Zamper

by Gareth Roberts

  Pulling himself back to the present with difficulty, he pondered his immediate strategy. As the agent of destiny, he must move swiftly. His eyes swept from side to side, his sensor array amplified to maximum. A circular combat grid cartwheeled into place before his vision and clicked to hyper-sensitivity in seconds. His olfactors he kept at their usual level; the milky reek of parasites infested every corner and he had no desire to enhance it. Instantly, his sensors furnished him with an approximate mapscreen of the Complex. The architecture was twisted and illogical, but a route led through the tubes downward. Most probably to the yards. Yes, that was as good a place as any to start his investigations. He felt almost compelled to proceed there, as if the toes of the Goddess were pushing him gently but firmly on.

  The downward route through the tubes led him eventually to a wall of rock. Set into it was an entrance, of metal, and fortunately wide enough to allow access. It remained closed as he approached. Thinking quickly, Ivzid trained his sensors on the door and the devices it contained. In the wall to one side was a metal box that governed the security mechanism. This consisted of a thin film of minute interlocking wafers that could be tripped to release the door only by the transmission of a coded signal attuned to the correct frequency. Ivzid recalled the Secunda’s statement that only the servitors were granted access to the construction bays.

  He thought hard. The problem was a difficult one, but it was impossible for parasite science, however advanced, to triumph over Chelonian ingenuity. He swept his sensors over the door again. They informed him that the power source to this door was absent; another technical failure, no doubt. Passing through was simply a matter, then, of burning or blasting a hole in the door, yet it was composed of a metal strong enough to withstand concentrated laser bombardment. Perhaps there was another way. He sought an emergency release device; yes, there was one, attached to the far side of the door itself. This, a smaller model of the main box, retained its own power source, independent of external supply. It was active, meaning that it could be overcome.

  Angling himself off the floor, he released an internal hinge and his communicator unit, a yellow u‑shaped device with a pointed tip, dropped out. Snatching it up, he recalibrated the instrument to function as a transmitter. It ought to be possible to modulate the call tones to simulate the signal required by the release mechanism.

  He clawed the buttons slowly and at random, straining his optics to detect any signs of response from the security wafers. He observed tiny changes in the power status of the wafers when certain tones were transmitted in certain patterns. It might have taken a parasite an age to crack the code, but Ivzid placed great faith in the reasoning-screen grafted to the frontal lobes of his brain, which recorded and sorted the sequence over ten minutes. Suddenly the correct series of tones was relayed back to his conscious. Grunting with satisfaction, he keyed in the code. The release mechanism flipped, and with a satisfying clunk the door swung smoothly open to admit him.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said. He powered himself up and passed through.

  Immediately something moved behind him. He turned his head and caught a glimpse of a hovering servitor-disc. It appeared to have been drained of power, judging from the lessened pitch of its internal workings and the giddiness of its movements.

  ‘State your authori-ity,’ it whined.

  ‘I have been given emergency access,’ Ivzid replied. He knew the best way to handle machines, he had been trained well. Raising his communicator, he sounded again the tones of the emergency release mechanism. ‘See.’

  The disc chattered. ‘You have no – no – authority.’ A probe slide from its side and shot a sizzling energy bolt. The disc’s aim was false and the bolt struck the floor. A couple of seconds later the disc died and dropped.

  Ivzid nodded, feeling ever more justified in his rebellion, and moved off into the darkness. Before he had gone a hundred metres along the narrow passageway ahead he heard the door clang shut behind him. It occurred to him that he had not checked the release mechanism for a means to return to the Complex. Foolish. But he was an officer, and a good one, and a solution to that problem would present itself, he was certain. For now, he would redouble his efforts to solve the mystery of Zamper.

  Trying not to appear worried, Bernice allowed the travel tube to carry her back in the direction of the guest quarters. She was keen to open up the report on the test flight and work out the exact position of the TARDIS, but the presence of a security camera at almost every corner of the Complex was disturbing. Many of them probably weren’t working, if the rest of the place was anything to go by, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Her priority now had to be to collect Cwej and Forrester, then the Doctor, and to clear out of this place. Unhealthy interest of locals in the TARDIS, she knew from experience, was bound to cause difficulties.

