Doctor Who: Engines of War

by George Mann

  ‘Ah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Now that’s a bit of a long story.’

  ‘You told Rassilon where to shove it, didn’t you?’ she said. She grinned. ‘Where he could go and stick his Tear of Isha.’

  The Doctor laughed. ‘In as many words,’ he conceded. ‘Perhaps with a little less vulgarity.’

  Cinder shrugged. ‘Perhaps a little vulgarity was what he needed. Well, perhaps a lot of it.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ said the Doctor.

  Cinder studied the cell. It was very much a cell. No plumbing, heating, monitor screens, books or data slates – just four stone walls, a raised stone slab, and a door. The floor was dressed in uneven flagstones, and covered in a grimy layer of dust. The Doctor was sitting in it. The only light came from a small panel in the ceiling, dim and watery.

  ‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ she said. ‘I like what you’ve done with it.’

  The Doctor winced. ‘It’s positively mediaeval,’ he said.

  ‘Meddy-what?’ said Cinder.

  ‘Barbaric,’ replied the Doctor. ‘Unimaginative. Primitive.’

  Cinder’s head was still spinning. To her, the whole situation seemed somewhat surreal. ‘How long was I out?’ she said.

  ‘Two or three hours,’ replied the Doctor. ‘You did well to withstand the effects of the mind probe. Better than well. I’ve seen it unravel the minds of those with far superior intellects.’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ she said.

  ‘It was a compliment!’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Sounded like one,’ said Cinder.

  The Doctor laughed again. ‘You know, you’re quite remarkable, Cinder,’ he said. ‘You know your own mind. You’re aware of what you want, and you go out and get it. It’s an enviable quality.’

  ‘Now that’s a compliment,’ said Cinder. ‘See the difference?’ She stretched, yawning and arching her back. She got to her feet. ‘So – and I want a straight, honest answer here – are they going to deploy the weapon?’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘I’m afraid so,’ he said. His voice was grim. ‘I tried to stop them, but Rassilon had already made up his mind.’ The way the Doctor said his name made it clear he’d lost all respect for the Time Lord President – if indeed he’d had any in the first instance.

  ‘Well, it’s not over yet,’ said Cinder. ‘How long have we got?’

  ‘Until they’re ready to deploy?’ The Doctor appeared to do a quick calculation in his head. ‘No more than a couple of hours,’ he said.

  Cinder stood over him, offering him both hands. ‘What are you doing sitting down there, then?’ she said. ‘You’re not going to save everyone wallowing in the dust and grime.’

  The Doctor took her hands and allowed her to help him up, but his expression was telling. ‘I wish it were that simple,’ he said. ‘We’re in a Time Lord prison cell. Despite its primitive aesthetics, there’s no way out. They’ve impounded the TARDIS and they’re not going to let us out of here until the Tear has been deployed and the Tantalus Eye has been neutralised.’

  Cinder fixed him with her best incredulous look. ‘Sounds like a lot of excuses to me,’ she said. It was pure bravado. She knew that. Inside, her heart ached at the certainty of the Doctor’s response. Her chest felt tight and she could feel the panic welling up, threatening to overwhelm her. She simply didn’t want to believe that he was right, that this stranger she had grown to trust had been defeated, and that everyone she knew – everyone even remotely like her, on twelve inhabited worlds – was going to die.

  The Doctor looked pained. He was still holding her hands. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I understand.’

  ‘No!’ she said. ‘No, you don’t understand. You don’t get to be kind. You don’t get to hold my hand while everything I’ve ever known is obliterated. That’s not how this is going to work.’ She sucked at the air. ‘You’re going to find a way out of here and you’re going to go and stop them.’ She pulled her hands free of his grip and struck him forcefully in the chest with both fists. She felt tears welling in her eyes. ‘Do you understand?’

  The Doctor looked at her with sad, haunted eyes. ‘If there was a way…’ he whispered.

  She shook her head. ‘When we first met, you told me that you used to have a name, that you were no longer worthy of it. Today’s your chance to prove that you are.’

