Darkling’s attention was on the man’s face, his blackened and bloodied face, as he relived the moment. One moment among many. One death out of a hundred. A thousand.
And he saw it. It was in the man’s stance. It was in his expression as he turned to face Darkling. It was in the set of his jaw as he noticed his enemy. It was in the way he fought to bring the gun up in time.
It was in his eyes as Darkling fired first.
Then it was gone, blown away by the same breeze that rolled the smoke back into place. Blown away by the still-echoing blast that hurled the man backward into the smoke, and a corpse into the mud behind him.
Her brother.
He was sure. Well, he was almost sure.
It was possible.
And Haden was still smiling at him, frozen where he was, as she started back along the battlements towards him. In his mind’s eye, the smoke of the battlefield rolled away from her as she walked.
Perhaps she mistook the moisture in his eyes, misread the way his jaw quivered, misunderstood the emotion welling within him. She caught his arm as she passed, pulled him after her into the shadow of the wall, pulled him towards her in the half-light of the stars.
Darkling shook his head as she pulled off her helmet. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘No, don’t.’
She was still smiling. She cocked her head slightly to one side. ‘If not now,’ she said quietly, ‘then when?’ Her voice was husky and dry. She dropped her helmet, reaching for his, drawing it over his head.
He wanted to say something. To tell her. But he wasn’t sure. It was a possibility, that was all. And did it change anything? What was done was done. They both knew that. They both had lives where only the moment counted, where death might wait quietly behind any doorway or in any smile. ‘The cameras,’ he muttered. ‘We don’t know if –’
She put her finger to his lips. ‘Then make it look good,’ she said as she removed her finger and pulled him towards her.
The Stardial Chamber held less fascination for Helana Trayx than it did for her husband. But she knew how it affected him, and was not at all surprised to find he had brought the Doctor here. She watched the two of them as they walked round the chamber, their enthusiasm obvious from their animated and intent manner. She said nothing until their tour of the outer circle brought the Doctor and Trayx back to the doorway where she waited.
‘I thought I would find you in here,’ she said quietly. She had not expected her husband to show any surprise at her quiet presence, but she was intrigued that the Doctor also seemed unmoved. She smiled at them both, and went on, ‘My husband has a certain fascination with this place that I am afraid I do not share.’
‘Fascination?’ the Doctor mused. ‘Yes, I can see that.’ He cleared his throat. ‘So what does fascinate you, Mrs Trayx?’
‘Helana, please,’ she offered, by way of avoiding the question. If the truth be told, she believed herself beyond fascination. Helana had been young and naive when her marriage to Milton Trayx was agreed. She was besotted with him – her very own heroic knight – but she could not truthfully say she had been in love. But the fact that he had loved her was never in doubt. Right from their first meeting, at one of her father’s political soirées, Trayx had been madly and obviously in love with Helana. She had been present largely against her will to lend an air of social refinement to an evening that was unashamedly political. And since neither she nor Trayx had any interest in the polities, they had naturally graduated to the same still point in the room. She had been immediately entranced, and he had fallen in love for the first and probably the only time in his life.
Since the marriage was good for both families, there had been no objection to the match. In fact, the encouragement their courtship engendered ensured an early – perhaps too early – marriage. Already Helana was beginning to realise that her fascination with Trayx was as much because of his differences from the people she was used to as for his own attributes. Helana found she had an equal fixation with many of Trayx’s friends and colleagues. In particular, her attraction to Trayx’s best friend – to Hans Kesar – went beyond mere fascination.
But the war had ended the affair. When her husband and Kesar were friends and colleagues, meeting Kesar had been as straightforward as it was exhilarating. But with the advent of the war, two things changed. First her access to Kesar was suddenly impossible. And second, she realised that much of Kesar’s appeal was his similarity to Milton Trayx, was the fact that in effect he offered her more of the same.
It came to her one evening. She was alone in her bedroom, sitting in front of her dressing table brushing her long blonde hair. Trayx was away, away at the war. Perhaps fighting at that moment. Perhaps dying at that moment. As she watched herself, she became slowly aware that she was paying more attention to the bedroom door reflected behind her. She was hoping it would open, was willing it to open. To open and admit Trayx. And she was crying.
Trayx was away, and she had no idea where. She knew only that he was in the gravest danger, that the future of the whole Republic was vested in her husband. She knew that more than anything she wanted him there with her, wanted his arms around her, wanted to feel his breath on her cheek and the back of her neck. With her lover and her husband thrown into sudden violent opposition, Helana Trayx was amazed and elated to discover the true depth of her love for her husband.
Coming to Santespri was in many ways the culmination of that realisation. Trayx had never before let her accompany him, but this time she had insisted. There were things she had to finish. And she wanted them finished. Apart from her desire to be with her husband as much as possible, never to let him leave her again if she could avoid it, she had another mission. A part of her life was over, and she needed to bring it to proper closure. And to do that she needed to see Hans Kesar again. Alone.
