Doctor Who: Engines of War

by George Mann

  She swallowed. She felt as if her heart were in her mouth. The room they’d entered was laid out as if the family who had once occupied it had simply upped and left; had got up and walked out, with every intention of returning later to pick up where they’d left off. Children’s toys were strewn across the carpet. An empty glass rested on a side table. A picture frame on the wall still projected the holographic resemblance of a man and a woman, clutched in a happy embrace.

  Cinder felt the weight of guilt upon her shoulders, of immense sadness. How had she survived all this time, while the Daleks had taken these people and their families? What right did she have to still be alive? How had she been allowed to live on while her mother, father and brother had been exterminated?

  Her entire life up until this point had been about eradicating those memories, those insidious, guilt-ridden thoughts; about burying them in violence and revenge, turning them into the burning hatred of the Daleks that now festered at the very core of her being.

  She’d never once thought of trying to rescue anyone, of trying to change things. It had always seemed so futile, so far beyond her means. And so she had settled for taking pot shots at passing Dalek patrols, or hunting them in the ruins of her former home, counting each death as a victory.

  Then the Doctor had come along, tumbling out of the sky in his magical box, and in a few short hours had forced her to face up to this, to recognise that perhaps there were things that could be done, that nothing was quite as impossible as it might seem. There were different ways of fighting back. She wasn’t quite sure what he intended to do with the information he gleaned here on Moldox, but she knew it wasn’t simply for his own gratification. He was getting involved, because he wanted to help, wanted to make it all stop.

  She could see now that all she’d been doing was screaming into the wind. Those victories she’d notched up on the barrel of her gun had been hollow, every one of them. She hadn’t changed anything, hadn’t really made a difference. She’d wasted so much time.

  Yet something in her had known there was still time to make a difference. She’d followed the Doctor here, a Time Lord she barely knew, and now, standing in the remnants of Andor, she realised he might prove to be her salvation. This wasn’t simply about helping her to run away from her old life. It was about showing her how to change it for herself. What was more, she thought he knew that, too.

  She looked round for him and realised he’d already moved on, deeper into the house. She heard his footsteps on the stairs and followed after him.

  Cinder found him in one of the children’s bedrooms on the second floor, standing by the window, the brightly coloured curtains pulled aside so that he might look out upon the Dalek base. She joined him there.

  From this distance the Dalek structures didn’t appear quite as sophisticated as she’d imagined. In fact, they looked rather lashed together, with narrow metal causeways erupting from the flank of each dome to puncture its neighbour. There were five domes in total, forming a loose circle around a central courtyard. They were large and seemingly identical, disc-shaped with a raised central turret, and decorated with the same bronze and gold patterning as the Daleks themselves.

  The base had an economical, practical layout that had little or nothing to do with aesthetics and everything to do with function. The whole place had a temporary, transitory feel to it, despite the fact it had been in situ for well over a decade.

  ‘What are they?’ said Cinder.

  ‘Spacecraft,’ said the Doctor. ‘Dalek vessels. They haven’t co-opted the old school, so much as levelled it and landed their saucers on top of it. They’ve erected walkways between the ships, but they’re only temporary structures. The whole base could be disbanded at any moment. They’re clearly not intending to stay on Moldox.’

  ‘Then what are they doing here?’ asked Cinder. She’d always supposed the occupation was about the Daleks wanting control of the planet. She’d never even considered that there might be another, less permanent purpose.

  ‘That’s a question I’m very keen to know the answer to,’ said the Doctor.

  Cinder thought she saw a sign of movement in the courtyard and leaned forward, until her nose was almost touching the dirty glass of the window. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see what was going on. There was definitely movement – people, in fact – a group of humans being shepherded out into the paved area that had once been a children’s playground.

  Floodlights blared suddenly, causing her to wince as everything was brought into sudden, sharp relief. Three Daleks were jostling the human prisoners – around ten of them, both male and female – making them form into a long line, standing shoulder to shoulder. Cinder could hear nothing from this distance, but she could imagine the threats being issued by the metal monsters in order to force the humans to comply.

  The Doctor put his hand on the sill, peering out, watching with interest.

  Why were they forming a line?

  ‘Oh, no!’ said Cinder, with sudden realisation. ‘They’re going to execute them!’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said the Doctor, his voice a low growl. ‘But again, why do it like this? Why go to all the trouble of taking them prisoner, leading them here half-starved, only to line them up in the courtyard to shoot them down. There has to be more to it.’

  Cinder didn’t really want to watch, fearful of what she might see, but nevertheless she was transfixed, unable to tear her gaze away. As she watched, the three Daleks backed away, two of them disappearing from view, while another moved forward into focus.

  This one had a slightly different, yet familiar outline. ‘That’s like the one I saw during the ambush,’ said Cinder. ‘The one you decapitated when you crashed. It’s one of the mutants, a Degradation.’

  It was precisely like the monstrous thing she had encountered earlier that day, the size and shape of a standard Dalek, save for the fact its midsection had been replaced by a fat, black cannon.

  ‘That’s no Degradation,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s different. That’s something new.’

