Doctor Who_ Interference_ Book Two - Lawrence Miles [47]
The woman knitted her eyebrows. It was the man who answered. ‘Well, yeah. Where else d’you think we get the parts for the zombie ships from?’
‘Zombie?’ said Llewis.
He took another look at the shape of the fighter. Those spare parts hadn’t been added, he realised. They were bits of the original design, which hadn’t been eaten away by the black stuff yet. He looked at the underside again, at the ribbed part of the craft. Yes, that was the word. Ribbed. From some angles, the fighter looked almost like the skeleton of a vehicle. Like a dead, decomposing thing.
Ships crashed here, in the city. The aliens would take them, use the Cold – or whatever it was they used – to give them a new skin. They turned the ships into zombies, the hi-tech equivalent of the living dead. But, dear God, the kind of technology that could do this kind of thing… all the junked RAF planes and navy ships you could resurrect, the sheer profit you could make…
‘What is it?’ Llewis asked, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘In that. In that can. What is it?’
He pointed at the fire extinguisher. The man frowned. ‘It’s just zombie sealant. Why?’
‘How… does it work? The skin. The new skin. How can it make a new skin like that?’
The mechanics exchanged glances. ‘Um… well, because it’s alive,’ said the woman.
‘Alive?’
They were both staring at him now, looking worried. Llewis didn’t care. It didn’t matter if he had been brought to another planet. He could still do something. He could find out the secret of the zombie ships. How would Peter bloody Morgan like that, eh? Never mind the Cold, this was going to change everything. Military transport, civilian transport, the works. Stuff Microsoft, this was a real technical leap forward.
‘Where do you get it from?’ Llewis demanded. ‘The sealant. Where does it come from?’
‘From the Cold,’ said the woman, cautiously. ‘It’s a by-product. You really don’t know any of this?’
The Cold…? No, never mind. That didn’t matter. Right now, Alan James Llewis had something to prove.
‘Show me,’ he said. ‘Show me the Cold. Show me where you get it from. Please.’
* * *
Now, it might seem that the gaze of the gas mask had been too much to risk, just to get at some old toy soldiers. But there was young’ Alan’s pride to consider. All the other kids had soldiers. The boys, anyway, and they were the only ones who really mattered. Ergo, all the other kids must have had gas masks of their own to be afraid of and none of them had ever said anything. If Alan hadn’t gone into that cupboard, he would have had nothing, and if he’d had nothing everybody else would have known why.
The fear was everywhere, and the fear was a terrible, crippling thing. But Alan had worked out the truth, and worked it out all by himself. You couldn’t come out of the darkness empty-handed. Even if you were wetting yourself and retching up your breakfast.
You had to bring something out with you.
It was the only thing that really mattered.
* * *
20
Multiple Homecoming
(six more short trips)
Trip One: Saudi Arabia–the Vortex
He had, for a while, honestly believed he was going to die.
He didn’t recall ever feeling that before. Right at the end, as the guards had pinned him to the floor and run the shock batons down his spine, he’d finally been convinced that his time was running out. As if the sheer pointlessness of things had made all his internal defences – psychological and biological – turn themselves off in disgust.
When everything had gone quiet in the cell, he’d thought it had been the end. He didn’t remember the moment when he’d realised the guards were all unconscious, and he didn’t remember how he’d felt when he’d seen Sarah, and the boy, and the Ogron, and known he’d been rescued. He had the horrible feeling he hadn’t even said ‘thank you’. All he remembered was seeing the TARDIS, throwing himself at the doors, with the last of his strength burning up in his legs. He recalled being vaguely surprised that the console room wasn’t shiny and white. For some reason, he’d been expecting roundels.
He’d set the controls. Waited for