Killing Ground Part 7

The Doctor frowned. 'You know, if you weren't such a fan, I could get quite upset about remarks like that.'

Grant had been left with the alien boy in a metal box-room, the dimensions of which gave them barely enough s.p.a.ce to both sit at the same time. His cellmate had introduced himself as Jolarr, but had said little since. Grant wondered if he was shy or just antisocial. He wasn't too adept at small talk himself, so after a startlingly misjudged comment along the lines of 'I hope the Cybermen turn up soon - I'm getting cramp,' he decided to make do with an awkward silence.

Amidst the background clangour, he failed to hear footsteps approaching. A viewing hatch was pulled back and Grant recognized the fervid eyes of Madrox. The door was yanked open to reveal him in full, with another Overseer at his shoulder. This one had black hair and a moustache and the lines of his face suggested that his miserable expression was habitual. Grant had seen him in the village.

'Out,' said the Chief Overseer curtly. Both prisoners struggled to their feet, but Madrox pushed Jolarr back. 'Not you.' He turned to Grant. 'I want to ask you a few questions. Bring him, Taggart.'

He turned and marched away. The man who had been identified as Taggart locked the door and took Grant's arm. As he did, he whispered, 'Don't give him your real name.' Grant nodded, recalling that Henneker had mentioned a 'Taggart' on many occasions. It was comforting to have an ally present, although Henneker had often complained about this one. He couldn't be relied upon.

Grant was led down metal corridors, all boringly similar, until he suspected that Madrox was taking him in circles deliberately to prolong the suspense. The monotony was broken as they descended two flights of a winding staircase. Then it was back to identical corridors for a further time. Eventually, they reached a small room, furnished only with a table and two chairs and lit by a bare bulb which concentrated light upon its centre whilst leaving the corners shadowed. It was an interesting contrast to the small, efficient lighting panels which punctuated the ceilings elsewhere.

Grant was ordered to take one chair, whilst Madrox sat in the other and leered across the table. Taggart stood by the doorway, not quite managing to look like a smart and efficient guard. When questioned, Grant took his advice and proffered a pseudonym. He chose 'Stuart Revell', but wished he hadn't. That had been the name of his best friend on New Earth. He had died, minutes before Grant had left his adoptive homeworld. Thrown from one dangerous situation to another, surrounded by unfamiliar things, it was easy to forget that one part of his life had gone for ever. He hadn't yet grieved properly and the memory of Stuart opened up a well of misery.

He steeled himself and tried not to think about it as he used a cover story prepared by Henneker. He said he had been born in the Outlands, the wilderness beyond the colony. It was a plausible lie. Several people had fled there over the years, as Madrox knew. He sent out odd patrols to bring some back, but only as a token gesture. When the Cybermen had taken over, they had done something to Agora's sun which had altered its climate. It was hotter than before and rain was less frequent.

Crop growth was difficult, and away from Population Control's alien food synthesizers, life was tough. Desertion, therefore, was a minor problem. The colonists stood more chance of surviving by keeping their heads down and following orders.

That was why, Grant said, he had opted to rejoin civilization as soon as he had grown up and left his parents. 'Perhaps you need a little time then,' Madrox growled with irony, 'to become accustomed to our laws - particularly those pertaining to curfew hours and to fraternization with dissidents.' Grant had no answer to that.

'Who else was with you?'

Madrox had to ask the question again, and even then Grant only managed to answer with a mumbled: 'I'm sorry?' He could feel himself beginning to tremble. He couldn't handle this. Whatever he said, he was going to give himself and the rebels away.

'There were two of you with the alien,' said Madrox, more fiercely.

'Who was the other man?'

'I still believe it must have been Henneker,' Taggart put in. Madrox shot him a furious glare.

Grant seized upon the lifeline, nodding eagerly. 'It was. I remember now, that's how he introduced himself. I j u s t . . . I ran into them both while I was exploring.'