  Moving towards her in the next tube was Hezzka, spitting and cursing under his breath. As their paths crossed, she called, ‘Off to see the Secunda? I’d better warn you, her teapot’s not working.’

  He turned his head away. ‘Cease your prattling. You are unimportant.’

  ‘Well, somebody got out the wrong side of bed this morning, didn’t they?’

  Taal fought to control himself when Christie burst into tears on his shoulder. ‘There, there, love, you can trust me,’ he said. It’d been a very long time since a young girl had taken comfort in his arms and, despite the seriousness of their predicament, his natural instincts were proving dishonourable. Then, of course, she was particularly sweet and admirable, with that lovely little dimpled chin and such charming clear blue eyes. ‘I’ll look after you.’

  ‘But even if we get away from here somehow,’ she said between waves of sobbing, ‘we’ll be right in the middle of the war zone. And out there we’d get blasted to bits, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘We’d just have to take our chances,’ he pointed out, steering her towards the seats before the inert gaming network. ‘It’s a pity the credit that’s passed through here in the last fourteen years is all on data-coil, isn’t it?’

  ‘Isn’t there any money here?’

  He thought. ‘Only in the strongroom, my duck. And it’d be impossible to get in there, the doors are inch thick megalanium.’

  ‘There must be something of value.’ She smiled up at him wistfully. Really she was too young and innocent for all of this. ‘What about the ship designs?’

  ‘No. I thought of that years back. Non-starter. The design records computer’s linked up to the Management. He goes, it goes.’

  She dabbed away her tears with the back of her hand. Ingenuously she asked, ‘Well, the designs would be lost, but the computer memory would still be all right, wouldn’t it? Without any power?’ Noting his curious reaction, she went on, ‘Only, well, I’ve worked with computers, and it seems likely. Maybe I could even disconnect the memory, or something. Then, if we got out, we’d perhaps stand more of a chance, with something to sell. It’s just an idea.’

  Taal rubbed his chin. ‘It’s a very good one, my sweet. I reckon we could get away with it.’ He patted her on the back. ‘We’d better give it some thought. We don’t want anybody noticing what we’re about, do we? Pretty soon, I reckon the others are going to start thinking along the same lines, you know. Not Jottipher or Smith, but Secunda, she will, I’d bet on it.’

  ‘What’ll we do, then?’ With a plan in mind, Christie seemed to have perked up a bit. Taal hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed. There was still a lot that could go wrong.

  ‘I’ll meet you at the end of tube 62 in an hour, all right? That’s where the records systems is located. Until then, wait here, and act casual, just in case. If anyone, particularly Secunda, asks you what you’re up to, just… well, just cry, or something. All right?’

  She nodded. He muttered ‘good girl’, chucked her under the chin, and left game control. In her position of hiding on the other side of the internal door, Forrester’s shoulders slumped. ‘I can’t believe he’s bought that.’

  Cwej
wasn’t listening. ‘Why don’t we ask the Doctor if we can evacuate these people in the TARDIS? If Zamper’s shutting down, it’s only fair.’

  Forrester shook her head slowly and backed away down the corridor. She leant against the wall, and chewed on a thumbnail. ‘She’s a fraud. The broad’s a fraud.’

  Cwej’s eyebrows quivered. ‘You’re only saying that because you don’t like her.’

  ‘I don’t like plenty of people, but I can recognize a liar. She’s here for those ship designs. The whole stunt’s been planned.’ She smirked and looked Cwej up and down. ‘Fortunately, I’m immune to feminine charms. No way is little Christie the bubblehead she’s making out.’

  ‘She did say that she’d worked with computers.’

  ‘As advanced as the systems here? She’d have to be a genius, and she’s not acting like one, therefore she’s a fraud. That “only little me” routine is so obvious.’

