Doctor Who_ Infinite Requiem Part 19

'Yes.'

The swathe of fins was rippling gently, Jirenal noticed, but he could read her greatest worry like a message telegraphed from a hillside. Still there was that sense of dullness in her mind, of non-reception, concerning her greatly.

Or could it be completion? Jirenal suggested in amus.e.m.e.nt. Jirenal suggested in amus.e.m.e.nt.

Or could it be completion completion, she suddenly wondered in awe?

Might it not be, Jirenal suggested, lobbing the thought into her gaping and waiting mind, that now she loved Jirenal and loved the Infinite Requiem, that there was no more to learn? That questioning was useless, and only faith mattered?

Of course, Amarill realized. The reason that there were no more gentle impulses flowing into her brain from the other Pridka was that there was no more to learn. That questioning was useless, and only faith mattered.

Rea.s.sured, Amarill followed her master, lover and G.o.d from the arena, and on to the nearest gravpad.

Bernice had found Trinket slumped in a chair in the medlab, with his head in his hands.

'Don't tell me sibling rivalry?' Bernice ventured.

'I told her she was mad,' Trinket muttered, looking up at her in dismay. 'She didn't remember me. She's gone.'

'Oh, brilliant. For a moment, I thought you'd done something intelligent.

So where was she heading?' Another thought struck her. 'And why didn't the guards stop her?'

He shrugged. 'She's not a prisoner. They don't have the authority.'

'So where is she?' Bernice demanded.

'She said something about . . . '

'Yes?'

'About needing to talk to a kindred spirit.'

Not every member of the Phracton collective had responded when the order to return to base had come from the Commandant.

Shanstra's mental force like a caress with a dagger, sometimes drawing blood had affected every one of them, but most individual Phractons had managed to isolate the affected areas, both hardware and wetware, and shut them off from their main nodes of operation.

There were some for whom the blade had gone deeper.

152.

And these were no longer Swarm-brothers with their fellows. They were Shanstra's pets, extensions of her will.

Shanstra had reduced the sports centre to a circle of blackness spewing vis-cous smoke, which was clearly visible from her new position on the shattered chequer-board of Londinium Plaza.

One by one, her new servants had come to her, and she had lain an affectionate hand on each crackling globe, sending her instructions into their receptive cyborg minds.

She was biding her time.

The skimmer containing the Doctor, Leibniz and Suzi Palsson landed in the docking bay without incident, and the Doctor, who seemed to have acquired the respect and obedience of most of the crew, demanded that he and Leibniz be taken to Captain Cheynor. He a.s.sured Suzi that she would be in good hands, then grabbed the nearest TechnOp and told her to look after their esteemed guest, Amba.s.sador Palsson from the colony of Bibliotecca, and to give her the best quarters with everything she wanted.

With that, he and Leibniz disappeared into the nearest elevator-tube, leaving the bemused TechnOp staring at Suzi, who tried, with reasonable success, to cultivate a haughty and refined bearing.

The Phracton swivelled with remarkable speed when the arrivals were shown into Cheynor's briefing room. The Doctor gave a cautious smile, but he was aware that Leibniz was staring intently at the alien.

'Stop that,' the Doctor muttered, realizing what was probably happening.

'It's rude.'

Cheynor cleared his throat. 'Doctor. Horst. Glad to see you back safe and well. I've been discussing terms with the Commandant here.'

'Good.

Excellent,' muttered the Doctor, in a tone which implied, to Cheynor's annoyance, that he was hardly interested in the aftermath of the war. He strode over to Cheynor's desk, hopped up on to it and lay down, ignoring the disarray of papers. 'We've been looking at this from the wrong angle,' the Doctor said. 'Wouldn't you agree, Commandant?' He turned his head towards the Phracton and raised his eyebrows.

The Commandant's globe swivelled back and forth and a long, shuddering breath sounded from the grille. 'I do not see the re-le-vance of your question.' Cheynor and Leibniz exchanged a glance.