She became aware that both Trayx and the Doctor were still looking at her, still expecting an answer. She shrugged. ‘I admit this place is impressive.’
The Doctor seemed to watch her intently for a moment. Then he was suddenly spinning on his heels and striding off into the middle of the huge chamber. ‘Well, what fascinates me,’ he said, his voice carrying across the room with a power that belied its gentle tone, ‘is the way that star is moving.’
‘All the stars move,’ Trayx replied.
‘Ah, but this one is moving out of alignment.’
‘Are you sure?’ Trayx was moving to join the Doctor now, and Helana found herself following him.
‘Of course I’m sure,’ the Doctor almost snapped back. He pointed to a space above them. ‘It was over there, part of that cluster. Now it’s moved.’
‘Maybe it’s not part of that cluster at all. The sky is three-dimensional of course. That star could be –’ Trayx stopped as he saw the Doctor’s expression.
‘Thank you, I do know a little about stellar cartography.’ His face softened. ‘No, no, no. The refraction of the light, the amount of bleed round the edges suggests that it is a small reflective surface somewhere between us and the cluster. It isn’t a star at all.’ He pointed to the current position of the tiny dot. ‘It’s moving fairly constantly. And it’s getting bigger.’ Then he dropped to his knees, a magnifying glass suddenly in his hand as he studied the marble floor. ‘We should be able to see the path it’s taking more clearly down here,’ he said. ‘Could you move over a bit, madam, you’re blocking the light. Ah, yes. Thank you.’
To Helana’s amazement, Trayx was also on his knees examining the floor. ‘A ship?’
The Doctor nodded. ‘A big ship. A very big ship.’
‘Could be a cruiser.’
‘And I would say that it’s coming this way. Look.’ The Doctor crawled across the floor. ‘I first noticed it here.’ The magnifying glass was gone now, bundled into a pocket. Instead the Doctor was holding a stick of chalk. He drew an X on the floor. ‘It has moved in a uniform line to this position.’ He crabbed across the floor, back towards where Trayx was still kneeling. The chalk des
cribed a perfectly straight line in the Doctor’s wake.
‘It’s coming straight for us,’ Trayx said quietly. ‘It’s not navigating using any intermediate points of reference, or its course would not be so true.’
‘You’re not expecting any visitors, I take it?’ Trayx shook his head. ‘Then perhaps you should switch off the sonic subspace frequency you’re broadcasting,’ the Doctor suggested. ‘They’re probably homing in on that.’
Trayx opened his mouth to answer. But no sound came out. Instead he turned towards the door. Warden Mithrael was striding across the room towards them. Behind him, the Doctor’s young friends, Jamie and Victoria, were following diffidently. ‘My Lord,’ Mithrael called out. ‘My Lord, there is a problem.’
‘I’ll say there is,’ Jamie shouted after him. ‘Doctor he’s accusing us of –’
‘Now, now Jamie.’ The Doctor waved him to sullen silence. ‘Let’s hear what the gentleman has to say.’
‘Well?’ Trayx demanded as Mithrael reached them.
‘Sir, all external communications have shut down. Every frequency we try is being jammed. It’s just subspace static.’
Trayx nodded grimly. ‘That ship.’
‘What ship?’ Mithrael asked.
But Trayx did not answer him. ‘Doctor,’ he said quietly, ‘we are not broadcasting any subspace signal.’ He turned to Mithrael. ‘At least, not as far as I’m aware.’
‘We’re not broadcasting anything,’ Mithrael said. ‘And we couldn’t at the moment if we wanted to.’
‘Well,’ the Doctor replied quietly, ‘someone is. I detected it soon after we arrived here.’
Jamie drew himself up and folded his arms. ‘And you didn’t think to tell us about it?’
‘Well, I didn’t think anyone would be terribly interested, Jamie.’
‘I think you can take it that we are interested now,’ Trayx said. ‘From the speed it’s moving, that ship will be here within a day. And it doesn’t seem to me as if their intentions are friendly and honourable.’
Along with everyone else, Helana Trayx craned to see the tiny moving point of light high above them. Beside her, she was aware of the Doctor. He was also looking upward, his expression grim as granite, and his finger pushed into the cheek at the side of his mouth in a gesture that could be either apology or determination. She had a feeling it was the latter.
MIDDLE GAME
CHAPTER SIX
HANGING PIECES
VICTORIA COULD TELL that Jamie was still upset that the Doctor had not told him about the mysterious signal he had detected. As far as Victoria was concerned, if the Doctor had not told them, then there was a good reason for it. Probably he really had thought it was just a normal emission from the fortress. But Jamie seemed more wary, less trusting of the Doctor. She put it down to his eagerness to be included and involved in everything.
So when the Doctor suggested that they were all a bit tired and should get some rest, Victoria readily agreed. Jamie eventually, grudgingly, also agreed to return to their rooms and try to sleep for a while.
