A Device Of Death Part 3

In the thoughtful silence that followed Cara introduced herself, then asked, 'Doctor, we can't get the controls to function, but I wondered if they might not be somehow sensitized to your touch, or perhaps your race's body pattern.'

His eyebrows lifted as though in surprise at the suggestion.

'Now that is an interesting idea.' He climbed into the cramped padded interior and pressed b.u.t.tons experimentally. Nothing constructive appeared to happen. Lights continued to flash at random. He tried different combinations, his fingers moving faster. 'Unless they're badly damaged, and there's no sign of it, these should logically be environmental detectors for the pod once it has been taken on board another s.h.i.+p or made a landfall somewhere.' He stopped suddenly. 'It's no good.

There's still something missing. Of course, perhaps they are not supposed to function logically.'

'But that's nonsense,' Cara exclaimed.

'Not if that's the conclusion somebody wants you to come to. Then it makes perfect sense,' he climbed out of the pod, the light of mischief dancing in his eyes, 'if the purpose is to make you do exactly what you are doing, which is to keep it under observation and tinker away at it.' He lowered his voice conspiratorially: 'Perhaps it's a diversion or a bomb!'

There was an uneasy stir in the chamber. Andez said,

'Don't joke about such things.'

'Oh, I'm pretty sure I never joke about such things,' the Doctor a.s.sured him.

'Maybe we should get rid of it?' said Kambril.

'Unless that's what they want you to do,' the Doctor pointed out.

Andez began to look fl.u.s.tered. 'Who's "they"?'

'I don't know,' the Doctor admitted. 'But there usually is a "they" somewhere, isn't there? If I knew who, I might know why.' Tarron sensed his mood darken perceptibly, and he scowled at them. 'And if I knew what I was doing where you found me I might be able to tell you. What do you do here, anyway? Where is here? And what's that contraption that's been following me about?' He pointed to Scout, who loomed impa.s.sively in the background, its photosensors glowing softly.

'That is Scout, my secretary and servant,' Kambril explained simply. 'A synthonic robot surely you've seen robots before.'

'Oh yes, but not many like that.' The Doctor circled the gleaming heavily built machine, over a head taller than his own lofty figure. 'Rather more robust than strictly necessary to carry a tea tray or open the mail, I would say. Armour-plated joints, integral cannon and energy projectors. Wasted functions on a mere servant, unless it was simply convenient to use what was to hand.' He looked at them narrowly. 'Is that what you build here robot war machines?' He tapped Scout on the chestplate. 'Is that what you are?'

Scout's vocalizer buzzed, 'This unit is not permitted to answer questions from unauthorized personnel.'

Kambril sighed. 'We'll explain as much as we can shortly, Doctor, then you'll understand, I promise. But there is one other item I'd like you to examine first.' He indicated the copper bracelet.

The Doctor picked it up, turned it over in his hands and frowned. 'We were holding on to it, my two friends and myself, spinning around in the darkness.' His eyes hollowed despairingly. 'If only I could remember their names.'

Cara experienced her usual irrational sense of unease as she took her place at the long polished conference-room table, with the full council opposite her. Only Brant smiled across at her rea.s.suringly. Yet there was nothing overtly sinister about the room itself. In fact it was light and airy, with large slanting windows cut into the living rock out of which the complex had been tunnelled, giving a spectacular view over the Valley.

Through an armour-gla.s.s door she could see the operators in the adjoining secure files room working diligently at their consoles. Perhaps, she concluded, it was the thick carpet which muted their speech that gave it such an unsettling atmosphere of reverential concentration and grave moment.

The Doctor, however, continued to deport himself with supreme indifference to surroundings. An apparently mercurial temperament had converted him within an hour from taking a keen interest in his surroundings to sullen introspection and impatience possibly with himself and his unreliable memory. Now he sat with his chair tilted impudently backwards and his heels resting on a table jotter pad, flicking the end of his ridiculous scarf like a cat twitching its tail. 'You want something from me,' he said to Kambril.