  Cinder walked to the cell door. It was made from heavy wooden beams, banded with wrought iron. There was a large mechanical lock. ‘Here, look,’ she said. ‘You can use your screwdriver thingy to open it.’

  The Doctor came to stand beside her. He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Cinder,’ he said. ‘I’ve tried. Remember what I said. This is a Time Lord cell. The lock is immune to the effects of sonic devices. That’s why they didn’t even bother to take it off me when they threw us in here. I spent the first hour and a half looking for ways out. I simply can’t find one. If we could get out of this cell then maybe we’d stand a chance. As it is, we’re stuck.’

  Cinder kicked the door. It didn’t even move in its frame. Her foot flared with pain. Miserably, she sank to the floor, rubbing at her smarting toes through her boot.

  The Doctor, clearly deciding it was best to leave her to her own devices for a few minutes, walked back to where he’d been sitting against the wall and made himself comfortable.

  Cinder glowered at the lock. It didn’t look that sophisticated. In fact, it was just like the human locks back on Moldox, a simple lever tumbler affair, opened with a key. Were the Time Lords really so arrogant that they thought adapting a simple, mechanical lock to be immune to sonic manipulation was going to be enough to keep their prisoners in?

  She felt a glimmer of hope. She glanced at the Doctor, who had taken his sonic screwdriver from the hoop on his ammo belt, and was fiddling with the settings, presumably in an attempt to override the protocols on the lock.

  She slid the sleeve of her jumper up her arm, hooking it over her elbow. She hardly dared look. Maybe…

  It was still there. She breathed a sigh of relief. The bracelet she’d brought with her from Moldox, the one her brother had made for her when she’d been a child, twisting a hoop from strands of thick copper wire. It had been too big for her, then, but she’d held on to it all the same, and when Coyne and his crew had found her in the burned-out ruins of her homestead, it was the only thing she’d been able to save.

  She plucked at it with her fingertips, considering. If she uncoiled it, maybe the wire would be strong enough to make two lock picks. There was a part of her that didn’t want to do it, that wanted to pull the sleeve of her jumper back down over her arm and curl up, pretend she’d never had the idea, but she knew she couldn’t. Too many lives were at stake. Her brother would have understood.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sammy,’ she whispered, as she slipped the bracelet off and slowly began teasing apart the metal strands. They were stiff with age, and for a moment she thought they were simply going to snap in her hands, but as she worked at them they gradually began to come free.

  Within moments the bracelet had separated, unfurling into two separate strands. She straightened them as best she could and laid them out before her on the ground.

  The Doctor was still intent on his screwdriver, a look of deep concentration on his furrowed brow.

  Cinder got to her knees, leaning close to the lock, closing one eye so that she could peer through the keyhole. She could see little of the passageway outside, other than another door across the hall. There was no sign of any guards.

  She retrieved her makeshift tools from the floor. Cautiously, she inserted them into the lock, half expecting to receive a violent electric shock, or at the very least to trigger an alarm, but nothing happened. Slowly, deliberately, she set to work, using the metal rods to gently force the mechanism, turning the tumblers so that the lever slid out of the hole in the wall.

  She heard the mechanism click. She’d only been at it for seconds. Could it really be that simple?

  She realised sh
e’d been holding her breath and let it out. Then, getting to her feet, she jammed the lock picks into her pocket and, hand trembling, tried the door.

  The handle turned, and the door opened a fraction of an inch. Her pulse was thrumming in her ears. Quietly, she pushed it closed again, and turned to see if the Doctor was watching. He was still fumbling with his screwdriver.

  ‘Doctor?’ she said, her voice wavering slightly.

  ‘Hmmm,’ he replied, only half listening. ‘You said that, if we could get out of this cell, you thought we still stood a chance of stopping the Time Lords from deploying the Tear?’

  The Doctor peered up at her, narrowing his eyes. ‘Yes, he said. ‘But I’ve to—’

  Cinder waved him quiet. She reached behind her, turned the handle and allowed the door to swing wide open. ‘Time to make good,’ she said.

  The Doctor glanced at the lock, and then at Cinder. ‘I’m impressed,’ he said.

