Killing Ground Part 6

'We have no choice. These aliens might have knowledge or technology to help us, like you did. We can't let it fall into the wrong hands.'

Grant had half-heartedly persisted, knowing that his was a doomed argument. Henneker could be more stubborn than Max. He wished he had had the surgeon's courage. She had told their leader that she was too busy to be running his fool's errand - and even the villager who had stumbled into the bunker and breathlessly imparted his information had backed away with a series of excuses.

Grant had given in - and so he was here, lying flat on his stomach in the centre of Liberty (or Sector One, as it had been renamed), regretting that he had heeded Max's advice to leave his gla.s.ses behind as he squinted myopically into the darkness. 'They'll pay for this tomorrow,'

vowed Henneker. 'Madrox especially.'

Grant wasn't so sure, but this was no time to differ. He tugged at his colleague's sleeve. 'At least they can't know about the aliens, else they'd be looking for them too.'

Henneker nodded and turned away reluctantly. Grant guessed that force of habit alone added confidence to his next words. 'Come on then, let's carry on searching. We're a step ahead of the Overseers, at least.'

Taggart had not given Henneker away. But he had, under threat of an old friend's death, revealed the names of some people he knew to be helping him. The second of these had avoided the brutal, public and messy fate of the first by making even Taggart seem tight-lipped. He had not known the location of the bunker, but Madrox didn't care. He had the name of the rebel leader and, jubilantly, he led the patrol to Henneker s home.

He was disappointed (and Taggart was secretly relieved) to find n.o.body in residence. He discharged his gun into the ground and ranted until Taggart feared that he would drag each one of the missing man's neighbours outside and kill them to relieve his frustration. It was at times like this when Madrox was most frightening. His anger was typically uncontrolled, bordering on the fanatical; he could snap at any moment and sometimes did. This time, however, the tirade ended without casualties. The Chief Overseer stood, breathing deeply to bring himself back into harness. His stony face was set harder than normal and his lank brown hair shone with perspiration.

That was when an elderly woman stepped from the shadows and coughed politely. Alert and dangerous again, Madrox whirled and brought his gun up to cover the newcomer. 'You are breaking curfew, citizen!' he shouted with unnecessary venom. He switched the weapon to 'stun'; more, Taggart thought, to make a threatening click than because he felt merciful.

'I'm sorry, sir,' the woman said, 'but I thought you'd want to know as soon as possible. There are aliens in the colony.'

Madrox's expression froze. He took another measured breath, his nostrils flaring, and lowered the gun slightly. 'I took them into my home,' the woman said, a little more confidently now that she had her ruler's interest. 'I thought it was best to keep them there until I could contact you.'

The change in Madrox was total. He relaxed and let his gun hand fall to his side. 'You did right,' he said, and a nasty smile of triumph spread across his features.

'I've got you, Time Lord,' he whispered, staring into the distance as if at his absent foe. 'Got you!'

Jolarr wriggled uncomfortably on a lumpy mattress. In the next berth, Hegelia lay fully clothed on her back, asleep despite everything. They had not learned much from their host - the ArcHivist had been particularly irritated by the woman's refusal to discuss the Cybermen - but at least, for tonight, they seemed safe enough. Jolarr hated to think beyond that.

Awake and restless, he climbed off the bed and stood by the window, staring through the slats of the shutters at the landscape of a world not his own. He s.h.i.+vered and considered another advantage of HyperReality: the machine's 'off' node, to provide immediate withdrawal from unpleasant situations.

He withdrew instinctively when he saw the security men - Overseers, the woman had called them - marching across the empty market square. It took him a second or two to realize that his supposedly gracious host was accompanying them. More time slipped through his grasp as he tried to convince himself that he was imagining things. And then he heard the downstairs door cras.h.i.+ng open and his most pessimistic thoughts were proved well founded.

Jolarr rushed to where Hegelia lay and shook her. She didn't wake and he didn't have time to try again. He rushed out onto the landing, but one of the Overseers - a hazel-haired man with a stern face, flared nostrils and eyes which rivalled Hegelia's for intensity - was on the stairs and fast approaching. 'I am Chief Overseer Madrox and you are under arrest. Don't try to resist!'

He backed away. Madrox closed the gap between them and reached for him, but Jolarr lashed out instinctively and his would-be captor stumbled backwards. The rest of the Overseers - presumably his subordinates - crowded the stairway as if eager to be seen to help.

In desperation, Jolarr vaulted the wooden banister. He made a jarring landing in the hallway far below and fell against the wall. Necessity made him ignore the pain. He recovered his balance and went for the door, shoving off the Overseer who moved to block him. He was cen-timetres from freedom when a shot rang out and a stabbing sensation numbed the muscle in his left shoulder. He grunted, twisted and hit the door frame. Two Overseers closed in but he thrashed his arms and, somehow, his lithe form managed to slip through them.