'How many of the warriors in your Swarm fell under the control of Shanstra?' the Doctor asked sternly.

The Commandant's globe pulsed with a soft blue glow before he answered.

'It is difficult to say,' he admitted. 'The signals of the dis-honourable 153.

are blurred. Also some of the Swarm are managing to isolate her influence.'

'Are you saying, Doctor,' Cheynor asked urgently, 'that although I've just made peace with the Commandant here, there's no way of telling how many of the Phractons are still loyal to the Swarm?'

'Yes,' said the Doctor. He sat up, and his legs dangled over the edge of the table. 'Interesting, isn't it?' He hopped down. 'I'd imagine Shanstra is planning something, now. I don't think she'll make a move until she's absolutely ready.' Another thought seemed to strike him. 'Where's Bernice?' he asked.

Livewire found Suzi on the gallery on the s.h.i.+p's observation deck. It curved vastly above them, revealing the new skyline, shattered but liberated, of Banksburgh.

'h.e.l.lo,' the huntress said, quietly.

The archivist did not turn to look at her. 'I don't need her any more,' she said. 'Neither of us needs her.'

A cold bleakness seemed to shroud the body of the huntress, like a mist.

'The hatred,' she said. 'It felt . . . '

Suzi turned on her in anger. 'It felt like what? A fantasy? You're just a stupid girl, a silly little girl with delusions about being big and heroic. There's more to it than that! No wonder Shanstra was able to control you so easily.'

Livewire stared coldly at her. She clenched her fist, braced herself. Then she relaxed and unclenched her fist again. No. Maybe it was not the way.

Suzi smiled.

Livewire tilted her head to one side, and, as if she was learning how to do it for the first time, she smiled as well.

There was a commotion at the entrance by the end of the walkway, and Benny hurried in, followed by a sheepish-looking Trinket. 'You're supposed to be lying down,' Bernice told Livewire. 'What are you doing?'

Livewire looked at Suzi, who met her gaze as if to say, 'Up to you, now.'

Livewire looked over Bernice's shoulder at the pale and concerned face of her half-brother. 'Getting myself sorted,' she said. 'Maybe.'

Bernice raised an eyebrow.

154.

20.

Travelling Hopefully

Amarill stood before the Dreamguide.

The projection of the Dreamguide could be found at the gateway to one of the centre's most popular attractions, the Recreational Dream Experience. Against a dark background, framed by the gigantic metal gateway, the Dreamguide's face was huge, s.e.xless, beautiful: a projection input to several senses at once, physical and telepathic.

Amarill, who was far enough advanced to be able to request her private audience, normally felt every caress with keenness and love. Now, she was blank. Receiving nothing. The only sensory input came from her link with her new master Jirenal, as she a.s.sumed it always had done. She knew, too, that he was cleverly helping her to emit simulations of thought to the Dreamguide, so that it should not become suspicious of Amarill's lack of response.

The mind-voice which spoke to the Dreamguide had the timbre of Amarill dell'kat.i.t vo'Pridka, but the words and thoughts were those of her master, her saviour, Jirenal.

A visitor wishes to meet you. A very special visitor. Can you accommodate him? him?

The Dreamguide breathed deeply, gathering the wisdom of the Pridka minds which it stored. All beings are welcome here. All beings are welcome here.

Amarill bowed. Thank you. I shall bring him. Thank you. I shall bring him.

The Dreamguide's mental tendrils pulled her back, momentarily. I will not I will not allow access without the Director's permission, allow access without the Director's permission, it said sternly. it said sternly.

It seemed that it had sensed something Amarill's hesitancy, maybe, or even a hint of what was concealed in Amarill's mind.

Then I will obtain it, came the reply. came the reply.

Very well. Amarill dell'kat.i.t vo'Pridka, you seem troubled. Do you wish to share anything with me? share anything with me?

