Doctor Who: Festival of Death: 50th Anniversary Edition (27 page)

‘Ah, yes, but power for what?’ said the Doctor, eyes bulging. ‘Once he’s got his psychothermic capacitors all charged up, what does he intend to do?’

‘The last time I was here, he mentioned something about how we would bear witness to the greatest achievement of his career,’ said Romana. ‘“Redemption”, he called it.’

‘Redemption? I wonder…’ The Doctor pulled at his collar. ‘“Redeem thy mis-spent time that’s past, and live this day as if thy last.”’

‘What?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ said the Doctor. ‘Just a thought. We all have, ah, missed opportunities that we regret.’

‘Like failing your basic time travel proficiency?’

‘Exactly,’ agreed the Doctor, and then realised what Romana had said. ‘No, not exactly. I didn’t fail it. It was a pointless exercise.’

‘You can’t change the past, Doctor,’ soothed Romana.

‘No, of course not. Second law of time travel and all that.’

Romana muttered something that sounded like ‘first’.

‘And anyway, if we could change the past, we wouldn’t be in the pretty pickle we are now, would we? And speaking of inevitable demises…’ The Doctor suddenly perked up. ‘ERIC!’ He charged into the adjoining room.

Romana and Evadne exchanged incredulous looks. ‘Wait here,’ said Romana, and followed him.

Meanwhile, directly above them in the Great Hall, an interview was taking place.

‘Biscit. Tell me, why did you decide to “snuff out life’s candle”?’

Hoopy shuffled his weight from foot to foot. The holocamera made him nervous, with its baleful red light.

‘Well, it’s the ultimate mystery and transcendence gig, isn’t it?’ said Biscit. ‘Of all the loaf-bakers, this is the poser to end all posers. Where do we go when we die? It’s a total self-revelation and apotheosis trip, Harky my friend.’

What was it Harken had said? Don’t, whatever you do, look directly into the camera. Hoopy guiltily turned back to Harken.

‘And Hoopy. Could you describe the actual sensations of death, in your own words.’

Oh no. Harken was pointing the microphone at him now. Hoopy wanted to run away, but his feet had transformed into a particularly immobile type of granite.

Hoopy cleared his throat. ‘It’s way out. Sure-fire. You just close your peepers, surrender to the void and you’re there. Gentle into the goodnight. Groovy.’ He did a karma sign with his fingers, realised he’d got it the wrong way round and corrected himself.

‘Relatively painless, then. That’ll be of some reassurance to our older viewers. And Xab, what is paradise actually like? What does the spirit world hold in store?’

‘It’s an awfully big adventure,’ Xab said dozily.

‘So this is ERIC’s brain centre?’ said Romana.

The Doctor was poking his nose into the various computer
units
with unbridled enthusiasm. Romana watched him fondly; the moment the Doctor set eyes on any sort of vintage machine he had an irresistible urge to start tinkering with it.

‘Yes,’ The Doctor blew the dust off his fingers. ‘You know, the state this place is in, I’m amazed he’s still going.’

‘I’m more than amazed. I’m astonished,’ said Romana. ‘Some of this circuitry is over –’

‘Two hundred years old, yes.’ The Doctor hunched over the solitary keyboard and tapped out a message, but there was no response. ‘This interaction terminal’s dead. Hello, ERIC old thing, can you hear me?’

They waited for some seconds, listening to the ever-present beeps and whirrs.

The Doctor shook his head. ‘No, there’s only two terminals still working. One in Metcalf’s office and one in Paddox’s control room. Poor chap, it must be the equivalent of going blind and having idiots shouting in both ears.’

A thought occurred to Romana. ‘Doctor, when the necroport blew up, you don’t think…’

‘Oh, but I do.’ The Doctor indicated a row of tubes set into the wall. ‘These are ERIC’s circuit breakers. If we fuse the control linkages here…’ he patted a set of cables, ‘… and switch the central processor here…’ he indicated an important-looking white box, ‘… to a direct power input, then they will overload, and ERIC’s brain will explode! Ha!’ he concluded, with unabashed delight.

‘How do you know that?’

‘ERIC told me. Ha ha.’

‘Oh. Very clever,’ said Romana, as she went ahead of him, back into the necroport chamber. And then she stopped abruptly.

