Doctor Who_ St. Anthony's Fire - Mark Gatiss [103]
De Hooch smiled an executioner’s smile. ‘Oh Doctor, let’s not spoil the surprise.’
The Doctor turned back to the navigation console. ‘Anyway, it’s not as easy as you think. I have to get the power differential just right. Too little and the thing will escape, too much and the rings will be destroyed. Either way, it’s risky.’
De Hooch assumed an expression of mock sincerity. ‘Anything I can do to help?’
The Doctor could think of a lot of things, most of them involving long walks off short piers.
* * *
On the identical bridge of the scout‐ship, Bernice listened in grim silence to the Doctor’s conversation. She turned to Liso. ‘Seems like the holy relics are back in charge.’
Liso’s eyelid drooped tiredly. ‘Just what we didn’t need.’ He glanced down at the console. ‘Fifteen minutes. Check.’
Bernice nodded. ‘What do we do now? We’ve got a hold full of refugees. Do we turn ourselves in and get killed?’
‘Hardly,’ muttered Liso. ‘We’ve been through too much to give in now.’
‘There must be something,’ sighed Bernice.
She turned to Libon, the lone Chapterman who had piloted the ship. He had been sitting disconsolately in the corner since they had achieved orbit, seemingly unaware of everything, like a lost child. Bernice crossed to him and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
‘What’s your name?’
Libon’s eyes were wide and innocent under his brutally cropped black hair. ‘Libon,’ he said quietly. ‘Libon Fung. Ch… Chapterman of Saint Anthony.’
‘Well, Libon,’ said Bernice softly, ‘don’t you worry about a thing. All you have to do is show me exactly how this ship of yours works.’
Libon looked up at her in bewilderment.
* * *
‘Ten minutes,’ said the Doctor.
De Hooch glanced interestedly at the monitors. ‘Is everything proceeding according to plan?’
‘Whose plan? Mine or yours?’
De Hooch smiled, exposing rotten, peg‐like teeth. ‘What a card you are, Doctor.’
‘You know, you suit being Magna. You sound more and more like Yong all the time.’
The smile faded from the dwarf’s wet lips.
The Doctor crossed to Grek and Imalgahite who were sitting on the floor at the far side of the bridge.
‘What’re we going to do, Doctor?’ said Grek. ‘Even if we destroy this thing, what hope is there for our people?’
‘To have come this far…’ sighed Imalgahite, throwing up his claws in desperation.
The Doctor crouched down on his haunches, a strange, faraway look coming into his eyes. ‘I’ll think of something.’
He patted Grek on the shoulder and glanced at the console. ‘Eight minutes,’ he said to no one in particular.
* * *
The two great ships of Saint Anthony hung in the inky blackness of space. Far below, through the glittering halo of the damaged rings, Betrushia entered her final hour.
Beneath the poisoned clouds, the creature had grown immense. It straddled the remains of the jungle now, miles across, a vast web of shifting matter, seething and expanding as ever more material was dredged into its core.
A million clawed tentacles burst from out of its flesh, a hybrid of incinerated jungle and Betrushian blood.
At once, the structure was rethought and altered again, the carpet of flesh exploding outwards towards the lightning‐streaked sky.
It seemed aware that this world was no place for it. It was a dying place. But the creature was alive, constantly, urgently, vibrantly alive. Soon the bonds which tied it to Betrushia would be gone forever.
As though in celebration, the organism split into a thousand components and instantly reassembled, a monstrous triple head erupting from its suppurating skin.
* * *
Jones and Ace came onto the bridge. De Hooch looked them over.
‘Well?’
‘Magna… er… former Magna Yong was forced out of the power room.’
De Hooch looked behind Jones. ‘Where is he?’
The Doctor looked up. ‘He could still do some harm.’
Ace smiled cruelly. ‘I think he’s blind, Doctor. He looked into the artificial sun without protection.’
De Hooch shook his head violently. ‘That doesn’t matter. His family designed this ship. He knows it like…’ He struggled out of the chair. ‘Leave this to me.’
He