Engines of War Page 22

  There was a sound like the distant rumble of thunder. At first, Cinder thought the Daleks had done something, had activated the Predator Dalek somehow. As the sound grew louder, however, she recognised the familiar, grating wheeze. It rent the air in the audience chamber.

  ‘Explain!’ shouted the Dalek. ‘Explain!’

  Cinder felt the Doctor clutching her even tighter around the shoulders. ‘Hold on!’ he cried.

  ‘No!’ bellowed the Dalek, as the world around Cinder suddenly began to change. She saw illuminated roundels flickering into existence, replacing her view of the white walls and the Dalek guards.

  ‘Exterminate!’ The Dalek’s voice sounded distant, and she flinched at the sound of an energy weapon firing close by.

  The shot never reached her, as the walls of the TARDIS miraculously closed in around them, plucking them neatly from the clutches of the Dalek guards.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Cinder took in her surroundings with an astonished, sweeping glance. Then, doubtfully, she patted herself on the chest to make sure she was real, and that this wasn’t, in fact, a bizarre but highly credible dream.

  She was standing in the TARDIS beside the Doctor, just inside the door. One minute she’d been surrounded by Daleks, preparing herself to die; the next, the ship had simply materialised around them, plucking them from the Daleks’ grasp. From where she was standing she could just make out the view on the monitor, which showed Daleks milling about outside, no doubt barking angry commands at one another as they tried to ascertain precisely what the Doctor had done.

  She started as she realised that an unfamiliar man was standing at the console. He was dark skinned and muscular, with close-cropped hair and startling blue eyes. He was dressed in the robes of a Time Lord, but they were ill fitting and stained with dark patches of blood.

  ‘But … but … how?’ she said, looking round at the Doctor.

  ‘Karlax,’ replied the Doctor.

  The man at the console sneered.

  Karlax? Then this was Karlax? She knew about Time Lord regeneration, of course, but to see it for herself, to see evidence of such a profound change – her mind reeled. She gaped at him. ‘Then it was you who saved us?’ She wondered if perhaps the change had been deeper than merely cosmetic. Had this new Karlax developed a conscience, as well as a new face?

  ‘Not out of choice,’ said Karlax, immediately dispelling that theory.

  ‘I unlocked the door to the Zero Room before we left the TARDIS,’ said the Doctor. ‘I knew that, given half a chance, Karlax would try to escape. So I made sure the flight path was set to home in on the tracking device he’d planted on you back on Gallifrey. As soon as he started her up—’

  ‘She swooped in to our rescue,’ finished Cinder.

  ‘And now it’s time to finish the job,’ said the Doctor. ‘To take Borusa into the Eye.’ He started forward, but stopped when Karlax circled around from behind the console, clutching a pistol.

  ‘That’s not how this is going to end, Doctor,’ he said.

  The Doctor’s shoulders slumped. More than anything, he looked crestfallen, as if he’d been expecting more of Karlax, as if he’d hoped that perhaps things weren’t going to play out this way.

  ‘He saved your life, Karlax,’ said Cinder. ‘He dragged you from the wreckage of your damaged TARDIS when he could have left you there to die.’

  ‘He always was a sentimental old fool,’ said Karlax. ‘Never able to understand when he had the tactical advantage.’

  ‘Karlax. Put the gun down,’ said the Doctor, reasonably. ‘I have a plan to stop the Daleks. We can finish this once that’s out of the way.’

  Karlax shook his head. ‘You’re a wanted criminal,’ he said. ‘You’ve betrayed the Time Lords. A traitor. I can’t trust anything you say.’

  Cinder could hear it in Karlax’s voice – he’d utterly lost it. Whether it was a symptom of his recent regeneration, or simply that he finally had the opportunity to enact his revenge on the Doctor, she couldn’t be sure. Either way, the high-pitched tremor in his voice, the excited way his eyes were darting about, the beads of sweat standing on his forehead – they all pointed to the fact he wasn’t in his right mind. Which, to Cinder’s mind, made him even more dangerous than usual. He was unpredictable.

