Doctor Who_ St. Anthony's Fire - Mark Gatiss [75]
He squinted to make out the shape but it seemed defiantly intangible, a thread on the far horizon.
Ran frowned and walked on towards the edge of the jungle.
* * *
The great black scout‐ship of Saint Anthony still steamed on the muddy field in front of the Ismetch dug‐out. By now, several Chaptermen were busily engaged around it, examining the jungle foliage and making copious notes on long scrolls of parchment.
Two of them, sporting curved translation devices in their ears and both clad in the familiar purple of the Chapter, looked around inquisitively at the sweltering jungle.
‘I don’t like it,’ whispered Miller, a shaven‐headed, intense‐looking man, a good foot taller than his companion.
‘You never do,’ drawled Martino, his pale blue eyes flicking absently from the scroll to the sky.
‘It’s too quiet,’ hissed Miller.
‘You always say that as well,’ added Martino with a smile. ‘Even when the most threatening lifeforms are monocellular algae. In case you’ve forgotten, comrade, we’re here to do a job, not to let the local savages put the wind up us.’
Miller swivelled his dark eyes. ‘I still don’t like it. Who knows what they might be fermenting in their vile little brains? I mean, did you see the ones we took inside?’ He shuddered at the memory. ‘Those proles on Massatoris were bad enough.’
‘Be content, Miller,’ said Martino gruffly. ‘They will be converted or destroyed as usual.’
‘It is the will of Saint Anthony,’ chimed Miller automatically.
Both made a curious crossing gesture with their hands. Miller stalked around the hull of the ship and then looked up. ‘When does the Magna’s ship land?’
‘Soon,’ purred Martino with a mixture of excitement and fear.
Miller suddenly stood erect, towering over Martino. He grasped his fellow Chapterman firmly by the elbow. ‘Look!’
He pointed towards the horizon where the sky had taken on a strange yellow hue. ‘What the hell is that?’
* * *
‘The Magna has decreed that you are to be afforded every privilege as an honoured guest,’ said Parva De Hooch with a sigh.
He and the Doctor were making their way through a maze of dark stone corridors towards a huge circular metal iris. De Hooch stopped sharply and adjusted his skull‐cap. ‘Though personally, I would’ve burned you alive.’
The Doctor gave him a pained smile. ‘And this is where you run things, is it?’
De Hooch pressed his hand to a panel at the door’s side and the iris opened with a squeal of metal.
‘The co‐ordination of Saint Anthony’s will is enacted here, yes. Events are assessed and their bearing on the crusade are considered by the Magna. He then gives orders to implement various scenarios.’
The Doctor hopped through the entrance. ‘Ah yes. The bridge.’
What De Hooch had described was, indeed, the heart of the vessel, a colossal hexagonal room, its walls crammed with navigational consoles. Chaptermen of a dozen different races scurried back and forth, checking, analysing, assessing. A circular viewing screen dominated the far wall.
In the centre of the room, immaculate in his purple gown, stood Yong. He flashed the Doctor a delightful smile.
‘So glad you could come,’ he purred. ‘It’s so rare for me to be able to show off my little toys to someone who appreciates them.’
‘Yes,’ said the Doctor carefully. He spread his arms wide and swung round. ‘It is rather nice, Magna. How long have you been on this… crusade of yours?’
Yong cast his eyes over a list of figures and rapped out a series of orders to a hovering Chapterman before turning back to the Doctor. ‘Oh, about a century, Doctor. My family have been at it for years. According to my grandfather’s diaries, Earth was becoming quite an amusing place when they left. All that chaos. They left China when it was taken over by Hong Kong. The crusade began shortly afterwards.’
The Doctor nodded slowly, tracing his fingers over the complex machinery all around him. ‘And do you have an ultimate goal? I mean, most crusades have a purpose. An end.’
Yong smiled, his smooth features