Doctor Who_ The Nightmare of Black Island - Mike Tucker [61]
Ali peered from around the back of Rose’s legs.
‘Is that a duck?’
Before Rose could stop her, Ali had crossed to the sofa, perched herself on the arm and reached out a tentative hand to the imperiouslooking mallard that sat there. Bronwyn’s face softened. ‘His name is Butch.’
‘Butch?’ Ali gave her a curious look. ‘That’s a funny name for a duck.’
‘He’s a guard duck. Looks after my house when I’m out feeding the seals.’
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Rose crossed to her side. ‘I’m sorry to barge in, but the Doctor said you’d be able to help us.’
Bronwyn shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Don’t know what help I can be. Old woman like me. . . ’
‘We’ve been seeing things, me and the Doctor. Not just creatures, but a little boy.’
‘Please, I don’t know. . . ’
‘This little boy –’ Rose took the picture from her pocket – ‘is his name Jimmy?’
As Bronwyn took the picture, tears started to roll down her cheeks.
‘Yes. My Jimmy. . . ’
‘Your son?’
Bronwyn nodded.
Rose squeezed the old woman’s arm. ‘It’s all right. You can trust me. We want to help.’
‘It was my fault. I didn’t want them to take him. But they made me give him up. I couldn’t stop them. . . ’
‘Who took him? Where?’
‘The child protection people. They thought I was no good for him.’
Bronwyn was shaking with anger and fear. ‘They took him away from me once and now he’s come back.’ She looked at Rose with despair in her eyes. ‘Nathaniel is making him come back.’
‘Ow!’
The Doctor winced as the Cynrog technician pulled the straps tight around his arms. ‘Careful. I’m delicate, you know.’
The technician snarled at him and scurried away. The Doctor
slumped back on to the hard bed. All around him the Cynrog were in a flurry of activity. They had abandoned their human disguises now, leaving a pile of human faces on a table. Peyne had been whipping them into a frenzy and they knew that their mission was nearly over. It was making them excitable and it was making them vicious. They had dragged the Doctor and Morton from the library, carrying the old man bodily down the stairs and strapping him to one of the empty beds in the ward. The Doctor had had his coat and jacket 146
removed and had been put in the bed next to him. Cynrog medical devices were strapped to both their foreheads and an intravenous drip had been thrust cruelly into the Doctor’s arm. Two technicians were fussing with the connections from Morton’s headset, while the old man struggled weakly.
The Doctor felt a pang of sorrow for the man. He had been strung along for years by Peyne and her colleagues, promised a new life for him and his friends, and now he was just a commodity, his use to the Cynrog nearly over.
The Doctor took a deep breath, preparing himself for the ordeal that was about to come. He hoped that his reasoning was correct with regard to the nature of the Cynrog machines. If he was wrong. . . Priest Commander Peyne strode across to his bedside. She was now dressed in battle fatigues, her disrupter slung at her side.
‘Ah, Miss Peyne!’
The Doctor raised his head from the pillow.
‘Slipped into something a bit more uncomfortable, I see. Eager to rejoin the war, I suppose.’
‘The fleet is awaiting our signal. As soon as Balor has taken control of his body, we shall conduct our first battlefield test. . . ’
‘You can’t unleash him on this planet, Peyne.’
She shrugged. ‘An unworthy target, I agree, but it will have to serve.’
‘That’s not what I meant. There are billions of people here. . . ’
‘Then billions will die! The last of the Time Lords among them.’ She leaned close, teeth bared. ‘I hope that thought gives you nightmares, Doctor.’ Then she straightened up and crossed to her technicians.
‘Activate the transmitters. Full power.’
Cynrog hunched over their consoles, hands dancing over the controls. A low hum of power started to build in pitch. The Doctor felt the bands around his head crackle with power.
‘Peyne, it’s not too late,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘But it is, Doctor. Far too late.’
Her hand slammed down on the controls.
∗ ∗ ∗
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