  The Dalek swivelled to face the sorry-looking line of human prisoners. One of the other Daleks hove into view, and Cinder could tell it was speaking by virtue of the flashing lights on its domed head.

  In response, the cannon-wielding Dalek powered up its weapon. An aura of intense, ruby-coloured light flickered to life at the end of the barrel. There was a sudden, massive discharge as the weapon spat a stream of pink light, which engulfed four of the people, warping around them as they screamed and tried to back away.

  The remaining prisoners staggered out of the way, clearly terrified as they looked on upon their own likely fate.

  The four victims writhed in obvious agony, as the pink light appeared to seep into their bodies, pouring into their open mouths, their eyes, permeating through their skin. Then, as if their flesh were simply unable to contain so much raw energy, they blossomed, their forms dissolving, the pink light flickering brightly before dispersing and fading away, like wisps of trailing smoke.

  Cinder staggered back from the window feeling nauseous. She put her hand to her brow. She could tell that something was badly wrong, put she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She stared at the Doctor, put her hand on his arm as if to steady herself. ‘What just happened?’ she said. ‘I know something awful has just happened, but what was it?’

  She glanced back at the courtyard, where the Daleks were surveying the six prisoners they had brought out into the courtyard a few minutes earlier.

  The Doctor stepped away from the window and, taking hold of Cinder’s forearm, led her away too. ‘It’s a temporal weapon,’ he said. ‘A dematerialisation gun. The Daleks have developed a new template, a new paradigm, which has the power to eradicate a person from history.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ said Cinder. ‘How do you know just by looking at it?’

  The Doctor narrowed his eyes. ‘Didn’t you see it? Didn’t you see what it just did to those four people?’

  Cin
der shook herself free from his grip. She went back to the window. No, there were six people there, just as there had been before. ‘Four people?’ she said. ‘There are six of them down there.’ Even as she said it, though, she knew something was awry. She could feel it, nagging away at her. She was missing something. Couldn’t she even trust her own mind any more?

  ‘It’s the weapon, Cinder. That’s what’s doing it,’ said the Doctor. ‘That cannon – it can erase a person’s timeline from history, removing every trace of them, as if they never even existed. It’s what happened to your friend, out there in the ruins, the person whose bunk was next to your own at the camp, the one you can’t quite remember. Your mind is struggling to comprehend it. You know there’s something wrong, something missing. The memories are still there, buried inside your head, but they no longer add up, they no longer relate to a person you’ve known or seen, because reality has warped around you.’

  Cinder shook her head, as if trying to clear it. She didn’t understand. A weapon that not only killed someone, but rewrote history as if they’d never even been born? It was the most awful thing she’d ever heard. The sheer violence of it – to not only take a life, but to undo every action, every thought, every emotion ever enacted or experienced by that person… it had to be the most evil device ever conceived. She wiped tears from her eyes, remembering the grief, if not the people.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the Doctor. ‘I truly am. But that trip in the TARDIS is going to have to wait a little longer. If the Daleks are able to disseminate this weapon, then the War is all but lost.’ He stepped towards her, put his arms around her and pulled her close, hugging her to his chest. ‘I’m going to stop them doing this to anyone else.’

  Sniffing back her tears, Cinder pushed the Doctor away. She fixed him with a defiant stare. Her resolve hardened. ‘I’m in,’ she said. ‘Whatever it takes, I’ll help you stop them.’

  The Doctor gave a grim smile. ‘That’s my girl,’ he said.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘How are we going to get in?’ said Cinder.

  They’d left the house, emerging onto the still, empty street outside. The Dalek domes loomed large and foreboding at the next intersection. Cinder was trying to work out the best plan for getting inside.

  ‘I always find at times like these,’ said the Doctor, ‘that the best recourse is to use the front door.’

  ‘The front door? You can’t seriously mean that you’re just going to walk on up there and try the handle?’ said Cinder. She couldn’t tell if he was naive, confident, or just dangerously reckless. Nor did she know if the doors on Dalek space vessels even had handles.

  ‘Precisely,’ replied the Doctor. ‘It usually does the trick.’ He strode off in the direction of the dome.

  Exasperated, Cinder rushed after him. ‘You find yourself in these sorts of situations often, do you?’ she asked.

  ‘More than you’d care to know,’ said the Doctor, with a heavy sigh. His eyes looked rheumy and tired.

  She wondered how old he really was. He certainly looked old, but she had no idea how long a Time Lord could actually survive. She’d heard tell that they were immortal, that they couldn’t be killed, but also that they could change their faces at will, become someone different and new. She didn’t know if any of that were true. For all she knew, the Doctor was as mortal as she was, and just as susceptible to the blast of a Dalek energy weapon.

  ‘But what about the Daleks?’ she said. ‘You’ve seen what they can do. That new weapon, the dematerialisation gun – what if they come at you with one of those?’

  ‘The Daleks are as arrogant as the Time Lords,’ said the Doctor. ‘Perhaps worse. That’s the beauty of a plan like this. They won’t be expecting anyone to simply roll up and invite themselves in.’

  ‘I’d hardly call it a plan,’ muttered Cinder. She clutched her gun a little tighter. When she’d said she was in on this escapade, she’d expected him have a bit more of an idea about exactly how they were going to go about it.

