Killing Ground Part 21

Grant opened the door to the special cell and was rendered momentarily speechless by the sight of the Doctor, held by stocks and manacles, his face seeming even more battered and painful in the half-light.

'How did you get in here?' the Time Lord asked suspiciously. Grant waved a bunch of keys in answer. 'Ah. Your friends have sent you to interrogate me. Well, fire away! Hit me first if you like. I'm helpless, after all.'

'Doctor!'

'Are you still happy with your creations?' the Doctor snapped. 'Are you proud now they've ended somebody's life? Look at me! I was held like this for over three weeks whilst you were playing real-life Meccano.

I was hoping you might come to the rescue; instead, I end up back here, plus a few extra bruises! Do you really think you've made things better? From where I'm forced to kneel, you haven't had the slightest effect!'

He paused for breath and Grant took the opportunity to interject.

'Henneker let me come here because I said I could persuade you to help him.'

'Never!' the Doctor bellowed theatrically.

'But I asked him,' Grant continued patiently, 'because I thought I could free you.'

'Oh.' The Doctor's angry expression softened to an almost (but not quite) apologetic one. 'You can't. The locking mechanism is computer controlled and activated by a random sequence of-'

'I know.' Grant reached into the pocket of his tunic to produce a perspex cube containing a tangle of multicoloured wires. 'I've brought a remote connector to the base's main computer. Once it's wired in, it'll run a program of mine to antic.i.p.ate the next combination.' He crouched and began to run his hands over the stocks.

'Control panel. Just to my right.' Grant found and opened it, seething but trying to hide his irritation at the abrupt directions. The Doctor was quick enough to criticize; might an expression of grat.i.tude be too much to hope for under the circ.u.mstances?

He hesitated, the cube poised in his hand. 'Did they hurt you? The Bronze Knights, I mean.'

'A little. They saved the main event for later. They don't want to damage me too much; not while there's a chance I'll help them.'

'Why don't you? Whatever you think of the Knights, the Cybermen are worse - and they're the biggest threat at the moment. If we can't stop them, they'll commit genocide!'

'I'm not letting those creatures into my TARDIS,' said the Doctor firmly.

'Why?' Grant challenged. 'Because you don't like them?'

'Partly,' he admitted. 'And because I don't trust them to leave it once they're in.'

'But if it's the only way-'

'It isn't!'

'So what are you going to do?'

The Doctor scowled. 'I don't recall your promise of freedom being conditional upon my agreeing with you.' He glared pointedly at the cube and, feeling a surge of annoyance, Grant thrust it into place with more force than necessary. A second pa.s.sed and the Doctor was released. He let out an exaggerated sigh of pent-up frustration and struggled to his feet.

'So? What now?' asked Grant.

The Doctor thought for a moment, then seemed to regain his characteristic confidence. 'Now,' he said, 'we beat the Cybermen! Their deadline's nearly up, so I want you to get Henneker to broadcast a surrender. So long as they think he's converting the subjects as ordered, they'll leave you alone. That buys me a few hours.'

'Won't they be able to tell? If they can find out about the Cyberleader's death across light-years, surely they can patch into the scout s.h.i.+p's computer systems?'

'That's your second job. Get into the s.h.i.+p and make the computer tell a false story. Can you do that?'

'I'm not sure.'

'Splendid! Tell Henneker that, instead of sending the s.h.i.+p up with five hundred Cybermen when the time comes, he can fill it with Bronze Knights. It wouldn't work, of course - the Cybermen will be wary of such a predictable ruse - but it should keep him quiet and happy and out of your hair, for a while at least. All clear?'

Grant nodded and the Doctor made for the door. 'Wait a minute,'

the boy called after him. 'What about you? What are you going to do?'

His companion paused on the threshold, looking as if an explanation would be a monumental imposition upon his time. 'I'm taking the TARDIS to the warcraft, of course,' he said, 'without pa.s.sengers.'

'On your own? But how many Cybermen are on that thing?'