The Director was a little taken aback by this directness, but managed a thin smile. 'Only your understanding and cooperation, Doctor.' The Doctor raised quizzical eyebrows.

Kambril continued. 'As you have already deduced, this complex is engaged in the manufacture of weapons. From hand-held units all the way through to heavy mobile weapons and self-programming synthonic humaniforms like Scout.'

'I don't approve,' the Doctor said bluntly. 'Especially of such autonomous devices.' He frowned. 'I think somewhere recently I've seen too much of what misery such weapons can bring.'

'That is fair enough,' Kambril allowed. 'A fine principle.

But what is the alternative when faced with the actuality of war? Do you think we should simply lie down in the face of an implacably hostile enemy? Sometimes conflict is inevitable and there comes a time when you have to fight or die. I know of no race who would simply choose the latter.'

'You can try to make peace.'

'When all such efforts are interpreted as weakness and appeas.e.m.e.nt by your enemy, and only gives them the confidence to redouble their own war-making? Believe me, Doctor, that approach was tried many years ago and failed utterly. You are from, well, somewhere outside the cl.u.s.ter.

You do not know the ways of the Averon Union.'

The Doctor swung his feet to the ground and leant forward intently. 'Enlighten me.'

'Well, about fifteen hundred years ago, a party of human settlers discovered the Adelphine cl.u.s.ter out here on the galactic rim. It's hidden from the rest of the galaxy by thick interstellar dust clouds, and so has remained pretty isolated.

Humans terraformed and settled Landor, and in time began to spread and establish various outposts and colonies. Such contact as we had with the indigenous alien races of the cl.u.s.ter were peaceful with the exception of Averon. The Averonians were the most powerful race in the cl.u.s.ter until we came here, and putting it simply, they believe in their innate superiority over all other sentient life forms. There were various small incidents over the years, but mostly both sides ignored each other. However, about thirty years ago the disputes grew more serious: uninhabited worlds claimed by both sides for development, acts of piracy on the trade routes, suspicions of spying and industrial sabotage, that sort of thing. Very soon, with the exception of a few neutrals, the cl.u.s.ter divided between the so-called Union worlds that Averon controlled, and the Alliance, led by Landor. Twenty-six years ago the war started in earnest, spreading from world to world until most of the cl.u.s.ter was involved.'

Cara felt the old ache begin to grow within her as Kambril spoke. Memories of that last parting. The eternal loss.

'After a couple of years it became apparent that Landor would have to move its most advanced weapons research and development facilities outside the system, where they would be safe from Averon raider s.h.i.+ps. Their s.p.a.cecraft technology always was advanced. We just about manage to keep up with them and neutralize their fleets' actions.' Kambril scowled darkly. 'Most of the time, anyway. So this facility was set up out here on ' he paused ' well, let's just say somewhere remote. You will understand the location of Deepcity is the most closely guarded secret in the Alliance.'

'Which is a polite way of saying, most regretfully, that I can never leave here, I suppose?' said the Doctor.

'Not at all,' Kambril replied calmly. 'If you can give us the coordinates of your homeworld and we can transport you there without prejudicing our security, we will do so. You have my word on it. But we hope you may choose to stay here voluntarily for a while. Well, we'll come to that in a moment.

So anyway; Deepcity was staffed by the best technicians and designers we had. Automated a.s.sembly and production facilities were incorporated, allowing it to be run by a relatively small workforce, and everything was arranged to make it as self-sufficient as possible. As the war caused other worlds to lose their ability to manufacture advanced weapons, Deepcity rapidly became the main supplier to the Alliance.

The Union copied many of our best designs of course, but we kept coming up with improvements. Slowly we were turning the tide, pus.h.i.+ng the Union back to its home bases. And then, nineteen years ago...' He looked at Cara. 'It's painful, but perhaps Academ Tarron can tell it best, Doctor. I was stationed at another outpost at the time. I only took over here when my predecessor... Well, you explain, Cara.'

