Doctor Who_ Combat Rock - Mick Lewis [54]
‘You see what they make us do?’ he hissed at the Doctor as he straightened up, his lip trembling. ‘We just want live simple life. Happy life. We spiritual people, want live in peace, have family, grow food.’ His voice was dissolving into shaking rage. He shuddered and wiped his brow, the machete lifting with the action, catching sunlight. The buzz of the circling cruiser became a little louder. He tilted his head to shout at the sky. ‘This is what they have made us! We carry their murder fever in us now. Now we all killers.’ He looked down at the Doctor again, and he was crying.
The Doctor stood up. Santi and Wina needed consoling.
Wemus moved to do the honours with Wina as the Doctor had felt sure he would. He himself put an arm around Santi who continued to sob. She pushed him away, and he shrugged helplessly. Behind them, a dull thud.
Kepennis was lying stretched out in the grass. For a sickened moment the Doctor thought one of the guerrillas had chopped him too, but then realized the man was simply in a faint. Tigus prodded him distrustfully with his machete, then gestured to two of his men to drag him back into the jungle.
He gestured at the hostages to move ahead of him, and not one felt like resisting. He turned to look back at the body of his wife, bits of her blowing in the wind, and then followed his captives into the undergrowth.
‘Nothing. I don’t see our man down there.’ Clown was leaning forward to peer through the front view port. The bells on his jester’s hat jingled slightly as he shook his head in irritation.
‘Signal’s dead again,’ Twist said, prodding the radar scanner with his finger, as if that would make it blip into life.
‘S’like he’s playin’ with us. Don’t wanna be found yet.’
‘He’s having that much fun?’ asked Bass.
‘I could have told Sabit this search was useless,’ Clown said, moving back to take his seat again as Twist flipped the fuel boost and tipped the craft westwards. ‘We might as well wait until we hear something concrete. Besides, I’ve got something to attend to in Agat.’
‘What’s that?’ Pretty Boy wanted to know.
‘Just a little chore for Sabit. Something that’ll make him a very happy bunny. You lot can wait for me in Jayapul.’
‘Jayapul!’ Saw said with disgust. ‘We gotta spend the night in that shithole?’ He scratched his beard, dislodging pieces of a fish he’d been eating earlier.
‘Yeah, the whores ain’t so good in Jayapul: said Pan.
‘And you’d know,’ said Clown without smiling.
‘That’s right,’ Pan said, giving the man a broad, broad grin for his part, just to show that he couldn’t be riled. Not by a man, anyway.
Saw was interested. ‘What’s wrong with Jayapul whores?’
‘The Indoni ones look good, but they’re imports, so they cost more,’ he answered, like he was explaining the rules to some card game. ‘They also got lots of diseases. Whereas the Papul women – forget it: they stink. And they ain’t exactly hospitable, either. I mean, you can make ‘em be friendly, which can be quite interesting, but if you use force you usually got to dispose of ‘em afterwards. Sabit don’t like us leaving messes behind.’
‘You really are disgusting, aren’t you?’ Clown said.
Pan spread his hands in mock indignation. The cruiser was heading north now, buzzing the interminable tree tops, heading for Jayapul. Not one of the Dogs had seen the tragedy unfolding beneath them beside the burning village.
‘Let’s go use some women: Pan said, and lit another cigarette.
He’d been frozen there, unable to pull the curtain.
Had some power exuded by the Krallik locked him there, or was it just his own terror? His own cowardice?
Whatever, he must have sweated there staring at the black curtain for maybe half an hour. Maybe more.
Eventually, it was his own shame that goaded him forward.
He fumbled with the curtain, looking for some parting, his hand trembling. His heart was an engine, and it was going to blow. He shuffled along the curtain in the semi-darkness, reached the wall, where feeble shafts of daylight chinked through, and pulled the curtain to one side.
Beyond, of course,