The Doctor shrugged as if he didn't care. 'Anything from two to two million. Somewhere at the lower end of the scale, I should think, if they're making their threats from afar.'

'Then surely you'd stand more chance-'

'Without pa.s.sengers!' the Doctor reiterated adamantly. Before Grant could object further, he seemed to suddenly think of something and added: 'Oh, and by the way, thanks for releasing me. It's just a shame you were partly responsible for my capture in the first place.' Then he disappeared, leaving Grant uncertain as to whether he'd just been handed new hope or merely the recipe for a fresh course of disaster. pa.s.sengers!' the Doctor reiterated adamantly. Before Grant could object further, he seemed to suddenly think of something and added: 'Oh, and by the way, thanks for releasing me. It's just a shame you were partly responsible for my capture in the first place.' Then he disappeared, leaving Grant uncertain as to whether he'd just been handed new hope or merely the recipe for a fresh course of disaster.

Madrox leant against the console, s.h.i.+vering and holding back tears as the pain in his leg sharpened and spread upwards. Hegelia had stopped talking again; her conversion had to be almost complete. He should be making his way up the ladder, to seal her cubicle and to rescue the recorder which lay before it. He couldn't. The thought of what had happened up there revolted him. At this moment, Madrox would have more gladly surrendered himself to the Bronze Knights than ever have to look at a Cyberman again.

'What is it doing to me?'

The plea was uttered in the deep, artificial tone which Madrox knew too well. Its plaintive, human bleat added a note of unnerving incongruity. Despite himself, he looked to its source.

Hegelia's legs and torso were encased, although her arms were bare.

Two mechanical appendages worked to weave exoskeletal piping into the rapidly solidifying substance of her armour. The familiar chest unit had been attached and the ArcHivist's suddenly white and emaciated face peered blindly from between the striated blocks of a Cyberman's headpiece.

'I confess that I am beginning to worry. I expected to record full details of the conversion as it transpired; however, I find my senses limited. I do not fully understand what is happening - and what I do feel, I lack the vocabulary to describe.' Hegelia's tone fluctuated between restrained panic and detachment. 'A moment ago, my tongue reported my connection to the Cyber computer. I am not sure if I composed that message myself or if it was the responsibility of another presence. Perhaps that presence will overwhelm me. Will my personality endure, but submerged or controlled? Will only part of me survive, to be merged with an Artificial Intelligence? Or will I be erased? I had thought myself prepared for such an eventuality, but now that I am standing on the brink of the abyss, I feel -'

Hegelia stopped talking. It was as if she could no longer see the point. Her arms were being sheathed in plastic-metal compound. New pipes had been attached to the fluid reservoir at her back and were being threaded along the newly reinforced limbs. Madrox realized with a start that Hegelia's hands were gone. They had been sheared off, so fast that he hadn't noticed. A plate swung in front of her face, hiding the ArcHivist's fear behind its blankness. Madrox saw too late the spinning drill bits on its inner surface. They were pressed hard against flesh. Blood seeped through the mouth slit and round the faceplate's edges as useless organic material was broken down and scooped out, clearing s.p.a.ce for efficient electronics. He retched again, and this time he managed to bring up stomach lining.

The creature which had once been Hegelia didn't flinch.

The Cyberman's existence began. It was ready to receive orders. It knew itself to be a recent convert to the never-ending cause and saw that to be good. It possessed memories from the time before the Change, but saw no reason to access them. One day, it would sort through the data, keeping any which might prove useful, relinquis.h.i.+ng the remainder. For now, it had to rest. Its organic components needed time to adapt to the rigours of birthing. It cycled its computer mind into downtime, registering the status information relayed to it by the compartment in which it found itself. It knew that cryogenic systems had engaged, activating a control device within its own circuitry and sending it into hibernation. It knew that a sheen of frost was forming across its impenetrable casing.

And, suddenly, it knew that it couldn't let itself be frozen.