Madrox leaned back and his face slipped into shadow. All Grant could see was the insane light of his eyes. 'I should kill you.' He fingered the muzzle of his gun, then added, 'I would be loath to waste such a specimen, though. Your tech-scan shows you are in fine condition apart from a degree of short-sightedness. We can correct that with laser surgery.' His mouth curled into a cruel half sneer. 'The Cybermen replace most of the eye during conversion anyway.'

Another pause, then Madrox made an attempt at a more genuine smile. 'Of course, you are also at a prime age for use as breeding stock - and, fortunately for you, we have now filled our last vacancy in Population Control. According to his scan, your friend is not so alien as to be unsuitable. I would suggest that, as you have a three-year reprieve, you use it to impress me. It could save your life.'

If I'm still here in three years, Grant thought, you can have it.

Hegelia was becoming tired and impatient. The absence of furniture forced her to stand, for to sprawl upon the floor would have been unseemly. She had hoped to have been attended to by now; to have had her demands for a transfer heeded. The last thing she wanted was to have to cope with the unceasing inanity of her present companion.

He never gave up. 'I'm only asking for a hairpin. Ra.s.silon knows, you're wearing enough to keep a voodoo enthusiast satisfied into the next decade.'

She tried again, making her flaying patience obvious. 'As I have attempted to explain, I have travelled to this world from the far future.

I cannot risk actions which could alter my past.'

'That's preposterous,' he retorted. 'By being here at all, you're risking that. If you hadn't been placed in this cell, I might have ended up sharing with someone more obliging. You could be keeping me trapped here when I should be out defeating Cybermen!'

Hegelia wanted to refute his argument, but found that she couldn't.

The Doctor noticed her consternation and pressed his advantage. 'If I die now because of you - before I've averted this flipflop disaster, or whatever it was - you might not have a present to return to. Are you so keen on the idea of letting the Cybermen destroy Earth and perhaps go on to conquer the galaxy?'

He was swaying her. But no. He was appealing to emotions and they could provide no basis on which to act. Cold rationality was the only way to decide. The only way to ensure efficiency. 'I know little about the events of this epoch, Doctor. However, history dictates that you do not die here, and that the Cybermen will return to Agora only once more. It will happen without my interference.'

'But with what consequences? How many deaths?' Her fellow prisoner was losing his temper. How improper of him, Hegelia thought.

'You might well be right. The Cybermen may not come back after this next time. If they were to leave the colony a radioactive cinder, there'd be no point, would there?'

'The problems of a primitive few in this era are of no long-term importance.'

'A primitive few?' the Doctor exploded. 'The Cybermen are due here in a matter of hours to harvest five hundred poor unfortunates from inside this building.' He jabbed a finger as best he could to his right, to the back of the cell. 'There's a boy on the far side of that wall, alone and terrified of what they're going to do to him. Do you want to try explaining to him how his fate won't matter in a few centuries time?

That he's going to die because of your supercilious indifference?'

Hegelia felt her own feelings stirring in response to his misapprehension. 'He is not going to die, Doctor. The Cybermen kill only those who resist them. That boy, along with all other occupants of this complex, will simply be converted.'

'Into one of their own soulless kind!' the Doctor snapped.

'Is that such a bad thing?' She caught his scandalized expression and stooped to bring their eyes level. She orated with pa.s.sion, 'Imagine that you can live for ever and life is totally free from pain. You can see all things with clarity and always make the right choice, unblinkered by irrelevant details. You know what you want and you have the intelligence, the power and the drive to achieve it. You will never regret your actions, never become confused. Never fear, never sicken, never lose control. That, Doctor, is what the Cybermen are offering.'

'The opportunity to become a faceless member of their army,' he countered scornfully. 'To follow orders, to live without emotion, to sacrifice the experiences which make existence worthwhile.'

'It is not such a sacrifice.'