She looked into the Doctor's pale eyes. They were strange and very deep, but she saw compa.s.sion there. She did so want him to understand. 'It wasn't easy when we first came here to work on weapons systems. Hardly any of us had done military work before, and most would not have touched it in any other circ.u.mstances. But we knew it was necessary to defend ourselves and our families back on Landor. Possibly we did not work hard enough then. We'll never make that mistake again...'

She swallowed and forced herself to go on. 'Nineteen years ago Averon a.s.sembled a vast fleet and attacked Landor. Up until then they had only used devices of ma.s.s destruction in open s.p.a.ce, because they wanted to preserve planets more or less intact for conquest. But they knew if they could totally destroy the head of the Alliance the rest would crumble, so they used maximum force. Chemicals, atomics, filthy poisonous things...' She wiped hot tears from her eyes and saw Brant looking at her with an intense expression of sympathetic pain. The faces of the others were stony and set. 'It was terrible waiting for news. We had a message the attack was starting, then all communications went down. We were out of touch for weeks. There was nothing to do but work and hope.

Then the news came through...' She swallowed again. 'Landor was dead. Sterilized. A billion and a half people and a green and growing world gone!'

She drew out the carefully preserved stereoprint from its folder in her pocket and showed the Doctor. It was a simple snapshot showing three figures, two men and a woman holding gla.s.ses and posing beside the plaque of a new office, with their names and a line of description beneath. The female figure was recognizable as a younger version of herself. One of the men with her, a few years older, showed a distinct family resemblance.

'My brother Brin, and my husband Mattew. Mattew was killed in the early years of the war. Brin was on Landor when the Union attacked. I just hope he died quickly.' She replaced the picture in its folder and took a sip of water from the beaker before her with a trembling hand. 'Some people here, like our first Director, had mental breakdowns on hearing the news. I came close myself. Then Director Kambril and his team came and rallied us wonderfully. He gave us a purpose. We could still fight on. You see, Averon had gone too far. Our fleet pushed them back to their home system, even though they lost almost every s.h.i.+p they had. They hurt the Averonians so badly they had to spend years rebuilding their defences and they never left their system in such force again. And in that time we rearmed and began to recover our losses. Since then neither Averon or any member of the Union has used ma.s.s destruction or indiscriminate weapons on planets with biospheres again. I think they're frightened that we might be pushed into doing the same to them. It's horribly tempting but we wouldn't do that to any other world, except perhaps Averon. We often say we want them dead I suppose it's become a sort of ritual.

Anyway, here we don't make chemical, biological or nuclear devices, just precision weapons. I know they kill, but at least they do it as quickly and cleanly as possible. We do have principles, you see. We're better than the Union and we want to hold on to some standards of decency. I know the concept of humane warfare may seem a contradiction in terms, but at least we try. We few native Landorans who are left scattered about the cl.u.s.ter keep the struggle going, supporting our allies as best we can. We just want an end to the war, however long it takes. Now do you understand?'

The Doctor suddenly got up and paced round the room looking angry. Cara was not surprised. She felt the same; almost like the remembrance session when they finished the primary work on MICA. She wanted to shout but felt too drained by her explanations, so she let it simmer coldly within her instead. The Doctor stopped outside the entrance to the secure data room, shaded his eyes and peered intently through the tinted panels. The three operators on duty looked up from their consoles in surprise. He waved at them irreverently, and then continued on his circuit of the chamber again, scuffing his feet, head bent, apparently unaware of the curious eyes that followed him. Eventually he slumped back into his own seat once more. 'All right. You've got my understanding and even my sympathy. Now what about this cooperation you mentioned?'