This unit had information which its fellow newborns didn't. It was contained within the memories of the human which had contributed to its creation, but an autonomic scan had picked it up and flagged it as important. A rebel movement on the planet had achieved a partial success, destroying a small contingent of its masters. The main warcraft was in orbit around the world and the situation was precarious. No Cybermen remained on Agora, but for those in the conversion chamber. The Doctor was involved.

It might prove advantageous, the Cyberman considered, to mobilize all newborns, despite the risk involved to them. It couldn't just sleep; it had to obtain instructions on the matter. It overrode the hibernation circuits and forced its new muscles and hydraulic systems to activate. Its audio detectors came on-line in time to hear the cracking of ice as it forced its way from the womb and stepped out onto the balcony, pausing as it adjusted to the sensory inputs of its first real environment. It lurched unsteadily towards the railing and looked down into the conversion chamber's base.

The pathetic face of a crippled human looked back.

'I am Madrox, Master. I was your Chief Overseer on this colony.

I hope to be again.' The organic was frightened. The Cyberman was programmed to recognize such emotions in others, although it couldn't understand them itself. Such weaknesses would only facilitate the proliferation of its own logical kind. 'I am prepared to serve you totally,' said Madrox, voice shaking, eyes imploring. 'I have helped you. I reactivated the conversion machinery without the knowledge of the rebels. I have ensured your victory.'

Once again, the computer found insight in the memories of the ent.i.ty called Hegelia. She had known of Madrox. She knew that he had taken arms against the Cybermen, even killed one. He was a traitor, his crime unforgivable. There could be only one punishment. It wasn't a question of revenge, of course. It was simply that animals had to learn, through aversion therapy, not to defy their betters.

The Cyberman brought Madrox into its sights. He must have seen it reaching for its chest controls, or the glimmer of fire which sparked in the quadruple barrels of its weapon. His fear gave way to abject panic and his good leg betrayed him, dropping him to the floor where he cried and begged for mercy, knowing that there could be none. He was near enough for a fatal blast.

The treacherous human died slowly, screaming and writhing as smoke poured from his loathsome form. The Cyberman cared not for his plight, only for the act that its own systems had worked with just 86 per cent efficiency. Its premature arousal had precluded its optimum functioning. Still, the job was done. Madrox was dead. Now the Cyberman had but to enter the scout s.h.i.+p's c.o.c.kpit, from where it could send its signal.

As it turned towards the downward-leading ladder, it became aware of a mechanical object at its foot. It stooped and lifted it, discerning that its purpose was to store sound waves on magnetic strips. Once again, the Cyberman accessed memories and learned that the woman Hegelia had used the device to record details at her conversion. Such actions weren't logical. The information was irrelevant and, if it improved human understanding of the Cyber race, might even be used to their eventual detriment.

Without another thought, the Cyberman crushed the machine in its powerful hand and let the mangled, inoperable remains drop. Then it resumed its journey towards the central ladder and the equipment in the c.o.c.kpit.

Grant emerged onto the roof of Population Control once more, steadying his nerves with deep breaths as he made for the rearing dome of the Cybermen's scout s.h.i.+p. He reached for the door's opening mechanism but s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away instinctively. Stupid, he berated himself; still giving in to pointless fears. Use logic. The c.o.c.kpit was empty. It was safe. He reached again - and almost yelped in terror at a sudden noise from behind.

'Can I help?' called Jolarr, hurrying over. The alien boy had evidently followed Grant up here.

'Maybe,' he said, 'composing himself with effort. 'Have you had much experience of computers?' It occurred to him that, through all the time they had spent together and the dangers they had shared, he and Jolarr had hardly spoken. He didn't even know his planet of origin.

'I've used them,' said Jolarr, 'but I've not done much programming.

What are you trying to do?'

Grant explained. Jolarr knew most of the details anyway. He had been in the laboratory which now served as a makes.h.i.+ft control centre when Grant had arrived and asked Henneker to deliver his surrender.

