Doctor Who_ Beyond the Sun - Matthew Jones [25]
Emile’s first reaction was to try to push the older man away, but then the ship lurched again and Emile heard the spluttering sound of an electrical fire starting somewhere nearby.
‘Get out of my way, kid,’ Errol yelled as he clambered past him and made a grab for the door.
‘What’s going on?’ Emile climbed out from under the bedclothes, which had fallen on him, grabbed hold of his bag and then staggered out of the tiny cabin after Errol. The pilot shouted something that Emile couldn’t hear as he hurtled away.
The low corridors of the ship were full of smoke and steam. A pipe half buried in the wall shattered, spraying the corridor with hot, oily mist. Emile shrieked as he was scalded under a shower of spitting grease. He threw himself forward and then screwed his eyes tightly shut and groped his way to the bridge.
Bernice and Tameka were already standing in the doorway shouting at Errol, who’d climbed into the pilot’s chair.
‘Can’t you take evasive action?’ Tameka was yelling.
‘Evasive what?’ Errol looked at her in astonishment. ‘What do you think this is, a battleship? It takes fifteen minutes to make a forty-five-degree turn.’
Emile looked beyond them. The stars were being blocked by something. Something big.
‘Trouble,’ he told himself as he saw the grotesque ships ahead of them in the darkness.
‘Weapons?’
‘No.’
‘Force fields? Shields? Anything defensive?’
Errol frowned. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘I see. That good, eh? What about ordinary equipment which can be imaginatively used as a weapon or disguise or something.’ Bernice was, she had to admit, clutching at straws.
‘You mean like confusing their targeting systems by ejecting the cargo? Fill the space between us with a million tons of rice grains, that sort of thing?’
Bernice felt the first ray of hope. ‘Yes!’ she exclaimed, wagging a finger. ‘Precisely that sort of thing. Can you do it?’
Errol shook his head. ‘No. You can’t access the cargo holds from here. This is a haulage vessel, Bernice. I can take off, land, and . . . and that’s about it. The best I could do is uncouple this section from the cargo bins. It wasn’t built for anything like this.’ Another volley of shots glanced off the side of the vessel. ‘Somebody really doesn’t like you, Bernice, you know that?’
‘I’m afraid being shot at has become a bit of an occupational hazard.’
Errol looked bemused. ‘I thought you said you were an archaeologist?’
‘Yeah . . . well, academics can be the harshest critics.’
One of the lead ships let loose another barrage. The space outside the bubble glowed brilliant white for an instant – Bernice had to turn away and cover her eyes – and then they were knocked off their feet as the ship was hit. Metal groaned, grating in Bernice’s head, as the hull was pushed past its tolerance. Somewhere far below them, there was a shrieking sound as thick metal was torn. The deck they stood on lurched sickeningly.
Bernice staggered to her feet. Her vision was blurred and full of dark spots. Despite this she managed to get hold of both Tameka and Emile by the wrists and hung on tightly to them. ‘Errol, where are the lifeboats?’
Bernice blinked hard, willing her vision to return to normal. An outline of the bridge interior formed with infuriating slowness in front of her. One of the equipment banks had exploded, erupting hot plastic and warped metal over the floor and, she could now make out, over Errol.
He’d fallen from the pilot’s chair, blood running freely from a cut on his forehead. Bernice winced.
Hot plastic had splattered against his face, coating one eye like a mask. One of his legs was trapped under a smouldering sheet of metal.
‘Lifeboats?’ she demanded.
‘Bernice!’ he shouted. He didn’t seem to be able to see her. ‘Don’t leave me,’ his voice sounded thin and reedy. A boy’s voice, not his usual mature baritone. He tried to free his leg, but the metal burnt his hand. He howled.
Jesus, Bernice thought, God only knew what