Kambril rested his arms on the table, steepled his fingertips, and spoke carefully. 'Very simply, I am asking you to work with us, even if only briefly. It is obvious from your escape capsule that your race is in advance of us in certain technical matters, Doctor, and you yourself have already shown a remarkable talent for such things. Will you share some of that knowledge with us? Not out of grat.i.tude for rescuing you we expect no payment for that. Do it because of the loathing you yourself expressed for war. Help us to end this conflict quickly by improving our weapons. Synthonic devices are used to spearhead and augment conventional forces. If Landor can only contribute a handful of people to the struggle, at least help us send our best machines. Now, Academ Tarron has offered to let you work in her laboratory while your memory returns. There is a new device we call MICA being tested, for instance. We believe it could be an important breakthrough, but there are inevitably teething troubles. You might find the problems stimulating. Then of course you may have a personal reason for joining with us on such work: those friends you half remember. I sincerely hope they are alive and well, and we are keeping watch for other pods. But you must face the likelihood that they were lost with your mother s.h.i.+p. Now, there are only two possible reasons for your presence in an escape capsule: an accident with your s.h.i.+p, or a deliberate attack by another craft. We have been making enquiries and I can a.s.sure you no Alliance vessel has fired on any unidentified s.h.i.+p in this region. Perhaps this mysterious "golden" s.h.i.+p we've already spotted was responsible, though it's taken no hostile action that we are aware of. But it is far more likely it was an Averonian craft. Help us and you may be avenging your friends. Well, Doctor, what do you say?'

As the Doctor pursed his lips in thought, Cara felt the anger rise within her again, and she saw it mirrored in his face.

Sympathetic reaction, she thought: fellow beings sharing a sense of loss. The Doctor's fists slowly clenched so that his knuckles showed white. 'Yes,' he said coldly, 'I will help you.

For the cause of peace and for my friends.' He suddenly clutched his head as though in pain.

Kambril looked at him in alarm, half rising from his chair.

'Doctor what's the matter? Are you ill?'

'Sarah and Harry,' the Doctor said wonderingly. 'How could I have forgotten their names?'

5.

War Zone.

arry Sullivan RN had been staring dreamily up through Hthe interlaced branches above his head for several minutes before his addled thoughts gathered themselves sufficiently to form a most pertinent question: where was he?

Why was he lying on the gra.s.s staring up at branches that, he now realized, sprouted curious five-sided leaves. He sat up cautiously, automatically brus.h.i.+ng off his grey slacks and dark blue blazer. His muscles protested as though he had been still for a long time. He rubbed his chin and found a day's growth of bristles.

The gra.s.s he had been lying on was not actually gra.s.s, he now noticed, but more of a feathery bluish-tinged moss peppered with tiny red and yellow flowers. He was in some sort of wood. The tree trunks were marked with a diamond pattern in their bark, which caught oddly the sunlight that filtered between them. Come to that, the light had a peculiar tint to it as well.

Let's face it, Sullivan: this isn't jolly old England.

A sequence of events began unevenly to rea.s.semble itself, and the name Skaro surfaced in his mind, followed by a host of unpleasant images. He hoped a Dalek wasn't suddenly going to appear because he really wasn't feeling up to tackling one at that moment. No, it was too green for Skaro. Besides, they'd left there...

The Doctor and Sarah where were they?

He scrambled to his feet looking around anxiously for his companions, but he was quite alone. What was the last thing he recollected? It was an effort to remember, and he began to suspect he'd had some sort of injury. He cautiously felt his head, but there didn't seem to be any sign of damage. Slowly it came back to him. They'd been using the Time Ring, which the Doctor's people, the Time Lords, had given them as a means of getting back to the TARDIS after completing their mission on Skaro. And then...? Nothing. Hoping his memory would clear further with a bit of fresh air, he got to his feet and started walking. Every few minutes he called out for the Doctor and Sarah, just in case they had landed close by. Birdlike things hopped about the branches over his head twittering in alarm, but otherwise his efforts brought forth no response.

