Doctor Who_ Storm Harvest - Mike Tucker [83]
‘I spent seven months as communications officer on a Terran freighter ferrying Guldarian farming drones to outposts along the Brago Nebula. No military goal, just early deep-cover tests of the new cloaking technology’ Bisoncawl grunted. ‘Have you ever done a long-haul cargo flight, Doctor? Months of tedium. I went through every data cube in the library, tried every leisure programme. I developed a taste for painting. It is an... underdeveloped occupation back home.’
He nodded at the workers outside in the water, his mood changing, the moment of intimacy over. ‘Look, Doctor. We’re about to make a transfer. The first gathering of the harvest.’
The Doctor watched as a gentle flickering light bathed a section of the coral. When it faded the cocoons were gone.
‘A matter beam, transporting the eggs directly to holding tanks on the mother ship?’
Now it was Bisoncawl’s turn to look surprised. He nodded. ‘We have a containment team working on the mother ship and a relay 159
transmitter on the reactor.’
There was a soft tremor as the ship came up hard under the reactor.
‘Come, Doctor. I will show you.’
Garret stood staring up at the storm shutters, watching the Water dance and hiss on the energy barrier. Around him the hurricane raged, but he seemed oblivious to it. He had pushed through the jungle as if it wasn’t there, in a stumbling run from the mountain, the weapon clutched to his chest. His Overpowering urge was to get to the colony. His skin had thickened again, and water ran from the rough hide.
Voices urged him on, each of them screaming at the other.
He was Phillip Garrett.
He was Skuarte.
He was the Treeka’dwra.
He was traitor.
He was destroyer.
He was saviour.
Garrett had bellowed at the storm and plunged onwards. Now he crossed to a hatchway in the cold metal of the colony perimeter and reached for the computer pad set into the wall next to it.
Clumsy clawed hands stabbed at the controls and the hatch slid back.
His head cocked to one side, as if listening, Garrett slipped into the colony and the hatch slammed shut.
The Doctor stepped from the hatchway into the main control centre of the colony reactor and stared around him with interest. Cythosi technicians filled the small control room, making the human-made equipment look tiny. A huge gnarled piece of Cythosi machinery dominated the centre of the room, ugly and crude next to the elegant simplicity of the reactor controls. The Doctor crossed to it.
‘The transmat relay?’
Bisoncawl nodded. The Doctor peered closely at it. Like most Cythosi devices it seemed to be an amalgamation of technology from a dozen different worlds, crudely lashed together. He tutted at connections that worked more by luck than judgement – this was the kind of lash-up even he would think twice about. He could see why Mottrack and the other officers still travelled by shuttlecraft – the transmat wasn’t the most reliable example of its type.
As he watched, the technicians made a series of adjustments to the controls. With a crackle of power, the machine throbbed into life as more Krill eggs beamed to the mother ship.
* * *
160
In the cool corridors under Coralee central control, Garrett slid through the shadows, his form ebbing and flowing – human and Cythosi –
beneath the painted patterns on his skin, sweat beading his brow as he tried to keep his thoughts focused. In his mind he could see the reactor, see the remote console, and he knew in his heart that that was where he must go.
There was movement ahead of him. A Cythosi trooper, plasma weapon hefted in his huge arms, was patrolling the corridors. Garrett slipped into a pool of shadows, concentrating, willing his form to change.
He felt his skin harden around him, felt his form toughen. Then he stepped out into the light. The Cythosi guard brought the gun up at the unexpected intruder, then relaxed. ‘At last. You should have relieved me of duty hours ago.’
Garrett nodded at him and strode