Doctor Who_ St. Anthony's Fire - Mark Gatiss [55]
Grek’s eyes widened. ‘But we assumed it was you. I mean, who else could it be?’
‘Who indeed?’ said Imalgahite, leaning back in his chair.
‘But this simplifies everything.’ Grek sat up excitedly, his claws gripping the edge of the table. ‘If we know it’s an outside force then we can pool our resources to fight it.’
Something about Imalgahite’s smile did not inspire confidence.
‘Oh that would be so easy, Commander, wouldn’t it? That’s just what you’d want.’
Grek sighed. ‘Don’t be a fool, man. There’s something out there that none of us understand. Something strange. We can’t let our own petty differences –’
‘Petty differences?’ exploded Imalgahite, jumping to his feet. ‘May I remind you that we didn’t start this war. It was you and your filthy Ismetch religion. I’ve heard the propaganda, my friend. Every single word the Pelaradators ever said about us.’
He pointed a threatening talon into Grek’s face, his eyes livid with fury. ‘The Cutch are a proud people. A noble and ancient people. And we have a right to survive!’
Grek looked down, ashamed. ‘Listen…’
‘No, Grek, you listen. I don’t care what excuses you may have or what clever ploys you’ve thought up to confuse us. We shall have revenge on you bastards for all the misery you have inflicted upon us.’
He paused, breathing heavily, angrily. ‘You wanted genocide? All right. I’ll give it to you. I won’t rest until every Ismetch is wiped off the face of this planet!’
He stalked from the room. Grek sank into his chair and put his head in his claws.
* * *
As Portrone Ran sank down against the TARDIS console, overwhelmed by the news of his world’s imminent destruction, the Doctor laid a kindly hand on his shoulder.
Ran looked up, his eyes filled with horror. ‘You’re sure?’
The Doctor pointed to the readings on the console. ‘There can be no doubt, I’m afraid. I’ve run a few hypotheses. At best, Betrushia has three days.’
Ran’s face convulsed. ‘But why?’
The Doctor frowned and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘That’s the question, Ran. I thought it might be a familiar planetary phenomenon. Unstable core, something like that. But these readings worry me.’
He grunted, his bottom lip jutting out in concentration. ‘I have a theory but it’s so…’ He shook his head and rattled the collection of meteorite fragments in his pockets.
The time rotor came to a halt with a soft chime. ‘We’re here.’
Ran twisted round. ‘Where?’
The Doctor flicked a switch and the scanner screen flared into life.
For a moment, Ran saw only darkness. Then the view seemed to shift and he could make out thousands of tiny points of light. Suddenly the screen was brightly, vividly coloured. A cloud‐swirled globe, encircled by a luminescent halo, sprang into his startled vision.
‘Is that…?’
‘It is.’ The Doctor held up his hand. ‘Behold, Betrushia.’
Ran gasped, scarcely able to comprehend the beauty of his world.
The Doctor disappeared into the corridor and returned a moment later with a bulky, padded grey garment and a transparent bubble‐like helmet.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Ran, tearing his twitching eyes away from the screen.
‘Well, isn’t it obvious?’ muttered the Doctor, struggling into the pressure‐suit. ‘I’m going outside.’
* * *
Thoss picked his way through the debris‐strewn corridors towards the ladder‐hole. His face was curiously blank as though a sudden, certain peace had come to him. He glanced dispassionately at the corpses of the Cutch soldiers Grek had killed, and began to clamber onto the ladder, his old claws shaking with effort.
Blissfully, unaware that the dug‐out had been captured by the Cutch, he pulled himself to the surface and stood in silence for some minutes, looking out over the night‐black battlefield.
The bodies of the dead lay strewn around in craters of churned‐up mud. A low mist drifted over them, collecting in eddies and pouring over the lip of the trench some distance away.
Thoss bent down and retrieved one of the meteorite fragments, weighing