Doctor Who BBCN10 - The Nightmare of Black Island (22 page)

Peyne raised her head, her eyes wide with disbelief. ‘Morton?’

‘Is this what I lived for, Peyne, to be your creature, your weapon?

To plunder the universe, destroying and killing.’

‘My Lord, the primitive mind. . . It is stronger than I had thought.

It has some control. I. . . ’

‘Another mistake, Peyne?’ The thing laughed. A horrible, bubbling cackle. ‘If this is the life you offer, so be it. If I cannot live as Nathaniel Morton the man, then I shall be Morton the Destroyer, the new god of the Cynrog. . . And you will serve me!’

Peyne clambered to her feet, eyes blazing with anger. ‘Never.’

‘As you wish.’

The Morton creature lunged forward, taking Peyne’s head off with a single bite. The body stood for a few seconds, yellow ichor foun-taining from its neck, then it collapsed in a crumpled heap.

The creature threw its head back and bellowed in triumph. Flexing its claws, it reared back, towering over the house, staring down at the Time Lord standing in the centre of the lawn.

‘And now for you, Doctor.’

Ali reached for the final switch. With every nodule she had opened her tiredness had started to leave her. She felt more alive than she had in months. She stretched out, grasped the ridged dial and turned it. It moved with a sharp click and the machine changed in pitch once more.

‘I’ve done it, Rose! I’ve done it!’

She wriggled out from under the machine, sonic screwdriver held proudly in her hands.

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Her smile turned to disappointment. Rose was fast asleep.

Behind the bar of the Red Lion Beth Hardy watched as her husband slumped down across the table he was clearing, dead to the world.

She barely had enough time to put a full glass of bitter on the bar top before she too collapsed in a heap.

Across the village children woke from their nightmares and watched in disbelief as their parents slumped back in chairs and on to carpets as sleep overtook them.

The village of Ynys Du reverberated to the sounds of heavy snoring.

The Doctor closed his eyes as the razor claws reached out through the rain, waiting for the killer blow.

It never came.

He opened one eye cautiously.

The creature was staring at its claws, turning them this way and that. It looked down at the Doctor.

‘I think I chipped a nail.’

The Doctor blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘A nail. Look.’ It held out a claw. ‘And that head. Do you think it’s going to be fattening? You never know with foreign food, do you?’

The creature skittered across the lawn, staring at its reflection in the tall windows of the rectory. ‘Do you think I look all right in this? I’m not sure if it suits me. I’m meant to be going to Maureen’s wedding next week and I’m really not convinced.’

As the Doctor watched, a flicker of energy lanced from the roof of the shattered rectory and danced around the creature’s outline. Balor seemed to be shrinking.

It started to scamper in circles, arms waving agitatedly. ‘Oh, God.

I’m not sure I’m going to be able to make that mortgage payment in time. And what if I don’t get that job at the chemist? He says he wants to settle down, but I know he’s still seeing Pauline from the WH Smith in town. Three of Dai Williams’s chickens dropped dead last week. I hope we’ve not got that bird flu thing here. . . ’

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The creature was shrinking faster and faster now, its scales fading, changing, its skin becoming pinstriped, masked, different football colours, a blur of shapes and images. The voice got more and more frantic, words blurring into each other. The Doctor could hear snatches of half-shouted fears: global warming, old age, cellulite, rent cheques, girlfriends, boyfriends, debts, affairs.

The creature was a whirling blur now. And then, with a sudden pop, it vanished.

The Doctor stood in the rain in the middle of the lawn, staring at the spot where the creature had been. Choking clouds of black smoke billowed into the night air as more and more of the rectory succumbed to the flames.

A shattering explosion sent him tumbling across the grass. That was presumably the last of the Cynrog machinery.

He picked himself up and glanced across to the wreckage of the dining room. That room too was ablaze. The husks of those people who had held the mind of Balor for most of their lives were finally free.

The last of the Cynrog technicians were rushing about in confusion.

The Doctor sighed. He had work to do. He couldn’t let desperate aliens wander free.

He clapped his hands. ‘Right, you lot. Your commander’s dead, your god is gone, I’m the rightful guardian of this planet and it’s time for you to sling your hook, before I get
really
angry.’

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The young woman lay peacefully on the stretcher, blankets tucked protectively around her. The Doctor brushed a strand of auburn hair gently from her forehead.

The woman’s eyelids flickered open briefly to reveal sparkling grey eyes. The Doctor smiled at her. She caught hold of his hand and squeezed it.

‘Thank you,’ Bronwyn whispered. ‘For setting me free.’

The Doctor shook his head. ‘Your boy set you free. Your Jimmy. He showed me what you had seen. What I needed to do.’

Bronwyn smiled. ‘He was such a good boy.’

‘Who loved his mother. Always.’

A hurrying paramedic manoeuvred the Doctor firmly to one side, catching hold of the stretcher’s handles. His colleague took the other end and they hoisted Bronwyn off the beach and into the waiting ambulance.

The Doctor closed the doors behind them and watched as the ambulance roared off through the village, lights whirling. Bronwyn’s rejuvenation had been an unexpected bonus. As he had hoped, Ali’s readjustment of the Cynrog transmitters had tapped into the fears and 163

neuroses of the adults of Ynys Du, not the children. Instead of fan-tastic monsters, the nightmares were of a far more mundane nature.

‘Tainted by the trivia of the real world,’ as Peyne had put it. Without the imagination of the children to sustain it, the monster had simply ceased to exist.

He glanced up at the smudge of grey smoke that trailed into the blue sky from the cliff top. The fire in the rectory had raged all night.

There would be no traces of the Cynrog machinery by now.

He crossed to where Rose sat on the sea wall, shaking her head in disbelief. Ali was perched next to her.

