Doctor Who_ Ghost Light - Marc Platt [57]
‘I wanted to see how it worked,’ it said, ‘so I dismantled it.’ Its cold stare settled on Nimrod’s own wondering eyes.
‘But I need another specimen...’
Nimrod bowed his head. ‘Sir, you are Light. Long ago, my people worshipped you as the Burning One.
The pupils of Light’s eyes narrowed. ‘I know you. I took you up as the last specimen of the extinct Neanderthal race from Earth.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘At least they knew when to stop evolving. Who released you from your quarantine cubicle?’
‘Mr Josiah, sir. I am in his service.’
That name again, undoubtedly the evolved form of the Survey Agent. Still, here was a specimen that Light could discourse with. It pointed a finger into the air and teased the molecules so that they flared into visibility, spinning in a glowing orb before it.
‘Look at these microbes. They’re evolving even as I speak! If this is Earth, my entire catalogue of the planet is worthless! Centuries of work wasted!’
It flicked its finger and the orb disintegrated into the air. Nimrod tried to take in the god’s words, but all he could perceive were the cold eyes and the callous, empty voice.
His people revered the state of mind that others called madness, but Light was beyond this different sanity.
Nimrod realized with mounting fear that his god was destructively and monstrously unhinged.
The door opened and Mackenzie appeared, out of breath and red in the face. Seeing Nimrod, he gasped, ‘Thank heavens. Safe at last. That mad woman’s after me. She’s...’
he faltered as Light emerged from behind Nimrod’s shoulder.
‘And if we don’t want things to change,’ it said, ‘we make sure that they cannot!’
Mackenzie fell backwards against the door as all colour drained from him. Under the stare, he began to sink slowly to the floor, choking and frothing, his eyes streaming with rich dark tears.
Ace knew enough about fights to easily hold her own against a genteel Victorian miss, but she was in a state of nervous shock and Gwendoline had the strength of a Turkish wrestler. Ace caught her first whiff of chloroform and fought like a demon. Screwing her eyes shut, she kicked and bit for all she was worth. Gwendoline stumbled and Ace ran blindly away down the passage, crushing insects underfoot. She wanted to find the Doctor, but instinct drew her towards the TARDIS.
As she hurtled around a corner, a maid stepped out in her path. Gwendoline was right behind her and Ace had no choice but to dart through a door into another disused bedroom. She tried to force the door shut, but Gwendoline was already pushing it in and the maid had joined her.
‘Come along Ace, I don’t want to hurt you,’ called Gwendoline.
‘You mean it’ll be painless!’ retaliated Ace. But with nothing to jam against the handle, she was gradually losing the battle. With a hefty shove, Gwendoline forced her way into the room. The maid stood in the doorway watching as the two girls fought like cats. Then, hearing voices, she darted back into the passage, closing the door behind her.
‘The Crowned Saxe-Coburg’s habitat isn’t easy to discover,’
Redvers was telling the Doctor, as they rounded the corner.
‘A good hunter always knows the signs,’ the Doctor agreed. The maid, who stood in the doorway smiling, bobbed dutifully as they passed. Redvers eyed her warily, as he remembered something Redvers had once told him: the ready smile of a native may well be that of a crocodile.
But the Doctor continued, ‘...signs, like a royal invitation to Windsor Castle for instance.’ He stopped, looked sternly it Redvers and held out his hand.
The explorer resolutely shook his head.
‘Come on, Redvers,’ pressed the Doctor. ‘Access to the royal family. Why else would Josiah keep you alive so long?’
With a sigh, Redvers produced a battered envelope with a royal seal on it. He held it back for a moment. ‘Actually, it’s for Buckingham Palace. A reception.’ Finally,