Doctor Who_ St. Anthony's Fire - Mark Gatiss [60]
‘Doctor?’ Ran’s voice cut in via the communications link to the TARDIS.
The Doctor started. ‘I’m here, Ran. Got a bit distracted.’
He stepped off the threshold of the ship and drifted silently into the rings. Forming a fist, he hissed forward through the shimmering debris.
A short way ahead, a larger, football‐sized chunk of rock was spinning in silence.
The Doctor advanced towards it and felt in the pouch of his pressure‐suit for a small white instrument. Betrushia’s star sparkled off the bubble‐helmet as he passed the device to and fro over the rock’s surface.
A display lit up and the Doctor peered at it. ‘Ran? Some data coming through now.’
The machine beeped and a stream of figures shunted across the screen. The Doctor moved on to another rock of similar size.
‘Remarkable,’ he muttered, stabbing at the buttons on the compact machine.
Ran’s voice crackled in his helmet: ‘You said you had a theory, Doctor?’
The Doctor said nothing for a moment, merely nodding to himself as though lost in thought. Then he looked out at the magnificent display before him, his voice a low, grave whisper.
‘Your meteorites aren’t meteorites at all, Ran. They’re the rock fragments which make up Betrushia’s ring system. And their orbit is decaying.’
There was a crackling pause, then Ran’s voice, quiet and concerned. ‘Decaying? You mean, something’s making them fall?’
‘That’s right. The whole ring system is falling apart.’
‘But what’s causing it?’
The Doctor said nothing. Instead he twisted around, gazing out into the impenetrable blackness of space. Out there, something was waiting.
* * *
Parva De Hooch strutted up and down the cold stone corridor, his doll‐like hands flexing and unflexing in agitation.
Chaptermen Jones and his acne‐scarred acolyte approached, their closely shaven heads glinting in the wintry sunlight which poured into the cloisters.
De Hooch’s pale eyebrows shot upwards. ‘Well?’
‘There’s no sign of her, Parva,’ mumbled Jones.
‘Anywhere,’ concluded the other.
De Hooch stamped his feet on the flagstones. ‘Cretins! Invertebrates! Do I have to think of everything?’
He dismissed them with a pudgy wave and scowled darkly at the elegant glass roof above his head. He blinked slowly, repeatedly.
De Hooch’s reputation rested on this mission. Perhaps even his status in the Chapter. And there was so much more to be achieved…
He wasn’t about to lose it all because of some runaway sinner. She had to be in the seminary somewhere. He darted off down a left‐hand corridor and disappeared into the hard black shadows.
A moment later, the woman emerged from an adjacent alcove, her heart slamming in her ribs. She had to get away. Get out of the seminary. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
She lifted a hand to her shaven head and winced in pain. It was wrong to disobey, she knew. But an even deeper impulse seemed to be raging inside her head.
It was strange but, try as she might, she could not recall ever leaving the place, nor anything of her life before the Chapter. Of course, the old life was dead and she now devoted herself entirely to Saint Anthony. To honour him and love him through pain and suffering…
The pain shot across her temples again and she screwed up her eyes in agony. She had to fight it. Fighting seemed to be the only way out.
The woman leant against the alcove for support and suddenly froze at the sound of footsteps. She pressed herself back into the recess and stayed completely still as a group of shambling penitents wandered past, their wounds freshly scourged. The woman fought back nausea as she saw their pus‐corrupted blood pooling on the floor.
When they had gone, she stepped out again and was momentarily blinded by the sunlight from above. She glanced up and felt her eyes warming. Looking back, the corridor was invisible for a moment, her retina bleached out. When the spots cleared, Parva De Hooch was standing next to her. His walnut face crinkled into a horrible smile. ‘I knew it. I could smell you!’
He pulled