Doctor Who_ St. Anthony's Fire - Mark Gatiss [97]
Bernice’s stomach lurched. She made a mental note to stay put somewhere for a while once all this was over. If it ever could be over. As the ship soared into the yellow sky, she felt only a slight rocking sensation and turned to Liso. ‘Where do we start looking?’
He stroked his empty socket nervously. ‘There were a few villages, or the remains of them, scattered about in the jungle. That’s all we’ve really got time to look for. Oh, and one big town. It’s called Jurrula. Up in the hills.’
Bernice nodded and crossed to Libon. ‘You’ve keyed in the course for planetary orbit?’
Libon nodded. Bereft of his Magna and the Chapter, he was no more than a frightened boy.
‘Very well, then,’ said Liso. ‘Take us just above the trees. We need to get to those settlements as soon as possible.’
Bernice smiled. It was remarkable how easily he had adapted to the strange new technology. The Chapter’s ship was a quantum leap on from the Betrushian dirigibles yet Liso took command as though he had been flying them all his life. He looked oddly fitting, she thought, leaning over the navigation console, his black uniform still fairly pristine.
The round viewing screen flickered into life, showing a vista of burning jungle and violently shaking earth, plumes of smoke curling high into the clouds. Lava was belching from freshly opened fissures.
Bernice clung grimly to her chair as the ship vibrated. She glanced across at Liso but, apart from the feverish swivelling of his eye, his expression was unreadable. It couldn’t be easy seeing the world you loved tearing itself apart.
She shook herself from her reverie. They were there to save life, to give Betrushia a fighting chance.
The ship banked over the flaming tree‐tops, its massive bulk flattening the blackening foliage.
‘There! There!’ cried Liso, pointing urgently at the screen.
From their viewpoint, the village was no more than a clearing with a few shambolic huts. Betrushians young and old were milling about in terror, scattering into the jungle, unable to comprehend what was happening to their land. An old woman, her knobbly spine sticking out of the back of her rough garment, looked up in terror.
‘Take us down,’ Liso barked at Libon, his eye glittering triumphantly.
Bernice got out of her chair and headed for the door. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘if we don’t scare them to death, I think we might be in business.’
* * *
Grek felt the stone‐flagged floor shake as the mothership took off and was grateful that Imalgahite was on the bridge, delivering the Doctor’s navigational instructions to the press‐ganged helmsmen.
It would be a relief for Grek to get Yong back behind bars. He expected the wily mammal to try some trick every time they rounded a corner but, so far, he had merely walked ahead with his hands in the air.
Grek felt pleased that his initial misgivings about these – he shuddered at his own words – beasts had proven so inaccurate. Well, the Doctor and his friends anyway. They had been brave, loyal and unselfish. It was odd to think that the future of his people now lay in the hands of that funny little mammal.
What future, though? Where could they go? The whole of Betrushian civilization wiped out in a matter of days.
Grek sighed philosophically. Despite the anguish he felt about his world’s imminent demise, his sense of self‐preservation was paramount. He was glad the mothership had left the nightmarish jungle far behind.
Yong remained silent as they walked, his cloak swishing behind him.
The bulky communicator at Grek’s side gave a little beep and Grek fumbled to remove it from his belt. Yong dutifully halted, a wry smile playing on his lips.
‘Grek?’ came Imalgahite’s voice from the communicator. ‘Can you come to the bridge?’
Grek put the instrument to his snout. ‘Are we in orbit yet?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Imalgahite impatiently. ‘There’s something