The Bronze Knight hadn't been pleased about the Doctor's rescue, but there wasn't much he could do about it - and, as the Time Lord had predicted, the prospect of sending a s.h.i.+p full of cyborgs to the warcraft had mollified him. Grant tried not to worry about how he might explain himself if the Doctor's mission failed and Henneker insisted on going through with the suicidal back-up plan.

'Right,' said Jolarr when the explanation was over.

'Let's see what we can do.'

Grant was intrigued. 'I thought you wanted to stay out of this. You told Henneker there were good reasons for not getting involved.'

'I know,' said Jolarr, a little shamefaced, 'but after seeing what the Cybermen did... well, none of those reasons were good enough.' Grant remembered his own reluctance to come back to Agora and he gave his friend an understanding smile.

They clambered into the Cyber s.h.i.+p, Grant leading the way The c.o.c.kpit was undisturbed since his last visit. The hatchway to the conversion chamber stood open and Grant felt a cold tingle of sadness at the thought of Ben Taggart, rotting away in that G.o.dforsaken pit.

Dismissing the sensation, he turned to the one accessible terminal and prepared to start work. It all seemed simple enough. He had got to grips with the medical computer downstairs and this one seemed almost exactly similar in operating system and hardware design.

Standardization, he thought. Very efficient - and very useful for saboteurs.

'I don't think I'm going to need help after all,' he called over his shoulder. He had already accessed the menu and was hacking his way into the sensor arrays. 'This is going to be easy. I just hope the Doctor can do his bit, whatever he's planning.'

'He's handled worse situations,' said Jolarr. 'The Hives are full of his exploits.'

Even as that unexpected knowledge was revealed, Grant found himself staring at a string of numbers which shouldn't have been there.

He tried to divide his attention between the two puzzles. 'What Hives?' he asked absently. But Jolarr's explanation was lost to him as he suddenly realized what the on-screen anomaly represented.

'The conversion chamber,' Grant whispered. 'I'm trying to make the computer say that it's operating - but it's already saying that!' but it's already saying that!'

Only then did he register that Jolarr's answer to his question had halted mid-sentence. The p.r.i.c.kly feeling on Grant's neck told him what was behind him, but he turned anyway and muttered a hopeless, meaningless prayer beneath his breath.

Jolarr was frozen, eyes wide, jaw open, as a monstrous silver creature stepped off the ladder to the rear chamber and confronted them.

Grant's attention was riveted to the prominent gun barrels in its cranial bulge, which turned to cover both intruders in turn.

'You are trespa.s.sing on this s.h.i.+p,' said the Cyberman. 'You have two seconds to explain your presence, then I will kill you.'

13.

Half-Life

he Doctor remained in the TARDIS for several minutes after la T nding , inspecting his environment on the scanner screen. He remembered all too well the speedy reception which had greeted him on Agora. He still wasn't sure how the Cybermen's instruments had detected his arrival but, on the a.s.sumption that they were sensitive to ripples in the timestream, he had disengaged his s.h.i.+p's temporal circuits for this short hop. He couldn't afford to be captured. It occurred to him that Grant may have been right. He was risking the safety of a world on a point of principle. Not the sort of thing which looked good when history books were written.

He stepped out into a sumptuous bedroom suite, deep carpeted and decorated to human tastes in pastel colours. The original owners of the vessel were shrewd businessmen; they knew how to entertain guests.

The Cybermen, however, would have no use for this upper hospitality level, hence the Doctor's arrival here.

He eased open the door and peered into a huge, colonnaded hallway of marble and gold, relieved by the absence of an ambush - an obvious one, at least. The grand surroundings were dusty and smelt of dank neglect. The Doctor hurried across to a large, rectangular hole in the floor which, under normal use, would have resembled a swimming pool. With the water drained, its true function was revealed. It was an access hatch to the floor below, from which the Selachians could surface, water tanks in place, to greet air-breathing visitors. Immediately below, another hole led to the maintenance level - and this, the Doctor saw to his chagrin, was still waterlogged.

The Cybermen had dried out the operations deck to facilitate their own functioning, but Selachian engines and machinery of the sort contained beneath were designed to work best in aquatic conditions.