Doctor Who_ St. Anthony's Fire - Mark Gatiss [89]
Ace pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes wearily. The blaster felt even stranger in her hands, clammy and cold, where once any weapon would have felt like an extension of her arm. Ace did want the Chapter to suffer but her own feelings felt somehow muted.
She rubbed her muscles, still taut and fit under the uncomfortable loose hessian of her robes, but she felt no need for her combat suit, nor any nostalgia for the paraphernalia which had got her through more conflicts than she cared to remember. Was she changing? And was it the trauma of her conditioning or something more profound? The something, perhaps, which had led her to seek temporary release from her travels in the TARDIS in the first place?
She sighed and pushed her thoughts to one side. The most important priority was still to get off this planet in one piece.
Ace glanced over at Thoss. She had assumed he was sleeping but he seemed to be staring into space, his eyes narrowed to slits. His snout, which sagged with age, was fixed expressionlessly.
Standing up, she walked towards the steps and cocked her head but could hear nothing above them except the constant trembling on the earth. Turning back into the room, she bit her lip anxiously.
‘Come on, Doctor,’ she urged. ‘I don’t fancy being underground when the next big one hits.’
She smiled at Thoss but he didn’t react. Pulling a face, Ace crossed to the polygon and ran her hand over its smooth surface. It was surprisingly warm.
She jumped as, with a hiss of machinery, the door opened and the Doctor stepped out into the pale light.
‘Got what you wanted?’ said Ace brightly.
The Doctor’s face was ashen. He looked at her briefly and then bolted for the stairs.
‘Come on!’ he cried.
Ace looked puzzled. ‘What…?’
‘Come on!’
He clattered up the steps, scrabbling at the slimy moss with his hands, Ace close behind.
Thoss stayed where he was. He turned his aching old body towards the polygon and struggled to his feet. Then he put out his claw and waited for the hidden door to open once again.
* * *
Yong was still staring at the screen when Jones sidled up to him.
‘Magna…’
Yong could not pull his eyes away from the yellow luminescence. ‘What is it?’
‘Grave news, my Lord.’
Yong closed his coal‐black eyes. ‘Well?’
Jones cleared his throat. ‘The planetary survey is complete, Magna. Although Betrushia is rich in minerals and could be exploited by us, there is a dangerous instability in its core.’
The ship trembled as though in confirmation.
‘How long?’ said Yong.
‘A day. Perhaps two.’
Yong stood up, punching the arm of the chair in fury. ‘No! No, it cannot be! Saint Anthony would never have led us here only to deny us our victory. And if anyone’s going to destroy this planet, it’ll be me!’
As Yong’s voice echoed around the room, a second voice cut in.
‘Wrong, Yong.’
Yong spun round to see De Hooch standing by him, a blaster in his stubby hand.
‘De Hooch? What’s hap–’
Yong cut himself off as he took in De Hooch’s battered appearance, missing skull‐cap and bloodied, spongy nose.
‘What has always happened, Yong,’ spat De Hooch with as much venom as his shattered nose would allow. ‘I have been made the scapegoat for your incompetence.’
He slid the back of his hand over his bloodied face and pointed the blaster at Yong’s forehead.
‘My dear Parva,’ said Yong coolly, ‘you can’t be serious. Is this… is this mutiny?’
‘It is. And not before time.’
Yong glared down at the dwarf. A low rumble of fury began to rise in his breast, trembling through his face and suffusing it with rage. ‘How… dare you challenge me? How dare you?’
De Hooch cocked his head. ‘I have the gun. Hasn’t that always been our way? The strong punishing the weak for their sins. Well, you are steeped in sin, Yong, and your time has run out. I shall be Magna now.’
Yong laughed harshly. ‘You? You, De Hooch? Don’t be ridiculous. I only promoted you through some misguided sense of pity. Magna? You? You ridiculous