Engines of War Read online

  ‘That’s far enough!’

  Behind them, the guards emerged into the mouth of the cavern. Cinder didn’t pause to look at their faces, but darted for cover behind the scorched shell of a Battle TARDIS.

  ‘Come back to the cells now,’ bellowed one of the guards, ‘and we won’t shoot.’

  ‘Fat chance!’ came the Doctor’s muffled reply, causing Cinder to splutter with laughter. It only lasted for a moment, however, as an energy bolt from one of the guard’s pistols zipped past her ear, striking the galleon and sending a shower of sparks streaming into the air.

  So, they weren’t out to stun.

  She could hear the Doctor’s sonic bleeping ahead of her, the pips increasing in frequency as he moved deeper into the warren, and presumably closer to his TARDIS. ‘This way!’ he called, waving his sonic over the top of a TARDIS that looked like a canal barge, and eliciting another shot from one of the guards.

  Keeping her head down, Cinder scuttled after him. More shots whizzed over her head as the guards, clearly deciding that accuracy was not a virtue, began to fire indiscriminately in their general direction.

  The broken TARDISes formed a haphazard maze full of jagged edges and disorientating geometry.

  As the guards split up, coming after them in a pincer movement, the Doctor and Cinder followed the insistent bleeping of the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver, rushing chaotically from place to place, stumbling upon dead ends, backtracking, circling around.

  A well-timed shot from one of the guards fizzed into the pale outer skin of a Battle TARDIS, which was lying on its side just beside her, and she dived for cover, ducking behind what looked like a greenhouse. Half of its panes were broken and it was covered in creeping vines.

  The Doctor was running on ahead. ‘Come on, we’re close now!’

  She took off after him, her feet slipping on the dusty floor. She almost went over, wheeling her arms, and catching sight of the red and white uniform of the guard in hot pursuit. He was closing on them.

  Up ahead, the Doctor was veering right, and she charged after him, grabbing hold of what looked like a torpedo chute, and using it to propel herself around the corner.

  ‘There she is!’ cried the Doctor jubilantly. Cinder caught sight of the now familiar blue box, nestled amongst a pile of fragments and broken interior walls, bearing the same, strange roundels as the inside of the Doctor’s console room.

  As they ran towards it, the door opened for them, welcoming them inside. They charged in, the Doctor leaping up onto the dais and banging his fist against a large red button on the console. The door swung shut behind them.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said, breathless. ‘Ha! They’ll not get inside now.’ He laughed boyishly. ‘Thank you, old girl.’ He stood with his hands raised to either side, turning on the spot and looking up, as if speaking to the ship. ‘You’ve never let me down.’

  He glanced at Cinder. ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve had to steal away with her from Gallifrey,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, I think she wanted to go on an adventure just as much as I did.’

  On the monitor screen, Cinder saw the two guards just outside the TARDIS door. They kicked at it, trying to break it down, and when it didn’t give, stood back, took aim, and fired simultaneously at the lock.

  The noise inside the TARDIS was tremendous, but the energy bolts rebounded, flashing off into the darkness of the graveyard, and the doors did not give. She watched as one of the men – a swarthy-looking fellow with a full, black beard – spoke into his wrist communicator. She imagined alarms going off elsewhere in the prison complex.

  The Doctor was adjusting the flight controls. ‘Something tells me we’re not welcome here any more,’ he said sarcastically. He pushed a sequence of button, twisted a dial and cranked a lever.

  The glass column at the heart of the console stuttered to life, emitting a bright, ethereal light. Inside, the cluster of glass tubes began to slowly rise and fall, accompanied by the wheezing groan of the ship’s engines.

  Cinder grabbed for the railing, finally allowing herself a sigh of relief.

  The ship gave a sudden judder, the engines coughing as if stalling.

  ‘Oh, no, no, no,’ said the Doctor, his fingers dancing over the controls. He followed the same sequence again, cranking the lever. The central column began to rise once more, but then stuck, stalling. The engines choked, as if straining to get away.