  ‘You’re saying that because she isn’t the sort of person you like.’ He spoke calmly, as if she was the one at fault.

  ‘Christopher, don’t patronise me, thank you.’

  The door of the gaming centre hissed open. Expecting Christie, Forrester stopped talking. But the newcomer was Bernice. ‘It’s time to leave,’ she said. ‘I suggest we collect the Doctor and get out. The Secunda’s rather too interested in the TARDIS.’ She pointed behind her. ‘I think I can remember the way back to their garage. Coming?’

  ‘No,’ said Cwej, firmly.

  Bernice walked right up to him, stared at his face for a few seconds, and bellowed, ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I think we should help these people evacuate,’ he said. ‘We’ve nothing to fear, they’re only people.’

  ‘The Chelonians,’ said Forrester. ‘Even if the Doctor said yes, we’d never get them through the door.’ She poked him in the ribs, hard. ‘Don’t be stupid, Chris.’

  ‘It’s not stupid. It’s fair.’

  Bernice held up a hand. ‘All right, all right, let’s not get ourselves upset. We’ll find the Doctor and then discuss it, okay?’

  Cwej looked between the two women and nodded.

  Bernice turned to lead them away. They passed through the gaming centre, which was empty. Forrester looked about the room. ‘Did you see that Christie girl when you walked through here?’ Bernice shook her head. Forrester turned triumphantly to Cwej. ‘See? Your innocent little friend is on the move already.’

  For some time, as his descent through the caverns continued, the Doctor had been aware of the echoing signals that were passing between the sub-herd. Cave 74D was close. The sounds increased in volume as he took a fork that went right, and to his astonishment he found that he could see quite clearly all about him. Switching off his torch, he traced the source of the luminescence to a split in the rock wall facing him. The light shone clear as daylight, pure and white. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the brilliance.

  Cautiously, he stepped forward, screwing up his eyes to peer through the split in the rock.

  ‘Bright, isn’t it?’ asked a voice.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can’t make out what’s causing the…’ It occurred to him that he had thought himself alone. 'Ah. Hello, Smith. You got down here very fast.’

  She slapped him lightly on the cheek. ‘How dare you!’

  The Doctor rubbed his wound tenderly. ‘How dare I what?’

  ‘Just walk into my lab, steal my research, put me to sleep and come out here!’ She punched his chest. ‘Well?’

  ‘I did leave a note.’ He pointed to the split in the rock. ‘I still think this could be very dangerous. And I’m experienced at navigating caves.’

  Smith gestured to the length of rope coiled around her shoulder. ‘You didn’t even think to bring any equipment.’

  The Doctor tapped the side of his head. ‘All the equipment I need is up here.’ He fidgeted, tapping his fingers together. ‘I really wanted to be alone down here. It could be vitally important for the future of Zamper. I need my wits about me, I don’t want to be worrying about anybody else.’

  ‘I can look after myself, Doctor.’

  ‘I hope so.’ He patted her absent-mindedly on the shoulder, and then trailed back to the split in the rock. He tried to make some sense of what was going on in the cavern beyond. At this point, they were looking down at the top of the Zamps’ artifact, which stood in all its irregular glory below them, its grey metal sides dripping with the twitching, squelching forms of its creators.

  ‘It’s enormous,’ breathed Smith. ‘About the size of one of the ships. I didn’t realize.’

  ‘There’s a lot you haven’t realized,’ the Doctor muttered. He turned back to her, smiling. ‘May I borrow your rope?’

  Hezzka was jolted forward and back by the travelling pavement inside the tube. He shouted curses against the parasites as he struggled to regain his balance, thankful that he had been moving downward at a gentle angle. The tube juddered, the pavement’s pneumatics sighed, and all the lights inside the Complex went out.

  There was complete silence. For a few moments, Hezzka thought he heard the high-pitched cries of a female parasite. The sound cut out.

  He compensated for the lack of light, and shuffled forward curiously. As far as he was aware, all electrical activity had ceased.