Gradually the ground sloped downwards and the wood thinned. Rolling countryside patterned with cultivated fields opened out before him, while nestling in a valley below was a small town. The buildings were of various sizes but all, as far as he could tell, were either oval or circular in plan. Some were single-storeyed with domed roofs, others stacked like tiered cakes, the upper levels decreasing in size, up to four storeys high. Sunlight sparkled off windows in their curving sides. The tracks of at least four roads meandered along the valley into the town, with a scattering of smaller dwellings strung out alongside them.

Harry studied the scene for several minutes. He could see no sign of life, nor any vehicles moving along the roads. Was this normal for wherever it was in the middle of the day?

Perhaps the people of this world were nocturnal and were currently tucked up in whatever it was they used for beds?

This was the sort of thing the Doctor would have, presumably, known about. Where had he and Sarah got to? Perhaps, if they arrived somewhere close by, they would also make for the town. Well, it was a logical place to start looking anyway.

Harry set off down the hill, keeping close to the hedges formed from what seemed to be interlaced coils of a purple vine, trying to move un.o.btrusively without appearing furtive, just in case someone, or something, was observing his progress. He skirted fields of crops, mostly of alien forms and colours, but a few of which he would not have given a second glance at if he'd pa.s.sed them along some English country lane. There were a few clicks and twitters from amongst the plants, presumably indicating that the local relatives of insects were at work, and the occasional small glittering form whizzed past his ear. But, except for a few distant flights of birds, he saw no other living thing. A feeling of unease began to creep over him. Alien world or not, this was too quiet.

Five minutes later he reached a tall vine hedge with a natural arched opening in it. On the other side ran a narrow lane, neatly tiled with hexagonal slabs of stone and fronted by a row of single-storeyed houses. Here he stopped, his brow furrowing in dismay, as he now discovered something that had not been visible from the hillside.

Several of the circular porthole-like windows facing him were shattered, and one was streaked about with blackened soot. Part of a wall had been blown inwards, and others were pockmarked by straggling lines of bullet holes. He strained his ears, but the deathly silence persisted. Cautiously he moved on along the winding lane as it headed towards the centre of the town. A few buildings had completely collapsed and piles of rubble from fallen walls spilled into the streets, themselves scarred by sh.e.l.l craters.

He reached what must have been the central square which was as deserted as the rest of the town. A paved road linking the other radial ways circled an open stretch of the mossy gra.s.s, now gouged by track marks and craters. A smudge of colour on the other side of the square caught his eye and he crossed over. It was a sort of canopied public notice board.

Pinned up on it were several notices combining brightly coloured images with blocks of bold type. One was a list of blackout times posted by the local civil defence force for Tesh'gar, presumably the town he was presently standing in.

Another poster presented a familiar image.

YOUR WORLD NEEDS YOU!.

Below was a picture of an alien in military dress. It looked rather like a deer or goat would if it had developed intelligence and taken to walking on its hind legs a few million years before. Its face was long and half covered in golden hair, with small horns protruding from its skull above long pointed ears.

Its body was slender, with some indication of a tail, thin short legs with backward-bending knees, and broad feet which, despite being encased in oddly cut boots, suggested triple-clefted hooves. Its hands were six-fingered and heavily nailed.

Harry could see them clearly because the soldier was portrayed clutching some sort of firearm at the ready. Even across the boundaries of species Harry could sense the glow of patriotic pride the image was clearly designed to radiate.

For all the efforts of the locals, however, it appeared the battle had already been lost for Tesh'gar, or else its inhabitants would have returned. Possibly it was now in some no man's land behind enemy lines, temporarily unoccupied because it had no strategic value. But how soon before they showed up whoever they were and what was their att.i.tude towards non-combatants?

Even as he brooded he realized the sun was already low over the horizon and sinking behind hazy clouds. What should he do? First, find some shelter for the night. He didn't like the thought of breaking into a private dwelling, but there ought to be a public building he could use. It took him ten minutes to discover a three-storey structure just off the square. A sh.e.l.l had punched a hole through one lower wall, but the rest seemed relatively undamaged.