  The Doctor stepped back from the controls, glancing at Cinder. ‘They’ve changed the security protocols,’ he said. ‘They’re not going to allow us to dematerialise.’

  A voice boomed out over the comm-link, causing Cinder to start. ‘It’s time to give up on this rebellion of yours, Doctor, and come quietly.’ It was the Castellan, speaking from somewhere within the citadel, Cinder presumed. ‘Your TARDIS no longer has access to the correct protocols to leave Gallifrey. Give yourselves up to the guards and you can return to your cell. There’ll be no more said about it. That’s the most I can do for you.’

  ‘No!’ bellowed the Doctor, full of rage. ‘You’re going to let us go.’

  The Castellan laughed. ‘I’m afraid that’s more than my life is worth,’ he replied.

  ‘That may be so,’ said the Doctor, his tone grave, ‘but for once in your life you’re going to do the right thing. Because you know what they’re doing is wrong, don’t you, Castellan? You’re not yet sure how you’re going to live with billions of lives on your conscience, once this is over with.’ The Doctor had begun pacing back and forth before the console, lost in his argument. ‘Deep down in your hearts, you know that I have to prevent them from deploying the Tear, and so you’re going to transmit the correct protocols to my TARDIS console.’

  ‘But …’ the Castellan faltered, and Cinder could hear in his voice that he couldn’t object to what the Doctor had said. ‘But Karlax?’

  ‘This is bigger than you and Karlax,’ said the Doctor. ‘It’s bigger than me, than any of us, Rassilon included. You heard what I said in the council chamber. If you allow this to happen, then you’re no better than a Dalek.’

  There was a chime from the console, and a button began to blink.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the Doctor. ‘I understand what you have sacrificed.’

  ‘Don’t let it be in vain,’ said the Castellan, before cutting the link.

  Once more, the Doctor adjusted the controls and the TARDIS wheezed out of existence, leaving the two guards standing in the under croft, staring at each other in bemusement.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Karlax had always detested travelling via the transmat device, the way it made his fingertips tingle for an hour afterwards, the quickening of his hearts when the particles of his body began to disentangle, unweaving him at the molecular level. Even the very concept of it troubled him, and he recalled lying awake all night in the aftermath of his first trip, many lifetimes ago, wondering whether he was still the same person, or if the process had irrevocably changed him somehow.

  Of course, all of this was long before his first regeneration, when the concepts of change and identity had effectively become irrelevant to him. He realised now that change was inevitable, just another weave in the long tapestry of life. The key was in ensuring that you managed that change to get what you wanted, encouraged it, even, in a particular direction. Some might call that manipulative, he supposed. Karlax simply saw it as pragmatic. So far, it was an approach that had paid great dividends for him, and he saw no reason to stop now.

  So it was that he’d come here, to the Lord President’s tomb, to speak with him. He was anxious to be the first one to deliver the news, so that he might influence any decisions that came after. Karlax knew exactly what he wanted, and he would do everything in his power to get it. The time was ripe for revenge. The Doctor would get what he richly deserved.

  Karlax had visited the tomb once before, and he knew what Rassilon was keeping here – they all did. Every member of the High Council had sanctioned the creation of the possibility engine
. The work had been carried out in the Capitol, behind closed doors, and the Council had been kept abreast of progress. When the time had come to unveil the remarkable new device, however, none of them had been able to look upon it. They’d shunned it, calling it an abomination, and Rassilon had been forced to have it moved to his old tomb in order to keep it out of the way.

  Now, it was barely acknowledged. The High Council knew that Rassilon spoke with an authority bestowed by the machine, but it remained unstated, and Borusa’s name was never uttered.

  That was one thing about which the Doctor was absolutely correct, Karlax begrudgingly admitted – they were all hypocrites, prepared to make the necessary decisions and reap the rewards, just so long as they never had to face the consequences.

  He’d implied as much to Rassilon earlier that day, whispering in his ear that the Castellan was beginning to develop a conscience, that he didn’t have the necessary detachment to be able to properly fulfil his duties. The incident with the human girl had been evidence enough of that, and now Karlax suspected he’d had a hand in the Doctor’s escape. There would be repercussions.

