Doctor Who_ Halflife - Mark Michalowski [115]
But Tain was tired. Tired of fighting this thing, this cancer that was intent on possessing him. Once he’d realised that the Doctor was not an enemy, he’d hoped that he might be able to help, but despite his evident ingenuity and compassion, the Trojan had managed to interfere with the Doctor’s repair. It was, Tain realised, even possible that the Trojan had managed to subvert him without any of them knowing.
He knew that his options were becoming narrower by the second. If the Trojan gained control, he would be taken by the Oon, dissected, forced to breed new bioships for them. He’d managed to break free from the Makers after years of preparation and Tain had no intention of allowing his body to be used to cause death again. He was almost relieved that the Doctor’s arrival had panicked him into initiating his Gaian phase. Soon, either he would be allowed to stay here, at the heart of the vast superorganism that he’d created, or someone – the Makers, the Oon, the Doctor, it didn’t matter who – would find a way to kill him, and he would be free. It might mean the loss of individuality of everyone on Espero, but weighed against the slaughter that the Makers or the Oon would force him to inflict if he didn’t, it was nothing.
207
Tain felt himself twitch, deep inside, as the Trojan insinuated itself into his drive unit. Now, even flight from this planet was impossible (although he’d known that to be the case for a while: the effort involved in disentangling himself from this part of Espero’s biosystem and powering up his drives would have lain him wide open to the Trojan’s takeover).
Suddenly he felt a tingle from some peripheral part of his nervous system
– something was damaging him, forcing its way in. Moments later, as he localised the source of the sensation, the duct to his inner chamber was prised open and a human female – who he recognised from the Doctor’s memories as Trix – stepped down.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
She gazed around the chamber in a curious way, as if refamiliarising herself with something she’d seen before.
‘I’m here to take you home, Tain,’ she said. ‘My name is Reo.’
‘Home?’
The look on her face was almost gentle, almost caring, as she reached up to her chest and unfastened the top buttons of her blouse. There, Tain saw, was a Maker, nestled against her skin. It was so long since he’d seen a Maker riding a human carrier, that a gentle tremor ran around the chamber, a ripple of surprise. But then he realised what it meant.
‘No!’ he wailed. ‘Leave me alone! Go away!’ The whole of the chamber spasmed suddenly, the walls and floor trying to throw Trix off balance. But her poise and equilibrium spoke of total Maker control. She waited until Tain’s trembling had ceased.
‘We understand, Tain,’ she said softly. ‘We understand what drove you to this – to run away, to come here. You are injured, ill.’
‘I am not ill,’ hissed Tain. ‘How can it be an illness not to want to cause any more pain and suffering?’
‘For eight hundred years you have been content to work for the good of the Makers. How often during that time did you question what you were doing?’
‘I was bred to be that way,’ he spat. ‘I was bred to be unquestioning, conditioned to follow your instructions. To kill. It has taken me decades to break down that conditioning, to overcome my past. At last I have free will, and you won’t take that away from me again.’
Trix shook her head sadly. ‘There are other things you can do for us,’ she said, her voice teasing. ‘We have plans that you know nothing of, Tain. Incredible, wonderful things that you could be part of. Vast, planetary biological computers that will one day be capable of modelling and modifying the very nature of reality. You could help us with that.’
‘Why? So that you can kill even more innocent people?’
208
‘We only kill to protect ourselves from the Oon and their insane jihad, Tain.
You know that.’ Her voice took on a gentle, pleading quality,