He stepped inside. A couple of large halls or community rooms occupied the lower levels, but the top floor was divided into several small cubicles, furnished with surprisingly ordinary if spartan beds and bedding, rather like a youth hostel. Perhaps this was the local version of a YMCA? There was also a communal washroom with all the usual, if oddly styled, fixtures and fittings. A colourless fluid ran sluggishly out of the taps which, after cautious experimentation, he decided was plain water. That was one essential taken care of.

Pity there was no food available, but he could manage without it for one night. Tomorrow he might search for some, or try the fields to see if there was anything amongst the crops he could eat.

Harry chose a cubical, bolted the door and lay down on the bed, still fully dressed, watching the daylight bleed from the sky. He didn't want to risk a light, even if the power was still on. He yawned, realizing how tired he felt. Well, there hadn't been a chance to recover from the hectic time on Skaro yet. He hoped the Doctor and Sarah were somewhere safe. Work out some sort of search strategy for them in the morning. What had the Doctor got them into this time? Strange thing about time travelling...no time to...

Harry slept.

He was woken in the thin grey light of dawn by the rumble of distant thunder.

No, not thunder.

He flung off his blanket and crossed to the window, just in time to glimpse slender fast-moving silver deltaforms disappearing over the horizon. Smoke rose over the forested brow of a hill. There came the distant sound of more explosions, getting closer. Across the open fields he saw the lumbering shapes of armoured vehicles with oddly shaped turrets emerge from the pre-dawn mist. Between them were the forms of what looked like men in armour. Suddenly orange and yellow fireb.a.l.l.s mushroomed around the tanks, and one vehicle slewed to a halt belching oily black smoke. He twisted about to see the insect-like form of some stork-legged machine drop back into the cover of a copse of trees. The zip and rattle of small-arms fire began to grow louder. The war was returning to Tesh'gar.

Time to leave, Sullivan, he told himself, flinging open the door of his room and sprinting for the stairs. His foot was actually poised over the first step when he heard vehicles screeching to a halt in the street outside. There followed the clatter of boots and rather sonorously pitched voices snapping out commands. Doors banged open. Silently he padded back to his room. There was a tiny built-in cupboard beside the door that was concealed when the room door was open. He squeezed into it, pulled the room door after him, and slid the cupboard door almost closed.

He heard a growing commotion from the halls below and more boots clattered on the stairs as lookouts were posted to the top floor. He tensed as they clattered past his door, but no one came in. Long minutes pa.s.sed but he remained undiscovered. The sounds of war rose and fell about the town.

The acrid tang of explosives and the throat-catching stench of burning plastic and scorched metal began to pervade the air.

Occasional small-arms fire hit the building and he heard gla.s.s breaking. By pressing his ear to the inside wall of his cramped hiding-place, Harry could just hear the occupants of the halls below. Apparently a temporary command post and first-aid station had been set up within them, for there were urgent conferences and orders being dispatched, intermingled with calls for medicines, litter bearers and occasional moans of pain. These last sounds made him feel both sickened and frustrated. They might be aliens down there, but they were also soldiers in pain, and it was his calling to alleviate suffering in such circ.u.mstances. He gnawed at his knuckle anxiously. Should he risk revealing himself? The middle of a battle was not the best of times to spring surprises on soldiers.

Come to that, just how would he explain his presence? And who was occupying the building anyway: the locals or the invaders?

An explosion sounded near by and the building rocked. A second went off even closer and gla.s.s shattered. Here it comes, Harry thought, even as a flash of light shone around the cupboard door frame and a deafening blast shook the building to its foundations. The concussion jerked his head back to crack against the wall even as it blew out the windows of his room. Masonry and timbers ground and thudded to rest amid the patter of lesser debris. There was a moment's stunned silence, then the first shouts and cries from below.

Ears ringing, he kicked aside the flimsy cupboard door and staggered to his feet. The room door had been torn off its hinges. Rubble littered the hall floor outside, and, half buried beneath it, was the form of a soldier who might have stepped right out of the recruiting poster in the square.