The Arboretan was convulsing uncontrollably. On the opposite side of the chamber stood Evadne, her face filled with fear. And in the centre of the room, a column of air was shimmering like a heat haze.

The drone of the necroport dropped to a low, nerve-juddering rumble.

‘The time distortion,’ breathed Romana. ‘It’s starting.’

‘Oh dear.’ The Doctor approached the shimmering area, shielding his face with his hands. The column was expanding at a frightening rate, snaking up to the ceiling. ‘Evadne?’ he called across the room.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked, her voice trembling.

‘Move over to the ladder. Keep as far away from the distortion as you can.’

Evadne backed away. Reaching the base of the ladder, she looked at the Doctor, wondering what to do next.

‘Now go,’ shouted the Doctor. ‘Get out. You are in great danger!’

‘But –’

‘Go!’

Reluctantly, Evadne grasped the ladder, and started to climb.

The Great Hall was full of attendants and tourists, the preparations for the Beautiful Death well under way. On a raised platform, a man in a long coat was deep in discussion with another man in T-shirt and jeans.

Evadne slowly climbed out of the necroport. Luckily, this side of the machine was shrouded in shadows, and no one spotted her as she dropped down behind the nearest coffin.

Crouched in the darkness, she considered her next move. If she made for the side doorway, she could use the coffins for cover. She decided to risk it.

She darted from casket to casket and, to her great relief, reached the side door. It was still unlocked and she dived through into the brightly lit safety of the corridor beyond.

The time distortion had expanded to fill almost all the available space in the necroport, forcing the Doctor and Romana against the wall. Looking through the disruption they saw that the opposite side of the room appeared to be shivering violently, like a reflection in a shaking mirror.

‘Doctor,’ shouted Romana over the roar of the necroport’s engines. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘I’m open to suggestions!’ he shouted back.

‘Back to the computer room?’

‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard so far.’ The Doctor started to edge towards the doorway, Romana following a short distance behind him.

‘“Mummy, why won’t daddy be home for Christmas?”’

Metcalf felt the blood rushing to his face. ‘I will not tolerate this. This is intolerable! I did not agree to this interview just so that I could be harangued in such a provocative and substantially ill-informed manner. This interview is terminated. Now, if you will excuse me, I have matters of overt importance to attend to,’ he said, and walked down the podium steps.

The Doctor felt the edge of the doorway, and backed into ERIC’s brain centre. The distortion was now only moments away from consuming the entire necroport.

Romana inched towards him, squeezing through the gap between the wall and the shimmering haze. She put out a hand. ‘Doctor.’

‘Romana!’ The Doctor tried to reach her, but the distortion surged forward and she became a blur, her movements leaving trails of colour in the air. For a moment the Doctor could hear her calling out his name, and then she dissolved into nothingness.

The interior of the necroport returned to normal, its engines dropping to a steady hum, the distortion evaporating. But where Romana had been standing there was now just empty space.

Metcalf slumped down at his desk, panting. The crowds outside the Great Hall had been jammed solid, and it had taken all his strength to battle his way back to his office. His body was soaked with sweat, his shirt glued to his back, his hair plastered across his forehead.

The intercom buzzed. Metcalf answered it. ‘Yes, Executive Metcalf speaking.’

‘Sir, this is the prison guard. You know that saboteur you had brought down here?’

‘Yes?’

‘It is my unfortunate duty, sir, to inform you that he has escaped. He somehow managed to override the locking mechanism, and then overpowered me and rendered me unconscious.’

‘What?’ yelped Metcalf.

‘And then he locked me in a cell. In fact, if the cleaner hadn’t come along just now and let me out –’

Metcalf switched off the intercom and smashed his fist into the desk.

The Doctor made a complete circle of the necroport chamber. ‘Romana?’ he called. ‘Romana?’

She had been caught in the time disruption. Transported back to heaven knows when. Except…

‘Her time trail!’ he exclaimed. ‘Of course, I can follow it in the TARDIS!’ He bounced on his heels, trying to jog his thoughts into action. ‘That is, assuming I can get back there before it goes cold, that’s the problem with time trails – so no time to stand here talking to yourself, Doctor. Come on!’

He dashed over to the ladder and started to climb.