  She shrugged. ‘Clearly, they weren’t expecting a measly human girl with a lock pick.’

  ‘No,’ laughed the Doctor, scrambling to his feet. ‘I don’t think any of us were.’ His waistcoat was rumpled beneath his jacket and his boots were spattered in dried mud. He looked somewhat bedraggled. But then, she supposed, they’d both been through the wars in the last few days – quite literally.

  Without further ado, they slipped from the cell.

  ‘Which way?’ said Cinder.

  ‘Left, I think,’ said the Doctor, lowering his voice to a whisper. ‘Thankfully, I’ve never spent a great deal of time down here, but I think we have to go down. There should be a sloping passageway up ahead, on the left.’

  ‘Down?’ said Cinder. ‘I thought we were in the dungeons? They certainly look like dungeons.’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘There’s an under croft that stretched right beneath the main citadel. It’s where they send TARDISes to die.’ His voice cracked as he spoke. ‘That’s where she’ll be.’

  Trailing one after the other, the Doctor led the way along the passage. It was dimly lit and dank, and the four or five other cells they passed were all empty, the doors hanging open. The walls were roughly hewn, chiselled from the bedrock beneath the citadel, and were largely unadorned, save for the occasional lumen sconce. Either this particular wing of the prison had been reserved just for them, or the Time Lords didn’t make a habit of taking prisoners. Cinder pointed this out to the Doctor as they walked.

  ‘It’s my understanding that Rassilon favours execution as a means of punishment these days,’ he said darkly.

  Cinder frowned. ‘Then why shove us in a dirty old cell?’ she said. ‘Not that I’m complaining, or anything.

  ‘He knows I might yet prove useful,’ said the Doctor, ‘and he can use you as leverage, despicable as it is.’

  Cinder didn’t very much like the idea of being used as leverage, but at least it gave her some comfort to know that the Doctor was looking out for her, and that he wouldn’t simply abandon to save his own skin, or leave her somewhere to die.

  They reached the end of the tunnel and turned left, straight into the eye line of a waiting guard, who was sitting on a stool, leaning back against the wall and casually perusing a data tablet. She was a tall, muscular woman, dressed in the familiar red and white uniform of the Castellan’s Guard. Cinder couldn’t help but notice the pistol jammed in her belt.

  Slowly, the woman got up from the stool, placing the data slate on the seat behind her. ‘Stop there!’ she said. She hurried toward them, her footsteps echoing in the confined passageway.

  The Doctor stepped forward to greet her, extending his hand. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Now look, what are you doing down here?’ said the woman. ‘The prison is strictly out of bounds.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’m sorry. Must have taken a wrong turning somewhere back there. It’s clearly just a misunderstanding. Don’t mind us. We’ll be on our way.’ He turned around on the spot, making as if to leave.

  ‘Hold on a moment,’ said the woman. ‘You look familiar. Aren’t you…?’ Her eyes widened. ‘You’re the Doctor!’ she said. ‘You’re supposed to be in that cell. How did you get out?’ She fumbled for her pistol.

  ‘Now listen,’ said the Doctor, holding out his hand in an effort to calm her. ‘As I say, it’s just a simple misunder—’

  Cinder stepped forward, drew back her fist and delivered a neat right hook to the woman’s jaw. She crumpled to a heap on the floor, her pistol skittering away.

  ‘Now really!’ said the Doctor. ‘Was there any need for that?’

  Cinder rolled her eyes, nursing her painful hand. ‘Something tells me you’ve got the dynamic of this situation all wrong,’ she said. ‘This is a prison break. She’s a guard. We’re supposed to be running away.’

  The Doctor seemed to weigh this up for a moment, and then shrugged. ‘Well, when you put it like that…’ he said. He looked down at the unconscious form of the guard. ‘Let’s at least make her comfortable.’

  Cinder sighed, while the Doctor dragged the woman to the tunnel wall and propped her up in a sitting position, resting her hands upon her lap. ‘There,’ he said, dusting his hands. ‘She’ll thank us for that when she comes round.’

  ‘I really think she won’t,’ said Cinder. ‘Now let’s get a move on.’