‘I just came down the stairs and she was sitting there, fast asleep.’

‘How did old Bronwyn become pretty again?’

Ali had her head cocked to one side, squinting at the Doctor.

He tried to look casual. ‘Well, the Cynrog transmitters were still working flat out until the moment they blew up. As soon as the monster was finally solid, they were designed to switch frequencies and suck the life force out of you lot to rejuvenate Mr Morton and his friends. When Peyne started to triangulate on Bronwyn’s psychic sig-nature, looking for the final piece of Balor, the machinery somehow got its polarity reversed. Instead of rejuvenating Morton and the others, it look
their
life force and rejuvenated Bronwyn instead.’

Ali frowned and nudged Rose. ‘Does he always talk like that or do you get him to speak English sometimes?’

Rose laughed. ‘Nah, he’s always like this.’

‘Of course, the machinery was also operating on similar frequencies to the TARDIS, so there’s a possibility that she had a hand in it somewhere. . . ’

‘The TARDIS. . . ’ Rose looked at him quizzically.

‘Yeah, well, she does like to. . . interfere sometimes.’

‘Right. I wonder where she gets that from.’

‘I’ll tell you another thing. . . ’ The Doctor hopped up on to the wall next to Rose, whispering into her ear. ‘Bronwyn’s pregnant.’

‘No way? Another Jimmy?’

‘Could be.’

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‘But isn’t everything gonna just start up all over again? Doesn’t she still have a bit of that Balor thing inside her mind?’

‘Not any more.’ The Doctor tapped the side of his head. ‘In here.

Ooh, nasty little bit it is, all buzzy and angry like a big wasp. Gonna have to give myself a mental enema when we get back to the TARDIS.’

‘Eeergh!’ Rose and Ali both grimaced.

‘Come on, Ali!’ The Doctor bounded off the wall, catching her by the hands. ‘Rose and I have got equipment to strip out of a lighthouse and some Cynrog to send on their way, and I want to buy you an ice cream before we go.’

Dai Barraclough puffed and panted as he took the final few steps on to the cliff top.

‘What have you dragged us all the way up here for, Hardy?’

Ali glared at him. ‘I told you. I’ve got something special to show you.’

‘It’d better be worth it.’

‘Shut up, Dai.’ Billy Palmer threw him an angry glare. ‘If Ali says it’s special, then it’ll be special.’

Ali smiled at him. She liked Billy Palmer.

The rest of the gang were squatted down on the grass at the cliff edge, staring out at the jagged rocks of Black Island. The sun was high in the sky, sending silver highlights dancing over the waves. A fresh breeze blew in from the sea, swaying the tall grass and flecking the rocks far below with foam.

‘What are we looking for, Ali?’ asked one of the twins.

Ali glanced at her watch. ‘You’ll see. Any moment now. . . ’

With a loud rumble, something emerged from behind the lighthouse in a blaze of light, a silver shape skimming over the water before lifting higher and higher into the blue sky.

The children watched open-mouthed as it curved above them and then, with a flare of dazzling light, streaked away towards the horizon, the roar of its engines sending seagulls shrieking into the brilliant blue.

Ali shielded her eyes from the sun and smiled.

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∗ ∗ ∗

The Doctor and Rose stood in the console room of the TARDIS, eating their ice cream cones, watching on the scanner screen as the silver shape of the Cynrog ship slowly made its way out of orbit, accelerating away from the Earth.

‘You’ve sent them back to their war, then?’ Rose sounded disapproving.

‘Yeah, but by the scenic route.’

‘How scenic?’

‘Oh. . . about. . . forty or fifty parsecs out of their way. Should take them a couple of years at that speed.’

‘A couple of years.’ Rose looked shocked. ‘Can they survive that long in that sardine tin?’

‘Course they can! Lovely little stasis capsules in that thing. They’ll sleep all the way home! Mind you. . . ’ He tailed off.

‘What?’

‘They might have a few bad dreams on the way.’

‘Dreams?’ Rose raised a quizzical eyebrow.

‘Well, nightmares if you want to be strictly accurate. Just enough to ensure that they won’t fancy coming back.’

‘Oh yeah, and what do creatures like the Cynrog have nightmares about?’

The Doctor just smiled.

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Acknowledgements

Grateful thanks are due to Justin, my editor, for refusing to take no for an answer and for endless encouragement and problem-solving during the writing of this book. And to Ian Grutchfield for convincing me that saying yes was the right thing to do. Thanks also to the usual suspects, who kept me sane during the process: Karen Parks (x)

Sue Cowley and Steve Roberts (and their pussy cat) Steve Cole (for belly-dancing)

Moogie and Andy Tucker (Baz lives again!)

Robert Perry (where are you?)

The Boys from the Model Unit (for Beers, Badgers and BAFTAs) Soph and Sylv (without whom. . . )

and

Christopher, David and Billie (for bringing it back for a new generation).

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About the Author

Mike Tucker is a visual effects designer who, after twenty years at the BBC, now runs his own company, The Model Unit, out of Ealing Studios. Having worked as an effects assistant on the original series of Doctor Who, he has been the Miniature Effects Supervisor on the first two seasons of the new series, overseeing the team responsible for (among other things) the destruction of Big Ben, the Daleks (and their Emperor) and K-9.

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• Cover
  
• Contents
  
• Prologue
  
• ONE
  
• TWO
  
• THREE
  
• FOUR
  
• FIVE
  
• SIX
  
• SEVEN
  
• EIGHT
  
• NINE
  
• TEN
  
• ELEVEN
  
• TWELVE
  
• THIRTEEN
  
• FOURTEEN
  
• Acknowledgements
  
• About the Author
  
• Back Cover