  ‘Hoping to please your master, are you?’ said the Doctor, his voice dripping with cynicism. ‘Hoping he’ll pat you on the head and tell you how well you’ve done? I’ll let you into a secret, Karlax – he doesn’t care. He’s not interested in you and your snivelling little existence. He finds you useful. That’s all. When you’re gone, he’ll replace you without a moment’s hesitation. He probably already has.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Karlax bitterly.

  The Doctor wagged his finger at Karlax, as if telling him off. ‘Besides, even if you do get what you want, it’ll be a hollow victory. The Daleks are coming for Gallifrey. Rassilon won’t thank you for allowing them to deploy their planet killer.’

  Cinder saw Karlax’s finger twitch on the trigger of his pistol. She could see what the Doctor was trying to do, to undermine Karlax’s resolve, but it wasn’t working. He was already too far gone.

  ‘I think that’s enough talk for now,’ said Karlax, waving his gun.

  ‘Good,’ said the Doctor. ‘Time to get on with it.’ He made a move toward the console. Cinder saw the look of sheer hate in Karlax’s eyes, the sudden, jerking movement as he raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger.

  ‘No!’ she bellowed, diving at the Doctor and bowling him over, so that he sprawled awkwardly to the floor, cursing in surprise.

  The energy bolt from the pistol caught her just below the ribs and she fell heavily to the floor, screaming at the searing pain. She rolled onto her back, scrabbling at the wound with both hands, attempting to apply pressure. Blood pumped, hot and wet, spurting through her fingers as she tried her best to hold it in. She gasped, and then winced at the lancing pain. Her right lung was filling with blood.

  The Doctor scrabbled up onto his knees and suddenly he was at her side, cradling her head in his lap. ‘Cinder! Cinder! Hold on. It’ll be OK. Everything will be OK.’

  Cinder opened her mouth to speak but blood bubbled from her lips, dribbling down her chin. The pain was all-consuming. She bit down hard, clenching her teeth, forcing herself to stay awake, to fight back the creeping darkness that limned her vision.

  She heard Karlax laughing, and looked up to see him standing over them, his pistol now dangling limply from his fingers. ‘Oh dear, Doctor. Your pet seems to have gone and injured herself. You always were over-fond of these human creatures.’

  The Doctor growled in inarticulate rage, and Karlax took a step back in surprise, looking momentarily uncertain, before recovering his poise. ‘Well, I suppose I’ve started the job,’ he said. He raised his gun, peering at it, as if entranced by its power.

  ‘Why, Karlax?’ snarled the Doctor.

  ‘Because I have my orders,’ replied Karlax.

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘That’s not good enough,’ he said. Looking up, bleary-eyed, Cinder saw the Doctor glance at the console, just a few metres away.

  Cinder’s breath was shallow now, and every intake wracked her body in pain. She could feel herself fading.

  ‘It’s good enough for me,’ said Karlax.

  What happened next seemed to Cinder to occur as a series of frozen, stuttering images. Karlax raised his gun to take aim, while the Doctor lurched to the left, his fingers reaching for the TARDIS controls. He twisted, slamming his fist down on the dematerialisation lever, just as Karlax managed to take his second shot.

  The engines howled and central column pulsed with light. The energy beam from Karlax’s weapon struck the console, showering the Doctor in sparks and causing him to stagger back, cursing as the tiny, glowing stars stung the backs of his hands.

  Cinder’s vision was swimming in and out. She couldn’t be certain what was happening. The pain was withdrawing now, becoming a
distant fog. She felt numb, and cold, but Karlax seemed to be … fading somehow, as if he were the one dematerialising, instead of the TARDIS.

  ‘No, Doctor! You can’t leave me here! Not the Daleks!’ Karlax’s voice was reedy and pleading. He dropped his gun, and it clattered onto the floor of the TARDIS.

  ‘It’s no more than you deserve, Karlax,’ said the Doctor.

  With a shock, Cinder realised what was happening – the TARDIS was dematerialising around Karlax, leaving him there in the midst of all those angry Daleks. Leaving him to die.

  Karlax stepped forward, his expression filled with dismay. The flesh of his face had taken on a strange, pulsing translucency. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He lifted his hands up, staring around him in horror at the sight of the Daleks only he could see. Lights flashed all around him as the Daleks opened fire, his face twisting in pain, and then, as suddenly as if he had never been there at all, he blinked out of existence, left behind on the Dalek station while the TARDIS slipped away into the Time Vortex.

