Doctor Who_ Wooden Heart - Martin Day [40]
Another needle-tipped leg swung down; Martha swayed away from it like a boxer, but it was only a trick to divert her attention. The tail – as thick as a tree trunk – flew over the forest floor and into her legs, knocking her onto her back. Her view of the dark starscape shook violently as she crashed to the ground; for a moment she thought she was going to pass out, and then everything came back into focus.
The creature hissed triumphantly, preparing to strike. Martha screwed her eyes shut, crying out in desperation, though she knew no one was there. She cried out – and waited for the killing blow.
A second passed. Then another.
She forced open her eyes. The creature had shifted its bodyweight to one side and was now looking not at Martha, but at the apparently rejuvenated, sword-wielding man leaping through the air like an acrobat.
‘Saul!’ breathed Martha – but, moments later, she realised it was not the hunter. It was Petr, his angular frame lacking his brother’s innate fluidity – but the great two-handed sword in his hands seemed to make up for any grace he missed. The sword came down in a near-silent arc of sharp silver against the creature’s nearest, splayed leg.
It cut through fibrous skin, striated muscle and sinew, and bit finally into bone. The sword did not go too deep – with a flick of his wrists the weapon was back over Petr’s head, ready for another strike – but its effect on the creature was almost instantaneous.
Its entire body shuddered, each leg shaking in sympathy with the wounded limb, and it swung its head down and close to its body. It took two steps backwards, still staring at Petr – and hissed like a scalded cat.
Martha’s eyes widened. The creature was scared.
‘Unbelievable,’ said a voice at her ear.
She turned, expecting the Doctor – but seeing only Saul. Though covered in bruises and scratches, he’d hauled himself to his feet and stood watching the creature, a wry amusement obvious on his face.
‘Someone finally gets a good strike against one of these beasts,’ he continued, ‘and it’s my brother.’ He sighed. ‘I may never live it down.’
And, hefting his swords upwards, and with a great cry of rage, Saul ran past his brother and towards the monster.
The Doctor knew he didn’t have much time. The space station was still in its daytime mode, with each and every system operational and functioning, but there was no guarantee it would stay that way. It was surely no coincidence that Petr and Saul’s world had blinked into existence soon after the lights had come on, and logic dictated it might click off just as swiftly when simulated night fell over the Castor. It felt like he and Martha had been away from the research ship for hours, but for the moment the Doctor had no way of verifying that.
The Doctor surmised that whatever was behind the phantom world was linked in some way to the night-and‐day pattern built into the software that ran the station’s systems. If it were a machine – and the technology would have to be far in advance of anything he had seen around the Castor – then the energy required to generate that much matter would be tremendous. There was no sign of the station generating any more energy than it needed to keep ticking over. And if there was some creature or person behind everything… Well, who dreams during the day? And what creature can possibly bring into existence a world – or a sizeable chunk of one at least – purely through the power of thought?
In fact, there were myriad questions the Doctor wanted answering – but first things first. He had to ensure the bubble world was kept going overnight – otherwise, when Petr and the others awoke the next day, they would find Martha gone, dumped unceremoniously back into the real world. And, if she was standing in just the wrong place when that happened, or if there were some other side effect of being within an unreal world when it collapsed in on itself