'In that case, why don't they give their victims a choice?' He pointed again to the rear wall. 'My friend through there wouldn't let them rip out his heart and lungs and replace his frontal lobes with machinery!'

'He will feel quite differently once he is converted.'

'Well, yes,' said the Doctor, 'that's my point exactly.'

She had no response to his acid observation. She thought of the fear amongst the people of her own time, the haunted looks which shadowed their eyes when the possibility of a Cyber return was mooted.

She had intended to treat this exploration with the detachment she employed in poring over old, corrupted files. The thought that she was amongst real people - real, frightened people - was one which unsettled her. She had hoped to deny it.

She changed the subject to an easier one. 'Why do you require my a.s.sistance anyway? I had heard you were a pa.s.sable escape artist.'

'Oh, yes. The Cybermen heard that too. They took precautions. The Overseers searched me for sonic devices, locked me into this thing and didn't even equip my cell with a camera to strip down for spare parts. If you were to collapse with a critical illness, I doubt they would even open the door. They know my tricks too well.'

'Then has it not occurred to you,' said Hegelia haughtily, 'that they would not have placed me in here if they believed I could help?'

'Of course it has. But there's no harm in trying, is there?'

'Perhaps so, if this is some sort of trap. It may be the Overseers'

intention to allow you to break free. Have you considered that?'

'I agree,' said the Doctor, 'but on the whole, I'd rather take my chances against whatever they're planning without the shackles. At least I'd be able to scratch my neck.'

Hegelia glared at him, but was met only by a compelling expression of optimism. She sighed, reached up and yanked a pin from her carefully sculpted coiffure. coiffure. 'The locking panel is under a small cover next to my right ear,' said the Doctor hopefully. 'The locking panel is under a small cover next to my right ear,' said the Doctor hopefully.

Hegelia gave him the pin with bad grace. 'I believe you can reach it.'

'Thank you very much.' He grinned a madman's grin.

'I have to say,' said Hegelia, frowning in a mixture of disapproval and respect, 'that you are hardly what I expected.'

By the time Taggart and Grant left Population Control, the morning was well advanced. The sun, however, was invisible and the clouds which obscured it had darkened. Within the day it would surely rain, for the first time in months. Taggart was saddened by the unbidden memories of another deluge, fifteen years past, and a desperate battle which his cowardice had lost. He hoped things would work out better this time.

At least something had gone right. Madrox had ordained that 'Stuart Revell' should find a home, and Taggart had been charged with finding a s.p.a.ce for him and adding his name and new address to census records. Once they were past the perimeter fences, this gave them a chance to talk in private. The uppermost thing on Taggart's mind was to confirm his suspicions once and for all, although he was sure of them. 'It is Grant, isn't it?'

The boy nodded. 'I suppose Henneker mentioned me?'

Taggart mumbled something non-committal. The truth was, Henneker told him little. 'What was the false name in aid of?' Grant asked.

'Madrox might have remembered your real one from before you left.'

'He might?'

'You don't remember what happened? No, I suppose you wouldn't.

You were very young.'

'What did happen?' the boy asked eagerly.

Taggart didn't have time for this. He could only stay outside for so long before his colleagues became suspicious. There were only a few that he could trust to cover for him. 'We got you off this planet,' he said quickly, 'you and a few others. We wanted at least someone to be free of the Cybermen.'

'I see,' said Grant, although his tone suggested that he didn't. He was plainly going to ask more questions, so Taggart leapt in.

'What the h.e.l.l are you doing back here?'

'I was travelling with the Doctor. Didn't Henneker tell you?'

Taggart stopped, astonished, and stared at Grant as if to check for any indication of a he. 'So you're the mysterious companion that everyone's looking for?' He remembered the two new prisoners and corrected himself: 'One of the companions.'

'The only one. I don't know where the aliens came from.'

Taggart was confused. Still, he needed to get a message to Henneker, that hadn't changed. The rebel leader was probably unaware that Madrox was wise to him. He could go back to his home at any time and run into the patrol which had been left to guard it. That would be disastrous.