  With a grunt the Doctor staggered across to where Cinder lay, and dropped to his knees beside her.

  He brushed hair from Cinder’s face. ‘Hold in there. I’ll find a way.’ His voice was a gentle whisper, like the wind ruffling the branches of trees in the spring.

  ‘No,’ she croaked, with some effort. Her words were soft and mumbled, and the Doctor had to lean closer to hear her. ‘It’s too late.’

  He stared down at her. ‘Don’t give up,’ he said. His moustache twitched. ‘You must never give up.’ He looked worried, and there were tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

  ‘The cave wall. The painting,’ she said, between short, shallow gasps.

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘No. That was just one of many possib—’ He stopped himself from offering platitudes. ‘Keep still,’ he said, brushing her cheek. ‘It’ll hurt less.’

  ‘You said I’d only get in the way,’ she said, forcing a smile.

  ‘Oh, Cinder. But you did it with such style.’ He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Thank you.’ He turned away for a moment, but then forced himself to look back, meeting her gaze. ‘Why did you have to do that? Why did you have to go and be so damn … human?’

  Cinder tried to shrug, but the gesture hurt too much. ‘My life in exchange for billions of others,’ she said, echoing the Doctor’s earlier words. ‘I’ll take those odds.’

  She coughed and her mouth filled with blood. She closed her eyes. She was feeling so tired, and the Doctor stroking her forehead was so soothing. Perhaps if she just allowed herself to sleep for a moment …

  When she opened her eyes again a moment later, she was back on Moldox. She was a 6-year-old girl, frolicking in the gardens outside of her homestead. Her brother was playing on the swings close by, whooping with delight as he pushed himself higher and higher. Through the kitchen window she could see her mother and father preparing a meal.

  The sun streamed down on her face, warm and reassuring. For the first time in years, she felt happy.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Doctor emitted a wail that was halfway between an anguished howl and a furious war cry.

  Tenderly, he lowered Cinder’s lifeless head to the ground and folded her arms across her body in restful repose. Her eyes were closed and she looked peaceful, as if she were simply sleeping.

  He got to his feet and hurried over to the console, his vision blurred by tears that refused to roll down his cheeks.

  ‘Doctor?’ said Borusa. His voice was dry and husky.

  The Doctor didn’t look up. He was busy setting a new flight path.

  ‘Doctor?’ repeated Borusa. ‘It is time.’

  ‘Don’t you think I know that?’ snapped the Doctor in reply. ‘Don’t you think I’m aware of what has to be done?’ His fingers danced over the ship’s controls.

  On the monitor the view of the Dalek audience chamber had been replaced by the whirling storm of the Time Vortex.

  The Doctor glanced at the prone body of his companion. Perhaps there was still time. Perhaps, with Borusa’s help, he could still find a way to save her. He wasn’t ready to give up on her yet.

  He clutched on to the console as the TARDIS hurtled through the outer envelope of the Tantalus Eye, buffeted by the temporal storms that spilled out from its apex.

  Deep in the bowels of the ship the Cloister Bell began to toll again. The engines howled, stuttering and screeching in protest as the Doctor forced them on into the anomaly. The ship’s integrity was being tested to the very limit as she tried to stay on course, plunging deeper and deeper toward into the Eye.

  Something on the console exploded, sending a burst of sparks showering into the air. The tiny, burning fireflies rained down on the Doctor’s jacket, scorching the leather where they fell. He ignored them, clutching the rim of the console as the room began to judder violently. Trailing cables detached themselves from their sockets in the ceiling, swinging loose like jungle vines. A roundel on the wall to his left detonated, flames licking hungrily inside the shattered casing.

  The Doctor knew the TARDIS couldn’t take much more, that he risked her breaking up in the storms, withering away to nothing. Yet he had no choice. It was the only way he could think to get Cinder back.

  She’d died on his watch, protecting him. She was his responsibility, and he couldn’t allow it to happen again. Not now. Not Cinder.

