Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [47]
As the assassin walks through the tunnels soldiers pass, staring always forward, contemplating their own fate and not the enemy in their midst. At one junction a senior officer demands identification, but once this is given he loses interest, and sets off in a different direction.
The corridor branches into an unexpected junction – the maps are in error. The assassin pauses, decides on one doorway, but it does not open. Security clearance is insufficient.
The assassin pauses, calculates a new route, then walks away.
It is stopped moments later by a biomechanoid, hastily assembled from the scraps of flesh and metal recovered from a bombed-out bunker. The assassin wonders briefly if this thing can innately recognise its enemy. Perhaps a fury burns deep within its circuitry and sluggishly pumping hearts, fury at being denied the peace of death – and it adopts all protocols, with precise formality and an absence of humour.
The assassin tries to placate the mechanoid, to reason with it.
But, somehow, suspicions have been aroused. An arm, blackened with the smoke of the original attack and now kept alive by a network of pulsing tubes, raises a simple percussive weapon.
The assassin pauses as if in meek surrender, and waits for the moment. The biomechanoid turns, about to call others to its aid.
The assassin strikes, completing the job left half-done. As the biomechanoid dies, there are no screams – the creatures that formed it welcome the silence of darkness.
The assassin continues towards its target. The dome will soon be on alert – but the target is close, so very close.
And then it will be over.
Result of action:
Dome penetrated. Unassigned mechanoid destroyed. Mission success index: 59.1%.
‘It is as I predicted.’ Mykola’s face broke into a satisfied smile.
‘The wolves did not threaten us.’
‘Indeed, sir,’ said the Doctor. ‘We are all in your debt.’ He dusted down his frock coat and trousers, breathing deeply in the fresh morning air.
‘I am sure my men would have responded in a similar manner,’ replied Mykola modestly. ‘I was simply the first to wake. Your own actions should be commended.’
The Doctor looked at the young captain closely, aware that his respect for him was rising. The reality was proving rather different to the shallow villain or easily swayed weakling he, and perhaps Governor Dmitri, had expected. Whatever Mykola had done in the recent past – and that, at the very least, seemed to involve lying in order to incriminate Steven – his considered admissions to the Doctor spoke of a man still struggling to come to terms with other people’s expectations of him and with the awful authority of command.
‘We must move out now,’ said Mykola, staring at the just-rising sun. ‘I sense that the Tartars are not far away.’
‘How will you know for sure?’ queried the Doctor.
‘I believe we will hear them plain enough.’
Within minutes they were back on their horses, provisions and equipment safely stowed away, and were heading implacably for the Mongol army.
The Doctor rode at the front of the group, alongside Mykola. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, to say to the man.
Subtle questioning had produced little by way of an honest response, but a straight question would probably get no answer at all. And so the Doctor lapsed into silence, mulling over Mykola’s careful words, and his own fears for the safety of Dodo and Steven in Kiev.
It was the young captain who spoke first, about an hour into their journey. ‘Do you think your friends will be safe in the city?’
he asked, as if reading the Doctor’s mind.
‘Steven is a man of great character and resourcefulness,’ said the Doctor. ‘And Dodo is quite capable of looking after herself.’
Mykola glanced away from him, lowering his voice. ‘I meant... Do you