  ‘This inefficiency will be punished!’ he shouted, his voice echoing and re-echoing from the glassy surfaces of the tube, and shaking its support structure. ‘Hear me, Secunda, I will have our monies returned or my fleet will scorch this planet!’

  The echoes died away. For less than a second, stranded in this strange alien place in the darkness, Hezzka felt the rise of that deeply-buried atavistic fear.

  What, an inner voice whispered, if the Arionites were to emerge?

  Without warning, the screen affixed to the metal rail above the tube glowed and hummed, then returned to working order. At the same time the pavement jerked forward again, and the lights flickered on and off, on and off.

  There was nothing on the screen but thick bars of crackling atmospherics, but a parasite voice, distant and strange, as if speaking from beneath a bog, rang out along the walkways. ‘Sec-Secunda-da! This-is is the Man-age-age-ment… All is proceed-eeding sm-moothly!… Con-continue!… Find the Doc-Doctor! He understands me… you must help me… it is… I am dying-inging…’

  The screen washed out with static, the crackling rose in pitch to drown the voice, and the lights went out again.

  Ivzid had proceeded through the darkened tunnels that led down to the construction bays. After ten minutes he reached a junction. Etched into the walls of rock were arrows and identifying numbers. Ivzid used his resource-bank to translate the notation, and hurried along the tunnel to yard six.

  Green light seeped from the construction yard. He recalled the image shown in the Secunda’s office, and the faint light plaques built into the structure of the ship’s exterior. Thrilled by the prospect of this history-making initiative, and mindful of the time it was taking him to uncover the truth – he had no desire to be stranded by that old fool Hezzka – he powered up his joints and engaged his battle-drive. His limbs he flooded with stimulants. It seemed to him that a raging sea roared against his tympanic membranes, and his heart beat faster, his head swam, his olfactors flared, every sense was alert, every muscle in his body ready for whatever might happen. Ah, the glory of battle-drive!

  Something above him creaked. He raised his head – and sensed the collapse of the roofing struts, dislodged by his thunderous passage through the tunnel. He screamed and pushed himself forward even faster as the tunnel roared and shook, bucking like a beast around him, as if he was in the throat of some monstrous creature. Large rocks struck him on the shell, bouncing harmlessly off the strengthened scutes but increasing his anxiety. He turned a corner, ran on into the dim green light, his bulky frame showered with scree and choking dust, his eyes streaming.

  At the end of the collapsing tunnel was the construction yard, its outline dominated by the bullet-s
haped magnificence of the Series 336c Delta-Spiral Sun Blaster. The ship of salvation. He caught dizzy half-formed glimpses of a few burbling Zamps idling on its surfaces, clicking and twitching their feelers.

  At the end of the tunnel was a drop of some five hundred metres.

  A hideous crunching noise came from behind, and Ivzid was thrown forward, sent spiralling rear over front through the air. He screamed and yelped, his dreams of glory shattered, his mind filled with terror, his feet clawing pathetically at thin air. His thoughts were of the Goddess. He was praying, no, begging forgiveness for his foolishness.

  He tumbled, over and over and over, every detail of the construction yard picked out with terrible clarity. He realized that his internal sensor array, still on-line for battle-drive, was trying to tell him the exact speed and scale of impact he would experience when he hit the ground.

  And then something peculiar happened.

  Ivzid slowed.

  His final thought before he was overcome by darkness was that the Goddess had delivered him.

  Having secured the knotted end of the length of rope to a conveniently sturdy stalagmite at the mouth of cave 74D, the Doctor tossed the coil down, tested its strength, and then descended hand-over-hand with the ease of experience. There was a small drop at the end of the rope, and directly beneath was a pool of the glutinous substance used by the Zamps to aid their locomotion. The Doctor had no wish to get stuck, and so twisted himself as he dropped, alighting neatly on a dry flat area. ‘Come on, then,’ he called up to Smith, having to shout over the increased warbling of the Zamps. There was no response, and he sighed as he recalled his thwarted preference to remain alone. ‘Smith!’