Doctor Who_ Storm Harvest - Mike Tucker [63]
Without warning he crashed into something, hard. The blow knocked him to the floor.
Through streaming eyes he could see a cluster of pipes slung low from the ceiling. He struggled upright, clutching his head. He was in the power room, deep under the control centre. All around him machinery hummed and throbbed, water gurgled through pipes and soft lights twinkled from computer terminals.
Garrett hauled himself painfully to a wall. He was calmer now, the noises and lights were somehow soothing. And there was something else, a humming on the edge of his hearing. Rhythmic, like clapping.
He closed his eyes. The noises calmed him. Everything Was fine.
There was no conflict. The deaths didn’t matter. They were necessary, primitives who had got in his way. He stroked the weapon in his arms.
He had achieved his objective, but...
He frowned. Something was still not quite as it should be, still unclear. He shouldn’t be alone. Surely there should be others.
The clapping was faster now, joined by a low chant, reverberating among the pipes and pillars. His skin shimmering and blurring, Garrett hauled himself to his feet and began to lumber towards the source of the noise.
Low yellow light began to flicker through the machinery, casting huge dancing shadows over the walls. Garrett gripped the weapon, suddenly comfortable with its weight against his chest. He crouched behind a huge pump and gazed into the power room. Gathered around 122
a plasma burner were maybe two dozen Dreekans crouched in a circle.
Pipes and conduits coiled up into the dark and in the firelight it looked as if they were surrounded by the ribcage of some enormous beast.
All the Dreekans were bare-chested, their skin slick with sweat and decorated with swirling scarlet patterns. They chanted in low musical tones, hands clapping. One of them circled the fire in a complex dance, his four arms passing a wand in spiralling patterns through the air, his eyes rolled back, his body twitching as if in fever. The chant and the clapping got faster and faster, the dance wilder.
Garrett suddenly stepped from the shadows into the firelight. One of the Dreekan women screamed.
The chanting stopped. The echoes of the scream reverberated around the cavernous room. The men leapt to their feet and lunged forward, knives clasped in their hands, One of them thrust a plasma torch into Garrett’s face and recoiled in horror.
‘Treeka’dwra!’
A mutter ran through the crowd.
‘Treeka’dwra...’
One by one the Dreekans dropped on to their knees. The rhythmic clapping began again, faster and harder than before; a rhythm driven by religious ecstasy. The man who had been dancing stepped forward and handed Garrett the wand.
‘You are Treeka’dwra. The beast that is hidden.’ He bowed his head, all four arms open. ‘What is your command?’
Garrett turned and stared at a glass surface on one of the pump-control banks. His reflection stared back at him, features blurred and shifting. His human face was fused with something else, something brutal and alien.
Garrett smiled, revealing crooked yellowing teeth.
‘I have come to lead you.’
The barracks was crowded once more. It was packed. Word had spread at once among the humans about Bavril’s rescue attempt. Some of them were scared; others chattered with nervous excitement.
‘Well?’ Peck asked impatiently.
‘Scratcher’s dead,’ said Bavril.
‘What happened?’ Huttle grabbed him by the collar of his drab uniform. ‘What happened!?’
‘The dolphin saw me. He knows everything.’
Huttle gasped in disbelief. ‘What are we going to do?’ he cried.
‘This is an act of mutiny. Mutiny on a Cythosi ship... They’ll kill us all!’
123
‘Then we’ve no choice,’ said Peck.
‘What?’ Huttle spat.
‘They’ll be coming for us. We’ve got to defend ourselves. We’ve got to fight them.’
‘This is your fault, Bavril, snapped Huttle. ‘You think of something.’
‘We can hope the dolphin won’t say anything. I don’t think he’ll want to explain to Mottrack