Doctor Who_ Halflife - Mark Michalowski [103]
‘We’re carrying too much weight,’ muttered Trove, working at the controls, trying to coax a little more altitude out of the vehicle. It rose another foot, juddering and whining. The creatures were just a few yards away. Trove wrenched the steering handles and the car spun horizontally, throwing its occupants around like toys: now the Guard were facing the night beasts, sheltering Trove and Alinti. They raised their guns and began to fire. Whether down 185
to bad maintenance, bad design – or simply incompetent operation – the guns carried by the Guard just didn’t seem to work properly. A few half-hearted spits of fire sent spurts of grass into the air.
‘Get us higher!’ screamed Alinti, drawing back from the edge of the car.
‘Excellent idea,’ said Trove drily. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’
Even the Guards were panicking now, seemingly loosing off shots at random. They zinged and whizzed through the air, little rippling patches of heat haze.
One of the creatures paused, jerking as one of the Guards’ shots hit its shoulder. It staggered, but continued moving. The levicar was now at chest height, the engines whining like they were about to explode.
One of the Guards had picked up his staff, and was jabbing madly at the closest creature. It seemed to be working – the thing kept lurching backwards and forwards, trying to avoid the spiked end. But the other one had pushed through the protective field around the car and had hooked its paws over the edge. It began to pull, rocking the car violently. The Guard with the staff began stabbing at the creature’s hands.
‘Trove, stop them!’ ordered Alinti, stepping up, unsteadily, on to the car’s passenger seat, trying to put as much distance between herself and the creatures as possible. Trove glanced up at her.
‘We need to lose some weight,’ he said softly.
She stared at him. By the time she realised what he meant, it was too late: she reached down to grab the side of the car as, with a casually powerful movement, he pushed her out.
‘Don’t look,’ said Calamee, wrapping herself around Sensimi, smothering her in her arms.
But Sensimi didn’t need to look: she knew what the creatures were capable of, and the image of her mother being pulled, almost casually, apart would stay with her forever. Calamee felt sick as she watched the Imperatrix being tossed about like a doll, as the night beasts tore her to bloody shreds.
Trove waited until he was sure that Alinti had gone and gunned the elevator controls. The car shot up into the air another three feet, the strained sound of the engines levelling off. Without the Imperatrix’s weight, he reckoned, they’d be just about out of reach of the soldiers.
One of the Guard turned from the sight of his Imperatrix being bloodily ripped limb from limb on the ground below.
‘How dreadful,’ Trove said, trying to imbue his words with some feeling. ‘I told her not to stand – not with that thing rocking the car. But she was too headstrong.’ He gave a sad little shake of his head. ‘She gave her life so that 186
we’d survive. How noble.’ He glanced over the side of the car. ‘Now be a good fellow and kill those things, will you?’
The Doctor reached out, tentatively, and touched the wall of the chamber. It felt like tree bark made out of rubber. There was a scent in the air, not unlike that of pine combined with sour milk. He wondered whether Tain was capable of reading his mind and silently voiced the thought, but there was no reply.
Hardly conclusive proof.
‘So why did you come here?’ he asked out loud. ‘Why did you desert?’
‘Do you know how long I’ve lived, Doctor? I am almost eight hundred years old. Since the Makers grew me, I have been involved in four hundred and twelve battles. I’ve produced over ninety-five thousand soldiers, and been responsible for the deaths of over seven million civilians