'Listen,' he said, 'there's something Henneker needs to know.'

'I'll bet there is,' said Grant. 'What did you give him away for in there, anyway?'

'Madrox knew about him already. I don't know who you were really with last night, but I didn't see the point in tipping him off about someone else.'

Grant nodded understandingly. 'It was actually Henneker.' He thought for a moment, then said: 'The bunker's not far. Have we got time for a detour or will Madrox notice? We can tell Henneker what's happened and see how things are going.'

For a second, Taggart thought about telling Grant that he didn't know where the bunker was. But it had always rankled that Henneker wouldn't trust him with the information, and it would be comforting to see the rebel leader face to face. He glanced back at the complex, an illogical worry telling him that Madrox was standing behind him, staring icily. He wasn't, of course.

Taggart shrugged. 'Lead on,' he said.

They took a sharp turn which led them away from the nearest village and set them on a parallel course to the fence. As they walked, an ominous roll of thunder rent the stillness and Taggart s.h.i.+vered in a sudden rush of freezing air.

The monitor's flickering image showed two figures pus.h.i.+ng through the stunted black growth above the rebels' hideaway. Max started when she saw that one wore an Overseer's uniform. She was about to raise the alarm when she recognized the other one as Grant. Then the trapdoor was opened, weak sunlight filtered into the musty bunker and Ben Taggart climbed onto the precarious wooden ladder.

Max's relief was contrasted by Henneker's explosive reaction. 'How the h.e.l.l did you find us?'

'I needed to talk to you,' said Taggart, sidestepping the question. It seemed obvious to Max that, in fact, Grant had brought him here. One look at the teenager's face showed that he had not known he was breaking a confidence.

Taggart didn't leave time for objections. He launched into his story, to which Max listened with interest. He told them about the aliens, about how Madrox believed they were the long sought-after companions of the Doctor. He then explained how much Madrox had learned of the rebellion and he warned Henneker about a permanent guard on his house. Henneker clearly blamed him for giving away as much as he had, although Max found herself wondering what else he could have done in the circ.u.mstances. She had to admit, though, that he posed a problem - which Henneker put into words.

'How do we know you won't give away the location of this place?'

'I won't, I promise,' said Taggart. 'Besides, I think Madrox will leave me alone now. He thinks I've told him everything.'

'We could keep him here,' suggested Max. 'The Cybermen are due today. The Overseen wouldn't have time to miss him before it hits the fan.'

Henneker thought about it. Max saw that Taggart was terrified by the mere prospect. 'No,' the rebel leader said finally, 'we can't afford to let the Overseers know there's anything wrong yet. Anyway, there's something he can do for us.'

'What?' asked Taggart cautiously.

'Free the aliens.'

He immediately turned white, and Max didn't blame him. 'What was that you were saying about tipping our hand?'

'They might not notice a couple of missing prisoners,' Henneker countered. 'Not until it's too late, anyway.'

'You're mad! We don't need to do this. The Project -' She checked her words. They didn't need Taggart to learn even more than he already had done. 'You know how far we progressed last night,' she rephrased carefully. 'What do we need the aliens for?'

'Because, in case you hadn't noticed, we're behind schedule. We won't be ready before the Cybermen arrive, maybe not before they've gone. These people might have weapons or machines which can help.

They've certainly got a s.h.i.+p - we know they didn't travel here with Grant and the Overseers aren't even looking for it.'

'So you're prepared to risk Taggart's life on an off-chance!' Max wondered why she was sticking up for the Overseer. She thought about his patrol taking Martin away and sternly told herself that she had no reason to care about what happened to this traitor. But Henneker was wrong. She had only recently berated him at length for losing Grant, and now she could see him making the same mistake again.

'I'll do it,' said Taggart suddenly. Max suspected that he had meant to appear decisive, but his voice came out small. 'But just the boy,' he said.