  He’d reached the entrance to the Tower. He stepped inside, bowing his head, mindful of showing due reverence.

  Rassilon was standing at the foot of the tomb, speaking with the possibility engine, demanding that Borusa show him a pathway through the fluctuating chaos of the timelines; that he predict the most effective time to deploy their weapon. ‘Tell me, Borusa, of the Tear of Isha. What is the true path to victory? How do I ensure its deployment strikes at the very heart of the Dalek cause?’

  Karlax cringed at the sight of the possibility engine, cranked up on its metal bed so that Rassilon might look upon it. To Karlax it was like a pale corpse, reinvigorated with life; emaciated, yet filled with a vitality that was not its own. The Time Vortex was running through its head, filling it with wonders and terrors beyond imagining. In the dim light of the tomb, it glowed with the aura of oscillating regenerative energy.

  ‘The timelines are no longer clear to me,’ mumbled Borusa. ‘There is no true path. Every outcome is in flux, and possibilities bloom. A random factor has been introduced which … unsettles things.’

  ‘A random factor?’ echoed Rassilon. ‘What is it? The Dalek weapon?’

  ‘No, my Lord. Something else. A knot of potential, moving unchecked through the timelines, weaving patterns in the future and the past.’

  ‘You speak in riddles,’ cursed Rassilon. ‘Riddles and ciphers. I cannot understand you!’

  Karlax hovered by the entrance, unsure how to proceed. He didn’t wish to incur his master’s wrath, but all the same – there was news that he need to impart. ‘Lord President?’ he called, tentatively.

  Rassilon turned. He looked annoyed to see that it was Karlax who had come to disturb him here, in his haven.

  ‘What is it, Karlax?’ he snapped. ‘Can’t you see that I’m busy?’

  ‘My apologies, Lord President,’ said Karlax, ‘but I bring grave news from the Capitol. Our plans could be at risk. I thought to inform you immediately.’

  Rassilon waved him closer.

  Karlax crossed the mausoleum, hesitant to be so close to the creature that had once been Borusa. Despite his disdain for the manner in which the members of the High Council had insisted on Borusa’s removal from the Capitol, Karlax had grave misgivings about being in such close proximity to the thing. It looked down at him with its weird, flickering eyes, and grinned knowingly. Karlax shuddered. He wondered what it was thinking, what it might be seeing when it looked at him.

  ‘Well?’ said Rassilon. ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘It’s the Doctor,’ said Karlax. ‘He’s escaped.’

  Rassilon’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth, evidently attempting to retain his composure. ‘Escaped?’ There was a steely edge to his voice. Karlax had to choose his next words very carefully.

  ‘Clearly, he was assisted in some way,’ he said. ‘We have a traitor in our midst. It should be a simple matter to trace the data logs and see who granted the Doctor’s TARDIS access to the security protocols.’

  ‘Do it,’ said Rassilon. ‘I’ll have someone’s head for his.’

  Karlax had a feeling the High Council would be looking for a new Castellan in the coming days. He suppressed a smile. ‘What of the Doctor?’ he ventured. ‘He might yet attempt to prevent Commander Partheus from deploying the Tear.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rassilon. ‘The random factor.’ He glanced up at Borusa, momentarily lost in thought. Then, after a moment, he appeared to make a decision. ‘I see it clearly now, Karlax. The Doctor is a wildcard, a renegade, and he has made his position abundantly clear. He intends to act against us. He must be prevented from influencing the outcome of events. There is only one recourse.’

  ‘My Lord?’ said Karlax.

  ‘The Doctor must die, Karlax,’ said Rassilon. ‘Only then can we be sure.’

  Karlax couldn’t help his smile from spreading to his lips.

  ‘You, Karlax, are the only one I can trust with such a significant task,’ continued Rassilon.

  ‘Me?’ said Karlax, suddenly panicked. This was not at all what he’d expected. He was not a man of action. He’d built his career through the manipulation of others. He’d barely ventured out in a TARDIS since his days in the Academy. ‘Are you sure that I’m adequately equipped for such a pivotal role, my Lord?’ said Karlax.