A pause.

No, Dreamguide. Nothing.

Nothing.

Deep inside her mind, protected by layer upon layer of thought which etiquette stopped the Dreamguide from penetrating the Sensopath laughed.

155.

Millennia away or just a breath away the sunset bathed Gadrell Major in wine-coloured light, and burnished the glittering tower of the Phoenix Phoenix.

In the visitor's lounge of the s.h.i.+p, Bernice demonstrated a card trick to two members of the Phracton delegation. Nearby, the Doctor was leaning over the tiny holo-pyramid, a jeweller's eyepiece fixed into his right eye. He was making delicate adjustments with a laseron probe.

'Benny,' he said, lifting his hand.

She excused herself from the two aliens and hurried over. 'What is it?' The Doctor removed his eyepiece and lifted up the pyramid to the light. One side had been opened out like a flap, revealing layer upon layer of glistening silver circuitry. 'I've given our friend here a little reprogramming.'

'Don't tell me. He can quote Shakespeare, juggle and play the spoons.'

'Oh, better than that. It's integrated to some extent with the patterns of the TARDIS's symbiotic nuclei, so that the hologram can be your contact while I'm gone.' He snapped the flap shut, placed the pyramid on the table, then tapped it twice.

The pyramid lost form, became a cloud of light swirling upwards to form a shape in a cream-coloured suit.

'Good evening,' said the h-Doctor, standing on the table. He raised his hat.

'Bernice. Doctor.'

The real Doctor leaned back in his chair and chuckled in delight. 'Glad to see your sartorial taste has improved.'

'I don't think you've quite got my accent right, though,' mused the h-Doctor.

'What do you think?'

Bernice looked from one to the other. 'You'd better switch him off. I'm going to forget which is which.'

'Not just yet, Benny. I have some more instructions to program. And this time, you're going to help me.'

Shanstra arrived at the gates of the former vice-governor's residence with at least a dozen Phractons in tow, bobbing on the energy fields that trailed behind her dark cloak.

She looked appreciatively up and down the house. It was a great, dazzling cube of white, gold-shuttered, with an ornate portico in silver and gold, the cornice displaying the vice-governor's red and gold coat of arms. Beyond the house, jade-green lawns descended in gentle steps to Londinium Plaza. It all seemed largely to have escaped the bombing, for which Shanstra was grateful.

She turned to her minions. 'This will do. Find any who still remain here, and eliminate them.' She drew herself up to her full height, and her eyes shone. 'I shall summon my powers, and unite our minds with the other parts of myself. And then it will be the moment for the Infinite Requiem to begin.'

156.

The Phractons bobbed up the sweeping drive of the house. Without stopping, the leaders of the phalanx blasted the doors open, leaving a shattered, burning surround.

Amused, Shanstra followed them into the house. She stepped into the marble hall with its glittering chandelier, and watched as the Phractons dispersed to the various rooms and corridors.

Framed in the burning doorway, looking out over the ruined city, Shanstra breathed deeply and spread her mind as far and as thinly as she could. Like a web.

Yes, as she had thought, there was something. She was sure there was something, like her name being called from a hubbub of foreign tongues, or a familiar face in a sea of many.

Kelzen's pattern had been strong back in the ice-rink when Shanstra had almost broken through. And then there had been those two interfering idiots who had escaped. The human, an extrasensory, weak by her standards but exceptional in terms of these primitives and then there had been the other.

The Terrans did not have the capacity to hide Kelzen from her, but if they were being aided by a Time Lord . . .

He had ploughed a swathe through her smooth control of the Secondary, her command of the Swann, just long enough for the Commandant to regain control over his crazed warriors. It was clever. This creature was evidently something to watch out for.

She gathered in her web, and focused on the intermittent beats of sound echoing through the house. She smiled as she recognized the satisfying noises of weaponry. Her Phracton hunting-dogs were doing their job.