Doctor Who_ Christmas on a Rational Planet - Lawrence Miles [79]
‘Obviously not,’ sniffed the Doctor. ‘Astra is a horrible place. Typical twenty-fifth century Earth colony. All pot-plants and air-conditioning. Waste of a decent terraforming opportunity, in my view. But you’ve dealt with my kind before?’
Raphael seemed quite happy to listen to his ramblings.
‘Naturally. You are one of les bêtes aux deux coeurs, am I correct? The devils with two hearts.’ The Doctor winced at his French. ‘I am quite prepared to deal with all the tricks that your kind have at their disposal. I was amused, incidentally, by your attempts to hypnotize me. And your martial arts skills are considerable, though your left arm seems to be doing twice the work of your other extremities. I suspect the species which developed the moves you attempted possessed a fifth limb, or other such protrusion.’
‘Indeed.’ The man was human, then, certainly not sent by the same intelligence that controlled Catcher; Raphael was too well organized. ‘You’re remarkably observant, Raphael. I assume that isn’t your real name?’
‘You assume correctly. But my abilities are less remarkable than you may think. The human form can perform the most extraordinary acts, if it is applied to one specific task. For five years now, every waking moment of my existence has been spent preparing for confrontations such as this. As you may have surmised, this has been done at the expense of my personal identity. If it’s any consolation to you in your final hour, I have absolutely no social life.’
The Doctor narrowed his eyes. ‘But who were you, Raphael? What was your name, before they turned you into an assassin?’
‘A-ha. You are attempting to re-awaken my buried individuality, in the hope that I might rebel against my conditioning.’ The Doctor felt a sliding sensation between his shoulder blades, the scalpel retracting. ‘I would like you to know that I appreciate these efforts. It is good to have this opportunity to put my training to the test.’
‘You’re not scaring me, you know,’ muttered the Doctor, lying ever so slightly. ‘The Great Beast of Tara is scarier than you are.’ As soon as the blade left his body, he rolled over, ready to make his move. He soon realized that there would be little point. Raphael was leaning over him, the scalpel in his hand drawing the eye away from his face so that the only thing you could concentrate on was the blade. A good trick, the Doctor thought. Some form of energy seemed to buzz through the blade, and the object ended in a stubby handle, covered in tiny silver bumps that looked almost like –
– no. No, that kind of technology wouldn’t exist on Earth for another four hundred years, surely?
‘Do you like it?’ Raphael asked, sounding genuinely curious. ‘In a sense, you could say that your kind supplied it.’
‘The Time...?’ the Doctor began, then bit his tongue.
‘Perhaps not your exact species. There was a caillou visitation in my native land, over a century ago. Fragments of aethereal machinery were found in the wreckage that the visitors left behind. My employers went to considerable lengths to hunt down the relics.’ He waved the scalpel lazily.
‘This is the result.’
‘You can’t possibly understand the full potential of the technology you’re playing with,’ hissed the Doctor, and was out of breath by the end of the sentence.
‘I agree,’ said Raphael. ‘Not that it makes much difference to you, of course. Now. My superiors in France are quite keen on the ideals of fraternity and equality, as you may know. And you do seem to have more than your fair share of hearts.’
He leant closer. ‘Let’s see what we can do to rectify that,’
he concluded, and the scalpel glinted in a way that was so sinister it just had to be deliberate.
Drums of chaos. Howling gods of the jungle. Shadows were reaching up out of the ground, fingers of tar wrapping themselves around the flailing limbs of the Renewalists, and the men were gurgling like children as the hands of ancient, impossible things dragged them into the dust. All around them, the jungle was laughing hysterically.
Daniel tried to concentrate on their prisoners. Savages, they