Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [72]
Recalling how his attempt to communicate with the Xaranti in their own craft had effectively thrown a spanner into their mental works, the Doctor summoned all his willpower. He took a deep breath and stepped boldly out, not exactly into the line of fire, but certainly into full view.
‘Stop!’ he shouted, raising his hands and instantaneously transmitting an intense telepathic command to the same effect. The result was startling; the firing ceased abruptly. For a few moments the only sound that could be heard was the stertorous breathing of the wounded Xaranti. The Doctor looked at the troops, who gazed back at him, their eyes glittering in the half-light.
He shifted his attention to the Xaranti, turning his head slowly like a man in the midst of dangerous animals who had been instructed not to make any sudden moves.
Concentrating hard he adjusted the message to envelop the creature in a soothing balm of comforting, reassuring thought-waves. Several moments later he sensed the creature relaxing slightly and sent a feathery tendril of enquiry probing deeper into its brain. He gained access with such disconcerting ease that he could only conclude the Xaranti mind operated on similar frequencies to his own. At last he touched upon a few vestiges of human thought and emotion, struggling feebly like a fly ensnared in the sticky secretions of a carnivorous plant. He sensed confusion and fear, plucked out a name: Guy Elkins. Even as he accessed this information he could sense it dissolving, melting down into the substance destined for the controlling mind of the Xaranti queen.
The Doctor moved slowly towards the creature, shards of fibreglass crunching underfoot. Slowly, shakily, the Xaranti unfolded its legs and raised itself up. The Doctor sensed that the gesture was not a threatening one, but was a display almost of trust, of wary greeting. He continued to sluice the creature in a steady, soothing telepathic tide, speaking gently to it as he did so, like a vet trying to calm an injured dog.
‘Hello, Guy. It is Guy, isn’t it? Now don’t be afraid. I’m here to help you if I can...’
Vaguely he became aware of some kind of kerfuffle behind him in the ranks, but tried not to let it distract him. He would have to rely on Sergeant Benton to sort it out - if he still had enough presence of mind to do so, that was.
Next moment, however, he heard rapid footsteps behind him, accompanied by a warning shout: ‘Get down, Doctor!’
His concentration all but broken, the Doctor half-turned and saw Mike Yates skidding to a halt a few feet behind him, levelling his gun at the Xaranti.
‘No!’ shouted the Doctor, but it was too late.
Two shots rang out. The first hit the Xaranti in the abdomen, fluid spurting out of the wound to spatter on the floor. The second glanced off one of its legs and ricocheted away into the darkness.
The Doctor felt the delicate telepathic link he had established with the Xaranti snap like frayed elastic. The creature opened a flap-like mouth and bellowed like a bull elephant in rage and pain. It reared up into a fighting stance, its legs rigid, back arched. Then, so fast it was almost a blur, it whipped its tail over its head in a huge arc and buried its sting deep into the soft flesh above the Doctor’s collarbone.
Part Four
Changing Times
The thickening fog in the Brigadier’s mind was closing in on all sides, obliterating the landscape of his thoughts. The barrage of mathematical questions which the Doctor had been bombarding him with, and his responses to them, had been like a torch beam lighting his way, preventing him from straying off the path.
Even with the Doctor’s help, however, the torch batteries had been steadily failing, the light growing weaker the closer they came to the heart of darkness. The Brigadier might well have succumbed completely if it hadn’t been for the gunfire.