  At the end of the street she glanced left, ready to make a run for it, but the Dalek they’d seen earlier had moved on. She checked in the other direction, looking along the street.

  The city was arranged in a basic grid pattern, designed to a plan the colonists had brought with them from Earth. They’d arrived with a certain amount of prefabricated materials in their hold, and these had formed the basis of the very first buildings – those, and the skin of the ship that had brought them here. As the colony had developed and they’d learned to manufacture, to harvest the local wood and mine for minerals and metals, the buildings had grown more sophisticated, but still they had followed the plan from Earth. Month after month, year after year, the colony had grown, soon forgetting it was a colony at all and becoming a home.

  People had flourished here, and in time they had spread across the other planets of the Spiral. Moldox, however, had been the first, the origin of human life in this sector. Now, billions of those people were dead, possibly erased entirely from history, whilst billions more were enslaved to the Daleks.

  The Doctor was right. They would stop this happening to anyone else. They had to. It was time to stop doubting him. If brazenly walking up to the saucer and strolling in through the nearest entry point was going to be the best way into the Dalek base, then she would follow him. There was something about the Doctor – something that inspired her to trust him.

  They crossed the intersection and continued down the filthy street, until they were standing in the shadow of the nearest saucer. It was immense, towering over her, and she could see here, from ground level, that it sat upon three domes that sprouted from its base. Beneath it was the rubble of one of the old school buildings. The ablative armour that formed the outer skin of the ship was pitted and covered in verdigris. None of the lights appeared to be functional. Creeping vines had begun to make inroads, curling up from below like willowy green fingers, clutching at the alien interloper. It looked as abandoned as the human buildings that surrounded it.

  They edged forward, glancing from side to side. High above, on one of the gantries, a Dalek and two Degradations – the squat, egg-shaped variety with the spider legs – were crossing from one saucer to another. The Doctor didn’t appear to have spotted them. Cinder grabbed his arm and dragged him into the shadows beneath the belly of the ship. She jabbed her gun silently in the direction of the Daleks and he nodded his understanding. They waited for a moment until the Daleks had passed.

  ‘There should be a ramp on this side, if I’m not mistaken,’ said the Doctor, fiddling with the knot of his scarf. He moved on, following the rim of the saucer around until they were close to the edge of the central courtyard, but still largely hidden by the shadows.

  The Daleks appeared to have finished their weapon testing, and the remaining humans – six of them, she counted, relieved – were being herded back into the saucer on the other side.

  It seemed incomprehensible to Cinder that this site, this old children’s playground, could have become such a place of death. The faded markings of hopscotch squares and painted circles on the ground seemed incongruous, wrong. She was filled with a sharp feeling of disquiet. It was almost as if the Daleks had chosen this location in order to mock their human captives, to remind them of happier times, now lost to them for ever.

  ‘Move, or you will be ex-ter-min-ated,’ said one of the Daleks, shoving a prisoner in the back with its manipulator arm. The man staggered forward, but didn’t acknowledge the Dalek, didn’t even cry out. The fight had clearly gone out of him, and he shuffled onto the boarding ramp, his head bowed.

  This was a man waiting to die, Cinder realised. They all were. Every one of those prisoners, men and women – they knew it was only a matter of time, and in some ways, they’d probably begun to look forward to it. To crave it, even. At least death would be a release from the torment inflicted upon them by their captors. Anything else was just an extension of their agony.

  She watched the final straggl
ers of the small party mount the ramp and disappear into the other ship.

  ‘Right,’ whispered the Doctor, touching the top of her arm to get her attention. ‘This is our chance. There’s a ramp just around here.’ He indicated by waving his thumb. ‘Slowly and quietly, and stay by my side.’

  Cautiously, they crossed the courtyard and ascended the ramp. Cinder kept her weapon slung at her hip, her finger close to the trigger. She could hardly believe what she was doing. If Coyne could see her now…

  Side by side, the two of them stepped into the yawning maw of the Dalek ship.

  Inside, the walls were comprised of a series of crystalline archways patterned with small roundels, and through which lurid colours – yellows, greens, ochres and purples – pulsed like blood pounding through a network of arteries and veins.

  A wide passageway appeared to run around the circumference of the ship, offering them the choice of going left or right. Cinder’s heart was hammering in her chest, expecting a Dalek to round one of the bends at any moment. For now, though, they seemed to be alone.

  ‘Well, that was easier than I thought,’ she whispered.

  ‘Getting in is the easy bit,’ replied the Doctor. ‘It’s getting out that’s usually the problem.’

  ‘Oh, thanks for that,’ she muttered. She realised her hands were trembling as she tried to hold her gun level. ‘So, what now?’

  The Doctor shrugged. ‘We take a look around. Each of these domes will be given over to a specific purpose. Let’s find out which of them we’re in.’

  Staying close to the wall, they followed the passage as it snaked around to the left, peering ahead for any sign of oncoming Daleks. Sheer luck had got this far, Cinder was sure, and she was convinced they would find themselves surrounded at any moment. Surely the Daleks must have monitoring systems aboard their ships?