Doctor Who_ Warmonger Part 37

The party was a farewell, as well as a celebration. The only thing in short supply was female company, although Peri and a handful of hospital nurses did their best to fill the gap.

Most of the partying was done by humans, of course. Ice Warriors and Cybermen aren't really party animals.

Apart from killing their enemies, the Sontarans' idea of a good time was drinking appallingly strong liquor until the weakest fell over, and continuing the game until only one, the winner, was left standing. They'd been investigating the castle's liquor supplies with steady determination but had found nothing nearly as effective as their native vrag vrag.

For Draconians, a really good party consists of sipping tiny gla.s.ses of exquisite liqueurs, and exchanging witty and poetic epigrams, so this wasn't really their kind of occasion.

They stood chatting amongst themselves, watching the riotously revelling humans with mild bemus.e.m.e.nt.

'A strange species these humans,' said one of Aril's captains, watching some of Ryon's men perform a vigorous square dance.

'Indeed,' said Aril. 'Yet not unendearing when you get to know them.'

The Doctor moved through the party, greeted with cries of 'Supremo!' and 'To Victory!' and offers of drinks wherever he went.

He found himself in conversation with a mildly tipsy Hawken, and asked where he'd got his collection of bruises and the blaster-scar on his forehead.

'We may not have been in your famous battle, Doctor, but we had quite a lively time. The mercenaries kept sending in infiltrators so they could take over the castle and attack you from the rear. We kept them out, though all but one or two. My lads have reported someone in a white robe, and someone else in a black cloak skulking about. Can't seem to lay their hands on them, though... Never mind have another drink!'

The sounds of distant revelry reached Morbius, sitting on the bunk in a cell once occupied by the Doctor. He had recovered consciousness to find himself blind and a prisoner. The blindness had worn off and he had been given a decent meal and a pa.s.sable wine, but he was still in chains and in a locked cell.

He sat upright, his mind turning over the events of the past and making plans for the future.

He was Morbius, he could never be defeated.

In his secret laboratory, still secret despite all that had happened, Solon was still working furiously. He threw the power switch and the last subject twitched.

'Rise,' ordered Solon, and the ghastly creature on the slab rose and shambled away.

Solon chose a largely undamaged torso and grabbed a leg, more or less at random, from a nearby pile. Reaching for an electronic surgical st.i.tcher, he set to work at a frantic pace.

There was so little time...

It was sober, not to say hungover, group that a.s.sembled for the trial next morning.

Overnight the Great Hall had been transformed. The rubble had been cleared away, and there was a raised dais for the judges, a dock for the prisoner and row upon row of chairs for the spectators.

The Doctor, Peri, Lord Delmar and Hawken sat in a row of VIP seats at the front of the court.

There was a musical humming sound from outside the court.

A portly, black-robed Time Lord court usher entered the hall and boomed, 'All rise!'

The doors of the Great Hall were flung open and an impressive procession made its way into the hall.

Preceded by an escort of the Capitol Guard, colourful in their comic-opera uniforms, Lord President Saran strode into the hall. Behind him came Ratisbon and Borusa. All three wore the severe black and white robes of the Time Lord judiciary.

'Doing it in style,' the Doctor whispered.

'Sss.h.!.+' whispered Peri, impressed in spite of herself.

In solemn silence, the judges took their place on the bench, Saran in the centre, Ratisbon and Borusa on his left and right hand respectively.

The usher's booming voice called, 'Bring in the prisoner!'

More Capitol Guards escorted Morbius, still resplendent in his blue and gold uniform, into the hall and seated him in the dock.

'You are charged, Morbius, with War Crimes perpetrated against a variety of sentient races in the galaxy. How do you plead?'

Morbius's deep, mellow voice rang through the Great Hall.

'I do not plead plead, nor do I recognise the authority of this court.

I am Morbius, Lord High President of Gallifrey.'

'You were deposed.'

'By an illegal conspiracy. Now I am held prisoner by an illegal court. And who are my judges? A treacherous politician who conspired to ruin me. A snivelling spy who planted false evidence against me. The senile old fool who stole my high office. Continue with this charade if you must. I have no more to say.' Morbius sat back in his chair, folding his arms in disdain, dropping his n.o.ble head on his chest. For the rest of the trial he might have been asleep.

The trial began. Borusa, who seemed to be acting as prosecutor, called witness after witness from the rows of volunteers. All told much the same story over and over until the sheer repet.i.tion of horrors became monotonous.

Peaceful communities invaded without provocation or warning by hordes of ravening mercenaries. Resistance ruthlessly crushed, with ma.s.sacres, rape and torture commonplace. Land and property stolen, workers and farmers enslaved and worked to death to provide materials for Morbius's war machine.

The trial adjourned for an hour between one and two and then resumed.

More of the same, more tales of death and destruction.

Mercenaries and s.p.a.ce pirates, giving evidence in the hope of saving their skins, told how Morbius and his agents had recruited them, luring them with seemingly limitless funds and promises of immortality.

