Doctor Who: Engines of War (16 page)

At this, Cinder struggled violently against the bonds, bucking in the chair, but the Castellan had done his job well, and there was no chance of her breaking free. She couldn’t even call for help, as they’d gagged her as soon as Karlax had bundled her into the room.

She’d managed to scratch Karlax’s face with her fingernails during the ensuing struggle, drawing blood, but it had been only a small victory, a fleeting moment of satisfaction, before the horror of her situation had really set in. She was trapped in the room with these two men and their machine, and no one even knew she was here. Whether she liked it or not, they were going to use their mind probe on her.

Cinder found herself wondering how often they had occasion to use it. Judging by the look of anticipation on Karlax’s face, it wouldn’t surprise her to learn that he used at any opportunity he could. Clearly, amongst his other virtues, he had a well-developed sadistic streak.

She was strapped into the high-backed chair, facing a bank of glass monitor screens. Presently they showed only static snow, white noise, but she assumed this was where any memories they managed to extract from her mind would play out for the others to watch.

She could see her own reflection in the polished glass. She looked dwarfed by the chair, and the cables rising from the helmet to the ceiling might have been long strands of fibrous hair, standing on end as if charged with static electricity.

It reminded her of the glass incubation chambers she had seen on the Dalek ship, and she only wished she had the same opportunity now to sabotage the machine before they had chance to activate it.

‘Get on with it,’ said Karlax. He was watching the door, clearly nervous that the Doctor might burst in at any moment to interrupt proceedings.

‘I’m working as fast as I can,’ replied the Castellan. ‘If I don’t get the levels right we’ll fry her brain before you get anything out of her head.’

Karlax was pacing, his hands behind his back. He looked imperious, full of self-import, and Cinder smiled at the site of the three angry gouges on his left cheek. With any luck, she’d be able to offer him a matching set for the other cheek when this was over with.

The Castellan stepped back. ‘I’m ready,’ he said.

Karlax ceased his pacing and moved behind the chair, out of sight. For the first time, the Castellan, standing beside the chair, looked down and met her gaze. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘This is going to hurt.’ He flicked the switch.

At first, nothing happened. She heard a gentle buzzing sound coming from behind her left ear, and all she could feel was a warm tickling sensation at the front of her skull. It was uncomfortable, but not painful. She glanced at the monitors, but they continued to display nothing but dancing static.

She concentrated on the buzzing, as it seemed to grow in intensity. With it, the pressure inside her head began to mount. Pain blossomed, and she bit down on the gag. Still, the heat and the pressure continued to increase, until she was sure that at any moment it was going to cause her skull to crack.

She rocked forward in the chair, her vision blurring. The pain was like a white light, searing and bright, and there was no way of shutting it down or escaping it. She tried to scream, but choked back on the rag in her mouth.

The memories came in a sudden flurry, cascading through her mind as a series of stuttering images. Curiously, they were the devoid of colour, like ancient black-and-white photographs being sorted in her mind’s eye. They played out of sequence: a snippet here, a snippet there, fragments of her childhood, of her time with the rebels on Moldox, her recent time with the Doctor.

She forced her eyes open to see these scenes unfolding on the monitors, the story of her life being replayed in a bizarre, looping sequence.

She saw faces, people talking to her, and although she could hear nothing, the tastes and smells were fresh, as if she were experiencing them again for the very first time.

She saw her brother, gambolling about like a monkey, pulling silly faces at her. She watched her mother serving dinner in their homestead, her father reading her a bedtime story. And then she watched them die all over again, exterminated by the metal monsters, who seemed to come out of nowhere, tumbling from the sky in a glowing discs, lighting bonfires with their screaming weapons.

They had burst in through the kitchen wall, five of them, rasping in their oily, mechanical voices, all gold and bronze and barking commands. She hadn’t understood a word of it, but when they started firing and her father collapsed on the living room floor, steam rising from his lifeless body, she had understood enough to run and hide.

Just moments before the Daleks had arrived, Cinder’s mother had been emptying the kitchen bin, and in the chaos, Cinder snuck onto the porch, quickly overturning it and ducking inside. She cowered in there while the Daleks razed her homestead to the ground.

