Doctor Who_ Sleepy - Kate Orman [77]
Not his childhood. One of the others. He opened his eyes and grinned at Cephas, sitting opposite him on the grass, arms tightly holding himself. The boy smiled back, nervously.
A song was playing — no, just music, a complex flow of notes all played on the same instrument. It was the Doctor’s tune, he saw, put there as a barrier between him and the DKC telepaths. Now he was letting that barrier drop away, the tune fading down to nothing. The colonists were —
The Doctor yelled. Something punched through him like a fist through ricepaper.
Chris shouted and was on his feet. But no, the Doctor was all right — Roz had grabbed hold of him. He was holding his arms up in front of his face, as though to block out some intolerably bright light —
— the light grabbed hold of Chris’s toes. It shot up his body, cold and burning, shining in his belly, between his fingers, The colonists cried out or laughed, looking at their hands, Filling up with light.
Impact. Shrapnel. Wreckage. Raining down all around.
The missile struck the starboard side of the craft, tore straight through, exploded in the sky. Tiny pieces of burning metal rained against the portside hull, the shockwave kicking the shuttle through the air.
The little ship fought to steady itself, to keep going, as it spun crazily, bleeding internal components. Sky and trees spiralled around it, blue, green, blue. Something flashed by beneath, a building in the middle of the forest, but there wasn’t time to see what it was. It could still make it, aim for the clearing around the building; it could make it if it was fast enough, and it wanted to live so much...
The damaged ion engine in the tail burst like a balloon full of fire. The hull cracked like an eggshell, throwing tiny pieces in all directions, as a great wall of heat ripped through the ship.
It dropped like a stone into the living stuff below.
This is a strange dream.
Chris got his breath back. The voice was flitting from one person to the next, bouncing around the clearing like a nervous host at a party. It echoed, tiny and distant, so close he could almost reach out and touch it.
‘You’re not dreaming,’ said the Doctor, aloud. Roz held him tightly. His head was flung back, his eyes closed. ‘You called us.’
Who am I? said the voice. And what do I want?
‘There’s someone down there!’ gasped one of the Yemayans.
‘There’s someone trapped, underneath—’
‘Don’t you know who you are?’ said the Doctor.
I’m sleeping.
‘Why are you sleeping?’
I’m SLEEPY.
‘Then wake up.’
You’re not loud enough. The voice was fading, already, the intense contact washing out from neon to pastel. You’re just a dream... even if you do remember who I am...
‘Don’t go!’ shouted a man. ‘Don’t leave us!’
‘We don’t know who you are,’ said Cwej. ‘We don’t remember. Don’t go!’
I love you.
The voice dwindled to a wash of static, to nothing, to a silence that rang in the ears.
Chris was on his knees, hands pressed against the fin. It was as if a long-distance call to an old friend had been suddenly cut off, leaving them both alone. He bit down on his lip, hard.
And he’d thought this thing wanted to kill him.
‘We weren’t loud enough,’ said the Doctor. ‘Or there weren’t enough of us...’
‘I didn’t follow any of that,’ said Roz. She was still hanging on to the Time Lord, kneeling on the cold ground beside him. ‘Did you find out what you needed to know?’
‘Not really,’ said the Doctor. He sat up. ‘Not precisely.
But certain avenues suggest themselves...’ He reached up for the drone, which had been floating about the clearing, looking bewildered. It settled onto his finger like an obliging butterfly. ‘Listen, WATCH OUT!. Can you access the base’s historical records? Specifically, about DKC spaceflight operations, and anything to do with the pre-colonization exploration of Yemaya?’
‘Yes indeedy! So, let me guess: you want to see if any craft were reported lost here, right?