Romana awoke to the sound of dripping water. One side of her face was damp where it had rested on the metal floor. The air was clammy and cold. In the distance, valves clunked and gurgled.

She pulled herself to her feet. She was in a gloomy vault crisscrossed by dozens of interweaving pipes. The light came from bare bulbs set at intervals along the length of the ceiling.

Romana cast her mind back. She remembered the time distortion within the necroport, and reaching for the Doctor’s hand. As the distortion had engulfed her, she had been sick with fear, convinced that she was about to meet her destiny. Her last memory was the sensation of drowning in the shimmering, resigning herself to death.

But somehow she had survived. The relief was immense. She had escaped the inevitable, to find herself alive, exhilaratingly alive. But
where
was she?

There were two doors, one at either end of the vault. A notice was set into the surface of the nearest door:
Assig. Cerberus. ERIC. Environmental Regulation and Information Computer. Brain Centre. Authorised Personnel Only
.

She hadn’t moved an inch. She was in exactly the same place, only at an earlier time. Looking around, she realised it hadn’t changed that much; the dimensions of the vault were the same as those of the necroport and, if the pipes were removed and the lighting altered slightly, it would be essentially the same room.

The other door opened on to a corridor, panelled in oak and plushly carpeted, but so dark it was impossible to see more than a few metres in either direction. Intrigued, Romana stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind her.

‘Eats! Must have eats!’ a voice spluttered, followed by a rapid scuttling.

Romana felt a hot breath on the back of her neck, and was overwhelmed by the stench of rotten meat. She whirled around, and screamed.

The Doctor popped his head out of the necroport, and grinned. The attendants were all busy with the preparations for the Beautiful Death, fitting the headsets to the tourists and checking the life monitors. They were all so engrossed in their work it shouldn’t be a problem for someone with his experience of sneaking past people to sneak past them.

He closed the hatch gently behind him. Keeping his head down, he squatted behind the nearest coffin.

The public address system stuttered into life.

‘G-Lock. This is Executive Metcalf speaking. I regret to announce that a saboteur is on the loose. He is tall, has an itinerant manner, wears a grey coat and multicoloured scarf, and calls himself “the Doctor”. He is thought to be in or near the necroport in the Great Hall. Will all skullguards in the area attend to his capture forthwith. Thank you.’

The Doctor boggled. The prison guard must have woken up and raised the alarm. And, of course, Metcalf thought he would be trying to sabotage ERIC.

Throughout the hall, skullguards advanced down the aisles. There were a dozen of them, searching in pairs, most of them concentrating on the exact area where he was hiding.

The Doctor considered going back to the necroport, but it was no good. They would spot him immediately.

Two guards were examining the next-but-one casket to him. Another two searched the casket on the other side, unpleasant-looking laser rifles gripped in their black-gloved hands.

He was surrounded. There was absolutely no way out.

The Doctor gulped as one of the guards approached the coffin he was hiding behind.

‘We’ve got him! Over here!’

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

THE CREATURE LOOMED
out of the darkness, towering over her. Its small head swung about atop a bulbous central section, two hemispherical red eyes scouring the surroundings hungrily. Its vast mouth dropped open revealing rows of jagged teeth. Romana recoiled as two serrated pincers flashed through the air close to her face. The spiky hair on its joints brushed against her cheeks and the pitted surface of its exoskeleton glistened.

The giant spider-creature scuttled forward, its eight long, multijointed legs dancing about it in a whirl of intricately coordinated movements. It emitted a shriek, and clamped its jaws together, sniffing at the air.

The crackle of blaster fire filled the air. Caught in a circle of red light, the creature gave an ear-splitting scream and staggered away from her.

Romana turned to the source of the gunfire. She could discern two figures at the far end of the corridor, each holding a glaring flashlight.

The blasters shut off and the creature smashed into the floor. Its body shattered and its legs fractured into dozens of twitching sections. Detached from the limbs, the pincers clutched blindly at thin air. The torso and abdomen broke in two, blistering like burning fat. And the head rolled to one side, its eyes lifeless.

‘Thank you,’ Romana sighed, walking towards the figures. ‘I’m extremely grateful.’

‘Get over here,’ yelled one of the men. ‘Quick!’

Puzzled, Romana looked back over her shoulder.