She’d never seen her family again, not even their corpses.

The memories continued to rise unbidden into her consciousness. Now, they came with startling clarity, and excruciating pain:

– Coyne teaching her how to aim a rifle, targeting the burnt-out shell of a Skaro Degradation he’d destroyed earlier that day in an ambush

– Learning how to pick a lock with Ash, a 12-year-old boy with sandy blond hair, who’d been killed that night during a Dalek raid

– Lying atop a building during a rainstorm, waiting for a Dalek patrol to pass by underneath, so that she might trigger the mine she had buried in the street that morning

– Her first kiss with another girl from the rebel camp, the raven-haired Stephanie, who had taught her things that she could never have imagined

– And Finch, who she had somehow forgotten. Finch, her partner in crime, her friend. Finch who had died during the ambush that had brought the Doctor tumbling from the sky; who’d been erased from existence by the temporal weapon of the new Dalek…

Cinder felt tears streaming from her eyes, running down her cheeks, but they were not tears of pain. They were tears of sadness.

Images of the Dalek base flickered through her mind – of running through corridors behind the Doctor, of exploding Daleks and obscene hatcheries. Of the laboratory where the Daleks were dissecting the Degradations, and of their flight through the ruins, all the way back to the TARDIS.

Cinder wasn’t aware of the Castellan turning off the machine, but she felt the fire in her head begin to quell. The buzzing sound ceased suddenly. She slumped back in the chair, nauseous and dizzy. Her breath was coming in ragged, fitful gasps.

She felt someone check the pulse at her throat. ‘She’ll survive,’ said the Castellan.

‘A pity,’ said Karlax. ‘I was looking forward to seeing the expression on the Doctor’s face when I told him the news.’

The Castellan removed the rag from her mouth. She gasped for air. ‘He’ll kill you,’ she said, between shallow breaths. ‘He’ll kill you for this.’

Karlax laughed. ‘Oh no, not the Doctor,’ he said. ‘The Doctor and I are old playmates. He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty.’

Cinder closed her eyes. The world was spinning. She couldn’t risk slipping into unconsciousness around these men. If she did, there was every chance that she would never wake up again.

‘Water,’ she said, her voice a dry croak. She was parched, and there was an odd taste on her tongue, like aluminium.

‘Karlax, get her some water while I remove these straps, will you?’ said the Castellan. ‘You’ve got what you wanted. You’ve seen the evidence to support the Doctor’s claims, and you know what he was up to on Moldox. It’s time to leave the girl alone.’

‘If I must,’ replied Karlax, with venom, and quit the room.

‘Right,’ said the Castellan, once the door had closed behind Karlax. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’ He began unbuckling straps. ‘Quickly now, help me if you have the strength. I want to get you away from here before he’s back.’

Cinder looked up at the man as, red-faced, he hurried to free her. She had no strength left with which to help him. It was all too little, too late. He was clearly the weakest sort of man, complicit in her torture, and now remorseful. She’d known people like this before. On Moldox, they didn’t survive for very long.

The Castellan had finished unbuckling her, and bent down, cupping her out of the chair and lifting her into his arms. ‘I’ll take you somewhere you can sleep it off,’ he said, ‘while you wait for the Doctor to return.’ He staggered towards the door, kicking it open. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re right. The Doctor is a different man these days. If he gets hold of Karlax after this, I think he
might
just kill him.’

Cinder, however, heard only a vague mumble, as she finally allowed herself to slip into peaceful oblivion.

Chapter Fourteen

The Doctor and Rassilon returned to the High Council chamber via the transmat, to find Karlax waiting for them. He was sitting at the table wearing an anxious expression, his hands steepled beneath his chin.

‘Ah, Doctor. We were concerned for your whereabouts. No one seemed to know where you were.’

‘Concerned,’ echoed the Doctor. ‘Yes, I can believe you were
concerned
, Karlax.’

The man gave a sickly smile. ‘I see that we had no need to worry, given that you were in the company of the Lord President.’