'He told us we had no ambition,' said one unsavoury specimen. 'He said, "Why pirate cargo-s.h.i.+ps or raid s.p.a.ceports when you can steal whole worlds?" So that's what we did till that b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a Supremo came along and ruined it all!'

The trial went on and on until, in late afternoon, Borusa called a halt.

'This trial could go on for many days, but we are agreed that we have heard enough. The judges will confer and then deliver their verdict. There will be a brief recess.'

The judges swept majestically out and there was a low hum of conversation.

'Hey, where's the jury?' asked Peri.

'This is a Time Lord trial,' said the Doctor. 'We don't have juries.'

'Why not?'

'You can't always rely on them to come up with the right result. Time Lord trials don't decide anything. They just confirm a decision that's already been taken.'

A bare ten minutes later the judges returned and took their places.

President Saran spoke for the first time. In his reedy old voice he said, 'Morbius, this bench of judges has found you guilty of a whole series of appalling crimes. Have you anything to say?'

Morbius maintained a contemptuous silence.

'The only possible sentence is death,' said Saran. 'Your body will be placed in the vaporisation chamber at midnight tonight.

Take him away.'

As Morbius rose, there came wild screams from outside the court and the erratic sounds of random blaster-fire.

The doors were flung open and a ghastly apparition shambled into the Great Hall. It was a soldier, or rather the remnants of several soldiers, roughly st.i.tched together.

Fragments of rotting uniform covered rotting flesh, and dead eyes stared blankly from the dead face. It carried a rusty blaster which it waved unsteadily, firing random shots about the hall.

More zombie-like apparitions followed, lurching into the hall, while the seated spectators flung themselves away from them amongst the sound of cras.h.i.+ng chairs.

Arms had been banned in the hall but not everyone had obeyed. One or two spectators produced blasters, but their fire had no effect.

A grimy, white-coated figure appeared at the back of the hall.

'Run, Master, run!' it screamed. 'We can reach your s.h.i.+p.'

A sudden flare of hope in his eyes, Morbius leapt up, chains jangling.

One of the zombies lurched into him, nearly knocking him over. Morbius grabbed its arm to steady himself and the arm came away in his hand. With a scream of horror, he flung the arm away from him and cowered back in the box.

The Doctor grabbed a chair and swung it at the nearest zombie. It struck the apparition's head and the head flew from the shoulders like a golf-ball from a tee. The creature staggered about headless, firing wildly, then its leg came off and it fell.

'Never mind blasters,' shouted the Doctor. 'You can't kill them, they're already dead! Chairs! Use the chairs.'

The bolder spectators grabbed chairs and swung them, and there was a brief and horrible combat. Under the chair-blows the zombies disintegrated, arms, legs and heads flying in all directions.

Soon it was over, the floor littered with limbs and torsos.

Horribly, some of them were still twitching, but eventually they became still.

Peri shuddered. 'That was worse than the battle!'

By now Hawken's castle guards were in the hall. They took charge of Morbius and seized Solon as he tried to flee.

As they dragged him past Morbius, Solon sobbed, 'Forgive me, Master. I tried, I tried.'

'Get away from me, you filthy little corpse-monger,'

screamed Morbius. 'I never want to see your face again.'

The Doctor glanced at the dais where the three Time Lord judges sat rigid with shock.

They saw Hawken escorting a clearly shaken Lord Delmar from the hall.

'Come on, Peri, let's get out of here.'

Picking their way between the litter of fast-decaying body parts, the Doctor and Peri made their way out of the Great Hall.

They pa.s.sed a number of white-faced Capitol Guards.

'Those fancy-dress soldiers of yours weren't much use,' said Peri.

'The Capitol Guard?' The Doctor smiled. 'You must forgive them, Peri, they're not used to violence.'

They went outside the castle and stood on the steps, breathing in the crisp, cold night air.

'So what do we do now, Doctor?'

'Wait till midnight. Soon after that it will all be over and we can leave.'

'Are you attending the execution?'

'I don't want to Peri, but I must.'

'Why?'

'To make sure that everything goes precisely as it should.'

Chapter Eight.

Execution It was eleven o'clock and the Doctor was moving quietly along the darkened castle corridors. He wasn't sure how he was going to do what he was going to do. He only knew that he had to do it. To be precise, he had to set Solon free.

A little earlier he had sought out Hawken and casually asked him where Solon had been imprisoned.

'In your old cell, Doctor,' said Hawken cheerfully. 'Morbius had it for a while, but I was asked to move him closer to the execution chamber.'

'I didn't know you even had an execution chamber.'

'We didn't, but we do now. Your Time Lord judges brought it with them. Their technicians are setting it up now. Were you thinking of going to see him? Solon, I mean.'

'I might.'

'Well, be careful along those corridors. I lost a couple of my patrolmen last night.'

'Mercenaries hiding out in the ruins?'