Doctor Who_ Last of the Gaderene - Mark Gatiss [71]
Yates checked the magazine of his rifle and set it down on the seat next to him. Benton slipped his hand around the gear lever and the lorry thrummed forward with added speed.
A lone figure, like a matchstick man, stood in the box-hedge that lined the lane and watched them pass.
Captain McGarrigle’s smile was unchanging. He cocked his head to one side.
The Master was in the middle of explaining an idea. ‘We could gather our little herd early.’
Bliss’s face clouded. ‘What are you suggesting?’
The Master shrugged. ‘There’s little to be lost and very much to be gained. If we harvest now, the embryo within Whistler will emerge. Naturally. ’
Bliss was appalled. ‘And the embryos within all the others! They won’t live long.’
‘They were never meant to. Or had you forgotten? They are here merely to keep their hosts warm for the... others.
Their function is simply to obey me.’
Bliss glared at him.
‘I mean... us,’ said the Master, spreading his hands wide.
Bliss sat down heavily behind her desk, her nose twitching. Again, something shifted behind her face, like a candle shadow flickering inside a Halloween pumpkin.
The Master hid his distaste. ‘Well?’
Bliss nodded slowly. ‘Each life is precious to the Gaderene. We are not so numerous that we can be cavalier with the embryos. No. We must locate the ninth key, but by other methods.’
Displeased, the Master threw himself down into a chair.
Bliss suddenly stiffened and cocked her head to one side as though listening.
The Master was about to sigh when she spoke, urgently and with great rapidity, almost as though another voice were running through her. ‘Troops. UNIT troops. They’re heading this way.’
The Master frowned. ‘They’ll try and attack the aerodrome.’
He slammed his gloved fist into his hand. ‘Can you not use your friendly Cerberus out there?’
Bliss frowned. ‘I do not understand the reference.’
The Master smiled. ‘No. Of course not. It’s an old Earth myth. A monstrous creature that guarded the gates to Hades.’
Bliss almost looked upset. She shook her head, sending flecks of spit cascading to the floor. ‘It is not so easy as it was.
He... the creature, I mean, is becoming difficult to control.’
The Master looked at her with interest. ‘Then raise the villagers. Order them to attack the Brigadier’s tinpot army.’
Bliss considered this, then nodded rapidly.
On the desk before her stood the executive toy known as a Newton’s Cradle. She took the anglepoise lamp from the desk and set it down carefully on the floor. Then she lifted back the first steel ball on the cradle and set it swinging.
As it hit its neighbour, a series of gears swung into operation with a soft grinding sound. The whole surface of the desk flipped over, revealing a complex bank of chattering screens and read-outs.
Bliss’s face glowed green in the light from the screens.
She flicked three switches with careful deliberation. A low, bone-shaking hum began to emanate from the desk.
‘It is done,’ she murmured flatly.
The Master smiled. ‘Excellent. Now, let’s see what we can do about our friend the Wing Commander.’
An eerie phosphorescence hovered over the now-quiet marshes like the skirts of a ghostly woman. The moon had emerged from a flotilla of thin clouds and hung low in the black sky like a sickle edged with mother-of-pearl.
Somewhere, a curlew was disturbed. Branches clattered as it took to the air. Then a low, throbbing sound became discernible, rippling out from the aerodrome like a muted heartbeat.
A fat, oily bubble rose to the surface of the marsh water, remained for a long moment and then burst. It was followed at once by another, then another. Soon the marsh was fizzing and bubbling furiously, as though carnivorous fish were in a feeding frenzy beneath its surface.
Then, with a horrible sucking sound, one of the black cylinders shot from the water. It slammed