Doctor Who_ Companion Piece - Mike Tucker [37]
`W hat's wrong? Return fire!' del Toro shouted.
`Sire: replied one of the ship's officers, executing a hasty bow, 'they've knocked out our weapons systems. There are a dozen ships out there. There's nothing we can do.
The massive screen that dominated the bridge suddenly sprang into life. A huge, scarred, semi-humanoid alien clad in modern battle-armour surmounted with furs, grinned at them from the screen.
`The peace of God be with you, the figure said, smirking. `I am General Grigg of the Grand Army of the pious Brotak, supreme among species, Tsar of all the Magellanic Clouds, God's vice- gerent in space. Surrender your ship.'
`No: said del Toro in a tone of low defiance. 'You know who I am?'
`No,' said Grigg. 'But I want your ship.'
`Burn in hell, barbarian!' snarled del Toro.
`Then you leave me no choice but to take it said General Grigg, and the screen went blank.
Cat was aware of the lurching of the ship, and hoped that things weren't getting too bad. She found her way to the hold again with ease — it was too big to miss, and everyone she passed seemed too preoccupied to challenge her.
There seemed to be some sort of argument going on inside. She could hear a number of voices, some raised, one sobbing. She opened the door and went in.
Kneeling on the floor before the huge black cross was the peasant who had seen the TARDIS arrive in Braak. He was naked to the waist, and was beating his back with a thin, vicious looking stick, scoring great wheals in his own flesh, drawing blood and sobbing loudly.
`All gone . . . ' he sobbed. 'My family, my home . . . now my faith .. . W hy? Why did you show me?'
He was screaming now.
`You stole my hope of salvation!'
He was kneeling in front of an open crate. The other voices seemed to be coming from within the crate.
`Ego to absolve: one of them constantly repeated.
`No!' another shouted. 'He must burn! All Greeks must burn!'
A third voice seemed to be singing quietly in Latin. Cat recognised the tune — it was part of the mass for the dead that she had recently attended in Braak cathedral.
The kneeling man hadn't noticed Cat. She edged behind him.
Inside the crate, sitting amongst shreds of packaging, were three disembodied heads. Two were gleaming and translucent, and Cat could make out a delicate filigree of wires inside the black skulls. The third was nothing more than wires and miniscule tubes, set vaguely in the shape of a skull. Their dead eyes were all looking around, and the two that had mouths were chanting in Latin and ranting about the Greeks respectively. The third was the source of the singing.
`Save yourself, if you can, Philippo: another voice rang out across the cavernous hold. 'There is no salvation to be found in the Church any more
Cat looked up. It was the Bishop, Agatho, standing over by the goldfish-bowl control for del Toro's machine. At his feet lay the body of one of the priests.
`You!' Agatho narrowed his eyes as Cat approached.
`W hat's going on?' asked Cat, moving closer so that she could get a better look at the body. She looked at the face of the corpse. She stopped, feeling suddenly ice-cold.
`Paddy . . . ' she whispered.
`They've cut into the hull on deck three, sire! They're decimating the
guard!'
`They're using gas weapons: snarled del Toro.
`Do you have protective suits?'
`No, Doctor. There has been no need since his Holiness outlawed the use of such weapons:
`They follow the dolphin Celestine, said the Patriarch archly. 'Perhaps he disagrees with the ban.'
`Listen, old man: snarled del Toro, 'you may be venerated for sitting on your arse in your cloister mumbling mystical nonsense for twenty years, but this is the reality of God's creation. It's a mess!'
He turned to an officer who had just run in. The side of the young man's face was badly burned . . .
`How many of the guard are left?'