He was clear then, racing into the night, his grazed arm hanging like a dead weight, limping to favour his injured foot. Unfamiliar buildings flashed by. He didn't know where he was going. All he could think was that Hegelia was surely a prisoner. He couldn't hide behind her wisdom any longer. Jolarr had seen no signs of pursuit, but still he ran. There was nothing else to do.

Two figures loomed before him and he swerved to avoid them. Too late. He was held in the muscular arms of a tall, broad man who hissed at him to be quiet and still; he was amongst friends. It took a few seconds for that to register, then Jolarr ceased his struggles and was set free. He stepped back, head aching and legs feeling hollow in the aftermath of adrenalin-fuelled activity. The man who had held him was in his mid-twenties. Blond hair fell down in a straight fringe, cutting across one calculating blue eye. His face was strong and determined.

His companion was only a few years older than the Graduand himself.

He stood back, waiting on the other's lead.

'There were two of you,' the older man said. 'What happened to the woman?'

'Your security people - the Overseers - caught her.'

'Right. Let's get you to the bunker. We can talk there.' He set off at a trot, without checking to see if they were following. He was used to being obeyed, Jolarr concluded - and, despite his weariness, he fell into step beside the teenager. They jogged in silence for an indeterminate time and it occurred to him that they were heading towards the complex at the colony's centre. They didn't get there.

The blond man stopped and chivvied them into the darkness between two houses. Four Overseers appeared in the street. They were running and their ranks were broken, in contrast to the military precision of the group he had seen earlier. This was no routine patrol.

They were searching. The fugitives backed down the pa.s.sage and emerged into a square, surrounded by windows. Jolarr couldn't shake the idea that the buildings had eyes and were relaying his location to his enemies. He was relieved when they pa.s.sed quickly through the place, and soon he noticed that the leader was attempting to bring them around in a circle. Once again, they were kept from their destination.

The man cursed as he turned and led them back, his speed increased by urgency. 'I don't understand,' he said, once they were un.o.bserved, huddled by the blind side of a storage hut. 'They're blocking us all ways.'

'They couldn't have found the bunker, could they?' his companion asked with a hint of panic.

The leader shook his head, but the denial was hardly wholehearted.

He was scared too, and his fear grew visibly as they all heard footsteps, perilously close. 'I don't believe this!' He led them away,' keeping low as they darted from shadow to shadow, alert for signs of movement. They changed course several times, veering one way then another, always finding the Overseers one step ahead, slowly herding them into a corner.

They emerged onto the sloping gra.s.sland which separated the village from the Cyber complex. The blond man hesitated and cast about in agitation. Then he looked at Jolarr, saw the ragged sleeve of his suit where the gunshot had hit, and cursed again. 'They've tagged you!'

To Jolarr, the words were like the p.r.o.nouncement of a death sentence. He listened dazedly as the man informed him that they couldn't help. Their only hope was to separate, so that maybe one of them could get through the blockade. He gave Jolarr no time to argue.

He pushed him back towards the village and sent his colleague to the right. He raced in the opposite direction himself and Jolarr was left conspicuously alone.

He took a few staggering, automatic steps before he came to a fear-frozen halt at the village border. A cl.u.s.ter of figures loomed out of the darkness and Jolarr stared down the muzzles of four guns.

Grant stumbled on through the undergrowth, the coiled wire which surrounded Population Control his only point of reference through the darkness and his short-sightedness. It occurred to him that Henneker had sent him away from the bunker, towards which he himself had headed. Was he really so expendable, he wondered?

For a minute he thought he was going to make it anyway. The patrols had closed in on the alien, allowing him to escape. He could slip through their net. Then a powerful light stabbed out from the metal building, obscuring his vision with b.a.l.l.s of yellow. He tried to keep going, but fell against the wire. A barb cut through his thin Agoran clothing and gouged a b.l.o.o.d.y line into his leg. He tore himself free with no thought to the pain and carried on running. The ground rolled beneath him at a terrifying speed and his mind insisted that he could fall at any moment. His subconscious countermanded any such concern and drove, him on. His lungs were bursting, his legs ached and he experienced a flashback to the nightmare battlefield, imagining dreadnoughts hard on his heels.

Grant was no longer conscious of his surroundings, just of the imperative to keep running for survival.

As usual, it was all Ben Taggart's fault. He had seen the alien in his sights and hesitated, but had been only too aware of Madrox's presence.

He had thumbed the switch on his gun to the third and least harmful setting, then fired. The pellet had hit, sending a mildly radioactive dye into its target's bloodstream and ensuring that he would show up on scans. Madrox had called out every patrol to apprehend the fugitive.

The Chief Overseer had been in his element, rapping orders into his tech-unit, acknowledging news of the alien's capture, arranging for a floodlight to help find the others and coordinating his underlings to close inexorably in on the conspirators. He enjoyed cat and mouse games, particularly when he couldn't lose.