  The end of the tunnel dipped as the Doctor had predicted, turning into a long, gentle slope that led further underground. ‘This way,’ he said, waving her on.

  Cinder heard voices behind them – two men, shouting to one another in alarm. Clearly, they’d discovered their unconscious colleague. ‘They’ve found her,’ she said. ‘Come on, we’d better run.’

  Abandoning all hope of remaining inconspicuous, the Doctor and Cinder started off at a run, charging down the slopes toward the depth of the under croft. Moments later, they heard footsteps starting out behind them.

  The passage continued to delve down for what seemed like miles, winding back on itself until Cinder was utterly disorientated. She was dog tired, the muscles in her thighs aching from all the running, her head still pounding with the after-effects of the mind probe. She was driven on, however, by the sound of the accompanying footsteps, which seemed to be growing louder, gaining on them with every second.

  ‘It’s just down here,’ gasped the Doctor, breathlessly.

  Up ahead, the tunnel widened abruptly, the floor levelling as it disgorged into the mouth of an enormous cave.

  The Doctor skidded to a halt, and Cinder almost ran into his back, forced to catch hold of his arm to slow her momentum, and almost pulling them both over in the process.

  The under croft was immense, just as the Doctor had described, stretching out beneath the entire city. The ceiling was high and vaulted, clearly built in millennia long past, and softly glowing strips criss-crossed the brickwork, providing a measure of weak illumination. The walls were roughly cut stone, which disappeared away into the horizon, absorbed by the shadows.

  The floor of the cave was littered with the carcasses of dead or dying TARDISes. There were thousands of them, tens of thousands, even. It was impossible to estimate.

  She stood in the mouth of the cave, looking out upon a sea of TARDISes in all their myriad forms, all manner of different shapes and sizes. Some of them were plain white lozenges scarred with the sooty streaks of battle, others silver and grey capsules, their surfaces pitted and cracked with age.

  One of them, close by, had cracked open like an egg, its interior folding out to create a higgledy-piggledy landscape of geometric weirdness. Cinder could make no sense of it – the walls were on the ceiling; the ceiling was on the floor. The console room stood perpendicular to a fragment of outer casing, which in turn bisected an empty pine bookcase. It was like staring at a weird dreamscape rendered in steel and wood.

  In the distance, she could see some that had bloated to massive proportions; their outer forms swelling to press against the cavern roof, like asymmetric pillars, supporting the city above.r />
  To her left was one that looked like a damaged Dalek saucer, lying on its side; another that resembled an ancient oak tree, sitting upon a tangle of gnarled and knotted roots; still more that had taken the form of a neoclassical pillar, a circus tent, a scuttled galleon, listing against the wall. There were others, too, describing strange and unusual objects that she could not recognise, presumably derived from alien civilisations.

  There was something terribly forlorn about the place, that these vessels should be abandoned here in such a fashion to end their days.

  ‘It’s a graveyard,’ she said.

  The Doctor nodded. ‘The final resting place of old friends,’ he said. He stroked his beard. ‘They were once alive, you know.’

  Cinder frowned. ‘But they’re machines.’

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘No. They’re much more than that. You should try running away with one of them.’

  Behind them, the footsteps of the guards were approaching.

  ‘How are we going to find her amongst all of these?’ asked Cinder, with a sudden sense of urgency. They were wasting time. ‘Your TARDIS. There are too many.’ She waved her hands to encompass the breadth of the cavern. ‘It would take weeks to search this place.’

  Her statement was punctuated by a short, electronic bleep, which seemed to come from beneath the lapel of the Doctor’s leather coat. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, she’s good,’ he said. ‘Clever, clever girl.’ He reached for his sonic screwdriver. The tip had come to life, lighting up, but he hadn’t done anything, and there was no annoying whirring sound. After a second it emitted another bleep.

  ‘She’s calling to us,’ he said. ‘She knows we’re here. She wants to be found. Come on!’

  Holding the sonic aloft like a flaming torch, the Doctor hopped down from the small ledge, disappearing amongst the forest of broken TARDISes. Cinder jumped down behind him, following the glow of the sonic.