  ‘Uniquely so,’ said Rassilon. ‘You, more than any of us, want him dead.’

  So Rassilon was more perceptive than he looked. Karlax could see there was no way of changing his mind. He’d walked right into it, and now he’d have to see it through. Still, he mused, at least this way he’d get to see the look on the Doctor’s face as he died. That would be some measure of consolation. ‘Very well, my Lord,’ he said.

  ‘Excellent. Time is of the essence. Engage the assistance of the Celestial Intervention Agency. If you are to be the bullet, Karlax, they shall be the gun.’

  ‘Immediately,’ said Karlax. He turned and walked towards the door, his head spinning.

  ‘Oh, and Karlax?’ called Rassilon, as he was just about to step over the threshold.

  Karlax stopped and looked back. ‘Yes, my Lord?’

  ‘If you fail, do not bother coming back.’

  Karlax swallowed. There were no words for how terrified he felt at that moment. ‘My life or the Doctor’s,’ he said, with a nod of his head. ‘I understand.’

  So, it had come to this. Karlax knew one thing for certain: whatever happened, he was going to make the Doctor suffer.

  Part Three

  Into the Eye

  Chapter Seventeen

  The TARDIS hung still in the Time Vortex amidst a swirling chaos of purples and blues. Cinder could see the colours raging through the clear ceiling of the console room, like a tempestuous storm, bruised clouds pregnant with crackling energy. For all she knew, the outer shell of the ship was being buffeted and battered, but inside, everything was calm.

  She was perched on the edge of the central dais, the ship’s console at her back. It seemed odd to her not to be running about, chased through meandering corridors or desperately trying to escape from a Dalek ship, a ruined city, or a Time Lord prison. From anywhere. She considered that for a moment. All of her life she’d been trying to escape from wherever she was, always working on the assumption that if only she could get away there’d be a better place, waiting for her somewhere out there in the cosmos. A place she could call home.

  Now, she wasn’t so sure. She couldn’t help wondering, while she watched the billowing storm of the Time Vortex, blowing all around them, whether the entire universe was this angry, this violent. It certainly seemed that way.

  All the same, it felt strange to be sitting still.

  The Doctor was bustling about the console room like he’d lost something.

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ asked Cinder. She rested her chin on her upturned palm. ‘We can’t go back to
Moldox, and we can’t go back to Gallifrey. We’re not very popular, are we?’ she mused.

  The Doctor stopped what he was doing for a moment. ‘We’re going to stop the Time Lords from deploying the Tear of Isha,’ he said. ‘That’s what we’re going to do.’

  No mean feat, thought Cinder, for two renegades in a blue box. She realised she was being maudlin and decided to cheer herself up. ‘Assuming we’re successful,’ she said, ‘and that we’re able to prevent the Time Lords from collapsing the Tantalus Eye …’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Then what about the Daleks? What are we going to do about them? Surely you’re not going to allow them to finish what they’ve started, to wipe Gallifrey from existence?’

  ‘Shouldn’t I?’ he said, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He was furious at his people, and justifiably so. Not only had they refused to listen to him, they’d turned on him when he was trying to help them, when they’d needed him most. They’d shown him their true colours.

  Everything she’d heard about the Time Lords, all the rumours – she now supposed they must be true, that there really wasn’t that much difference between them and the Daleks.

  All except one, she thought, with a smile. He wasn’t so bad. And she didn’t believe for one minute that he was going to stand by and watch them be obliterated.

  ‘Ah, got it!’ the Doctor exclaimed, and Cinder shuffled round to see what he was up to, bringing her knees up to her chest and curling her arms around them.

  The Doctor was on his knees, worrying away at something beneath the mushroom-shaped console. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Hold on …’ came the muffled response. He was wearing a look of intense concentration and his tongue was sticking out comically from the corner of his mouth. ‘There!’ he declared. A small black pod, which had evidently been fixed beneath the control panel, came away in his hand. He tossed it in the air and caught it again. ‘That’ll teach them,’ he said, getting to his feet.