They heard the shouts of the Patrol Three Leader first and saw the boy seconds later, by the fence of Population Control. He seemed to be a colonist, but with die light behind him, it was hard to tell. He doubled back from the first patrol towards Taggart's and, finding himself surrounded, was paralysed like a threatened rabbit. The Overseers closed in and Taggart shaded his eyes, his own vision not yet adjusted, to make out who they had caught. Please don't let it be Henneker, he prayed.

Madrox operated the bio-scan mode of his tech-unit. 'An Agoran native,' he confirmed, 'but one whose ident.i.ty is not registered.' He folded the unit back into its housing, deciding that the problem could wait. He sneered triumphantly at his captive and produced the studded leather glove from his belt strap. He slipped it on and delivered a blow to the boy's face. His victim fell, nose bleeding.

Patrol Six arrived, the boy from the house cuffed to its Leader.

Madrox didn't need to scan him. The strange material of his clothes would have marked him out as an offworlder even if his white skin, his thatch of short black hair and his deep, black, almond-shaped eyes had not. 'So we have the Doctor's other companion, yes? Well, we have certainly met our quota for this period.' The Agoran native had been hauled to his feet and Madrox looked him in the eye. 'In fact, we seem to have more bodies than we can use.'

The boy didn't meet his stare. His head dropped and turned so that his profile was illuminated. Taggart studied his face, clearly visible for the first time - and, unexpectedly, a dam burst in his mind and allowed a startling truth to flood in.

At first, he tried to deny it. He looked for some feature to disprove his mad theory. It had been thirteen years, after all. How could he be sure that this was the same person? But the more he stared, the more obvious the resemblance was. It was him.

This wasn't fair. What was the boy doing here? Why now?

After all this time, why had Grant Markham made the fatal mistake of coming home?

4.

New Man

egelia had heard the approach of her captors in time to get to her H feet, pat down her crumpled robes and adjust her hair. She had greeted them, arms folded, looking like a queen in her finery. 'At last!'

she had said. 'Do you know how long I have waited?'

Truth to tell, the ArcHivist had half expected this. She had not been surprised to hear the pleadings of the old woman as she was led past her: 'You will remember I've been loyal? I have a young son. He's my last.'

Despite her vehement objections, Hegelia had been handcuffed. She had approached Population Control, nevertheless, with customary dignity. It would seem to spectators, she decided, that she was the jailer, her guard the prisoner. They stopped at the gates and she watched as he sent out an ultrasonic signal from his tech-unit. A camera swivelled to observe them, then the wire-mesh barricade swung open.

They followed an erratic path across the grounds, the Overseer studying his unit as it guided them through ground-based defences.

Hegelia was careful to tread only where his footprints had flattened the gra.s.s. Another signal and another camera gave them access to the building proper. She marvelled at its construction: simple, efficient and logical. It was typical of Cyber architecture, and it thrilled her to observe it as its creators intended, instead of sifting through rusted ruins.

The Overseer left her in a rectangular cell. She saw, with some irritation, that it was not empty. Her cohabitant was a youngish man with fair hair and gaudy clothing, from which she inferred that he was not an Agoran. His wrists were manacled and his neck held in restraints which forced him to kneel. His face was dirty and bruised and the ArcHivist's impression was of some sort of vagabond.

Are you here to question me?' he asked, when they were alone. 'Beat me up?' He raised a hopeful eyebrow. 'Free me, perhaps?'

She sniffed. 'Our imprisonment is the only thing we have in common. I suggest we do not waste our time in chatter.'

'Quite right,' he said in an ebullient tone. 'Why don't we get straight down to the business of escaping?'

'I have no wish to leave.'

'You don't?' He seemed puzzled. Then he brightened. 'Perhaps you could just help me then?'

She rounded on him. 'Young man, I do not think you have listened to a word I have said.'

'And I'm the Doctor. Nice to meet you. Excuse me if I don't rise.'

'No - you can't be!'

Her fellow prisoner shrugged with false modesty (no mean feat, held as he was). 'I have been told that my youth belies the reality of my reported exploits.'

She wasn't convinced. 'The same Doctor who is spoken of in the history of the Cybermen?'

'I rather hoped they would be spoken of in mine.'

'You repelled the invasion of Earth in 1970?'

'Not to mention 1986, when Mondas returned to its solar system.'

'You are the same Doctor who sealed the tombs on Telos?'

'Not quite the same, but -'

'Which regeneration?'

Hegelia had caught him offguard with that question. He clearly hadn't expected her to know so much. 'Well... number six.'

'You fought them in Antarctica when they tried to sabotage the FLIPback project!'

'I really don't think you want to be telling me that.'

'Your future,' Hegelia guessed. 'I remember you now, from the description. Of your jacket, at least. You are the one who returned to Telos when the Cybermen discovered time travel.'

'Guilty as charged.'

Hegelia brimmed over with resentment at a role model destroyed.

'Then how can it be that you, the so-called arch-foe of the Cyber race, can in reality be such a facetious buffoon?'