pushing out and expanding, dissolving him from within.

  In less than a few seconds, there was nothing left of him whatsoever, aside from a faint wisp of slowly fading light.

  Crouching behind the burned-out Dalek, Cinder felt an odd sensation. She knew she’d just witnessed something horrific, but, for some reason, she couldn’t quite understand what. Her memory seemed suddenly fuzzy, confused.

  She had the unsettling notion there was something she couldn’t remember, scratching away at the back of her mind. She could have sworn the Degradations had just exterminated someone, maybe even someone she knew, but she couldn’t imagine who it could have been. After all, she’d planned this ambush alone, with no help. Hadn’t she?

  Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny the overwhelming feeling of hollowness, as if she was experiencing the absence of an emotion akin to grief. She didn’t have time to dwell on it, however, as even now the two remaining Degradations were moving, turning towards her …

  She glanced behind her, looking for somewhere to run. There was nowhere but the ruins on the other side of the road, and she didn’t much fancy her chances in the open. Then again, the wrecked shell of a Dalek wasn’t going to provide much in the way of a shield for very long, either.

  Cinder glanced up at a high-pitched whistling sound from overhead, her mouth falling open in slack-jawed awe. Something was falling from the sky – a large, blue box, with illuminated window panels and a flashing lamp on top. It was coming in at quite a speed, glowing white hot around the edges, and leaving a long, dark smear in the sky to mark its passing. Whatever it was, it was clearly out of control, and it was going to make landfall any second …

  ‘Evade! Evade!’ The egg-shaped Degradation turned and skittered toward the ruins, its spider-like limbs clawing at the broken ground for purchase.

  Cinder cringed, dropping to her knees and burying her face in the crooks of her arms. There was little else to do. The roar of the falling box had grown to such intensity that it was all she could hear. There was no time to run, to seek cover. It was coming down, and it was coming down now.

  It impacted with a tremendous crunch, sending up a spew of displaced earth that bowled Cinder, and the shell of the dead Dalek she’d been cowering behind, at least two metres into the air. She landed on her back, knocking the wind out of her lungs, just as the box – which had rebounded from the edge of the escarpment
and was sent careening into the road – crashed for a second time, this time causing a colossal bang. For the second time that day, she was doused in a spray of loose soil and debris.

  The blue box screeched across the asphalt, rending what appeared to be wood, until it struck the remains of a brick wall and came to a sudden, jarring halt.

  Cinder took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The first thing that struck her was the fact that she was still alive. The second was the eerie silence that had settled over proceedings. The only sound was the hiss of the scorched box melting the asphalt on the road surface where it had come to rest. She had no idea how a box made of wood could have survived the violence of re-entry into the planet’s atmosphere.

  Cinder picked herself up, dusting shards of Dalek casing and dirt from her clothes. She gasped for breath, forcing air back down into her lungs. Her ears were ringing. She staggered forward a few steps, but then thought better of it, deciding she’d have to wait until her head stopped spinning.

  She tried to get her bearings.

  The entire scene was a mess. The initial impact had blown a crater in the side of the escarpment, the force from which had rippled out, crumpling the surface of the road and churning up an area the size of a house.

  The shell of the Dalek was lying on its side about three metres away, still rocking gently with the motion of the impact.

  Smoke curled from where the blue box had finally come to rest, lying on its side. A hatch was open in the top, but she couldn’t quite see inside. The lights were still glowing softly in the windows, although the lamp on top had gone out. She wondered if that was the distress beacon or homing device.

  It appeared the box had inadvertently saved her life, too – half of a Dalek casing – presumably belonging to the cannon-bearing Degradation – still stood upright beside the overturned box, but the top half was nowhere to be seen. It seemed the box had decapitated the ponderous thing before it had had chance to move out of the way.