  He glanced over at Borusa, who was still lashed to the metal frame of the possibility engine, wedged between two stone pillars on the far side of the console. Just as the Doctor had anticipated, Borusa was beginning to absorb the temporal radiation from the anomaly. His eyes burned like hot coals as he observed the warp and weft of time itself. The cycle of his regenerations was coming faster, his face a flickering blur, shifting in its ever-changing cycle. His flesh now glowed vibrantly with an inner light. His proximity to the heart of the storm was altering him.

  Still, the TARDIS plunged on, diving ever deeper into the spatial rift.

  The Doctor staggered around the console, barely able to keep his footing as the ship bucked. He stood before Borusa, hanging on to the stone pillars for support. ‘Can you see it?’ he shouted, above the rending sounds coming from outside of the ship. ‘Can you see a thread of possibility in which she still lives?’

  Borusa issued a low moan, as if the very act of speaking was itself too much to bear. ‘I can see it,’ he said. His voice had changed, separating so that now, with every word, each of his regenerations spoke in chorus. It was beautiful and discordant. ‘I can see it all.’

  The Doctor could see, however, that Borusa was beginning to burn up. The temporal disharmony of the Eye was overloading him, as he attempted to channel all of its power, to open his mind and allow it all to flow through him.

  The Doctor only had one shot. He could save Cinder now. He could tell Borusa to select that thread in which she survived, tell him to pull it so that it unravelled and became reality, so that history rewrote itself to a point where Cinder lived and Karlax died. That was the true potential of the possibility engine. Harnessing this much power, this much sheer potential, Borusa could do anything. He could choose a timeline and forge reality around it. He could weave the universe into a different shape, breathe life into those who had died, or take it from those who weren’t worthy. He was life and death incarnate, the bringer of the apocalypse, the herald of oblivion.

  This was his chance to bring her back, to resurrect her. He had always done what was necessary, what no one else would do. He had never allowed himself that single, selfish moment, that second of weakness, in which he chose the future he wanted, and not what others needed of him. Perhaps it was only fair that he should get to do it now, in the heart of the storm. He would tell Borusa to do it, to use the possibility engine to bring her back to him.

  ‘Then …’ The Doctor stopped. What was it she had said to him as she’d lain in his arms? My life in exchange for billions of others. That’s what she’d give
n her life to ensure. They’d come here with a single purpose: to stop the Daleks from wielding the might of the Tantalus Eye, from bending its power to their own will, to liberate her people and end the threat to the Time Lords and the cosmos at large.

  If he used it for this, was he any better? Did he have the right? He knew, in his hearts, that he did not. If she were here, now, she would never allow him to do it, to give up their chance for the sake of one life.

  He stumbled as the console room lurched and another roundel exploded, showering them with fragments of broken glass. Borusa roared with pain as the energy running through his mind grew in intensity. He was becoming a conduit for the power, a focal point for all of the temporal energy boiling at the heart of the Eye.

  There was no choice. He had to finish the job and free Borusa of his burden. ‘Borusa, it’s time. One final job for the possibility engine, and then you can be free. We have to destroy the Daleks. You must find a thread of possibility in which they no longer hold sway over the Tantalus Spiral, and their Temporal Weapon progenitors are never dispersed. Destroy the Eternity Circle and their weapon with the power of the Eye. Wipe them from the universe as if they never existed. Do it now.’

  Borusa threw his head back and screamed in all his many voices. It was a sound the Doctor knew would echo through all of time and space, and would haunt him for the rest of his days.

  Around them, the storm seemed to abate momentarily, and then a wave of light crashed out of the Eye – a temporal pulse; a single, massive burst of energy that swept out to encompass the entire Spiral. In its wake the threads of possibility were rewritten.

  Entire fleets of Dalek saucers and stealth ships dissolved as the ruby-coloured light crashed over them, burning them up into nothingness.

  Aboard the Dalek command station, the Eternity Circle, still resting on their pedestals, whispered out of existence, shimmering into non-life like fragments of a fading dream, only half-remembered.

  On Moldox and a dozen other worlds, the last of the Dalek patrols and their hoards of Degradations were overcome, washed away into fragments of light before the eyes of their human prisoners.