Rassilon stepped down from the transmat podium. His face was impassive. ‘Karlax, gather the Council. I shall relate my instructions immediately.’ He turned to the Doctor. ‘Your presence is no longer required, Doctor. Find your assistant, and leave.’

‘You’re making a grave mistake, Rassilon,’ said the Doctor.

‘I am making the only choice I can. I shall hear no more of your insolence. I grow weary of it. Go now, before I am forced to silence you myself.’ He fixed the Doctor with an unswerving stare and his fingers tightened visibly around the shaft of his staff, as if to underline his point. The Doctor knew this was not an idle threat. Rassilon was quick to anger, and even quicker to act.

Defiantly, the Doctor met his gaze. Then, with reluctance, he turned his back on the man. It seemed he was running out of options. Clearly, none of the High Council members were prepared to listen to reason. He decided he was going to have to find another approach, another way to stop them. Whatever happened, he couldn’t allow them to deploy the Tear, even if it meant acting against them and intervening in their plans.

Without another word, he thundered from the room, heading for the observation room to find Cinder.

‘What have you done with her?’ growled the Doctor, bursting in through the doors of the High Council chamber. His jaw was set, and he was full of indignant ire. ‘Where is she, Karlax?’

The High Council was, once again, in full session, and the assembled Time Lords ceased their chatter to look round at the Doctor as he marched towards them, glaring at Karlax, awaiting an answer.

The aide was standing on the opposite side of the room, his back to the wall, just behind Rassilon’s left shoulder.

‘Your female companion, Doctor?’ said Karlax, with affected innocence. ‘Didn’t you leave her in the observation room to wait for you while you took your little – and I feel obliged to add,
unauthorised
– jaunt?’

The Doctor slammed his fist down on the table. He’d searched the observation gallery and the surrounding rooms, and Cinder was nowhere to be seen. Something had clearly happened to her while he’d been away at the Death Zone. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Karlax. I know you’re up to something. Now tell me – where is she?’

‘I can honestly say, Doctor, that I have no idea,’ said Karlax, with a satisfied grin. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘If you’ve misplaced her, perhaps you might consider investing in a more effective leash.’

The Doctor drew a deep breath. He knew Karlax was behind Cinder’s disappearance. He
knew
it. He was furious with himself for leaving her so exposed, as he’d raced off after Rassilon into the Death Zone. He’d foolishly thought there was less chance of her coming to harm, here in the Time Lord Capitol. They were supposed to be
civilised
. This was why he travelled alone, nowadays. The War had changed everything, changed every
one
, and he didn’t want the responsibility. He wasn’t sure he could protect them any more.

This, however, was just like Karlax. He was an opportunist. He’ll have seen his chance and seized it, whisked Cinder off as a way of getting to the Doctor.

He bunched his fists, so hard that he felt his fingernails digging into the flesh of his palms. ‘I’m warning you, Karlax…’ he said.

The Castellan hesitantly got to his feet. He coughed nervously into his fist. ‘I know where she is, Doctor,’ he said levelly. ‘I’ll show you.’ He pushed his chair back, its legs scraping rudely on the marble, and walked around the table until he was standing by the harp. All eyes in the room were on him, and the Doctor noted that Karlax had fixed the Castellan with a particularly menacing stare.

The Castellan paused, glanced at Rassilon – whose features remained impassive – and then reached for the harp. His fingers plucked clumsily at the strings, his hands trembling. He was reading the notes detailed in the painting on the wall, recreating them on the real harp. The Doctor understood what was about to happen – he had seen this before.

After a moment the melody came to an end, and a panel in the wall, just behind the plinth upon which the harp rested, slid open to reveal a hidden control room. Lights winked from an array of dusty old computer panels and consoles. And there, sprawled in a chair, was Cinder.

The Doctor rushed over to her, barging past the Castellan and into the small antechamber. She was barely conscious; her head was flopped across her left shoulder, so that her bright orange hair fell in strands across her face. Her eyes were closed, her breathing ragged.

Gently, the Doctor repositioned her head, brushing the hair from her forehead. She was pale and cold, her skin clammy to the touch. Her eyelids fluttered, trying to open. He checked her pulse, and sighed in relief as he realised it was still strong and regular.