‘I think that’s best,’ the Doctor had said quietly. ‘I’ve a feeling we’ll need all our energy when that ship gets here.’
Jamie had brightened a little at this, probably sensing the chance for some action. Victoria, by contrast, had shivered and looked away.
Yet now that they were in their rooms, it was Jamie who was sleeping while Victoria lay awake and unable to relax. She could hear his snores from the adjoining room as she lay on her bed and stared at the vaulted ceiling high above her, counting the strands of cobweb that laced the arms of the chandelier.
The Doctor, of course, after insisting they all needed rest, had gone off with Trayx and Mithrael rather than deign to get any sleep himself. Well, Victoria decided, if he could manage without sleep at his age then so could she. She got off the bed, tiptoed to the door of Jamie’s room and opened it a fraction. She winced as the hinge creaked and protested. Through the crack she could see that Jamie was lying on his side facing her. His mouth was open and his eyes were tight shut. His snores continued to echo off the stone walls.
Victoria pushed the door shut again. She was less concerned about making a noise as she left her room and set off down the corridor. Whatever lay ahead of them, it would be useful to be better acquainted with the layout of the fortress.
The whole place seemed deserted. Their footsteps rang on the flagged floor of the corridor as the Doctor followed Trayx and Mithrael back towards the Observation Room. They passed nobody, saw nobody, heard nobody.
‘Isn’t it the middle of the day as far as you’re concerned?’ the Doctor asked Mithrael. ‘Where is everyone?’
Mithrael gave a short laugh. ‘Santespri is a huge place,’ he said, ‘and there are actually very few people here. It is not unusual to remain alone as you traverse the corridors. The duty guards make their rounds, but it is really a token gesture, a way of maintaining discipline and morale through regularity and routine.’
‘I think that may change,’ Trayx said. ‘If we come under attack, then the gesture will need to be taken in earnest.’
They had reached the Surveillance Suite now, its door concealed behind a heavy curtain in an alcove on a side corridor. Mithrael pulled the curtain aside and held it back while Trayx and the Doctor entered. The door sprang open at Trayx’s touch, keyed to his bio-imprint and confirming his identity by the level of electrical field generated by his own body.
‘Should we vary the composition of the patrols?’ Mithrael asked as he closed the door behind them. His voice was slightly raised against the hum of the equipment. ‘At present,’ he explained to the Doctor, ‘the guards work in pairs. One each from our own garrison and from Kesar’s retinue. Again it maintains morale and it acts as a check and balance system. We should know if Kesar’s people were planning anything, and they in turn can be confident that we are playing no games.’
‘Apart from chess,’ mused the Doctor.
‘Apart from chess,’ Trayx agreed. ‘Though finding opponents is increasingly difficult. Perhaps you and I should play, Doctor.’
‘Well, let’s get this business settled first, shall we?’
‘Indeed.’ Trayx turned back to the Warden. ‘No, Mithrael,’ he said, ‘keep the patrols as they are. But double the frequency. If the ship’s mission is to assassinate Kesar, and I don’t see what else it can be, then we are all on the same side. Better that Kesar’s men understand that right from the start.’
‘And,’ the Doctor added, ‘we shall need all the help we can get.’ He seated himself in the main chair and started fiddling with the controls in front of him. ‘Let’s see if we can isolate this signal then, shall we?’
‘And block it?’
‘It’s possible we can emit a cancelling wave, yes.’ The Doctor tapped a meter set into the console and frowned as the needle failed to move. ‘Have you considered the implications for your murderer?’ he asked quietly.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that if your expected assassins are on that ship, the murder may not be directly connected.’
‘A coincidence, you think?’ Mithrael asked.
‘No, I don’t think so. I’m not very big on coincidence.’ The Doctor swung round in the chair, intending to face them. His expression was thoughtful, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair as he steepled his fingers under his chin. But he miscalculated, and the chair kept swinging round so he was facing the wall instead. ‘Oh, excuse me,’ he muttered, and swung himself back. He cleared his throat. ‘The murder is definitely connected. But there are things we have not yet considered.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as the fact that the murdered man knew his killer.’
‘Oh?’
But Trayx, the Doctor realised, was following his line of thought. ‘He was waiting for him. He watched while the killer disabled the camera.’
‘Exactly. Now why would they be meeting? What could this man Remas have that the kille
r wanted.’
Information of some sort?’
‘Possibly. Yes, possibly.’ The Doctor considered. ‘You say he worked in the loading bays?’
‘Yes,’ Mithrael said. ‘He was responsible for tracking and recording the goods coming into Santespri. Kitchen supplies, replacement components, everything.’
‘So maybe,’ the Doctor suggested, ‘he had acquired something that the killer wanted.’
‘Such as?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ The Doctor turned his attention back to the control console. ‘A set of saucepans perhaps? Or maybe a high-frequency sonic subspace emitter.’
Trayx nodded. ‘All too possible, I agree. So why kill the supplier?’
The Doctor shrugged. ‘Didn’t need him any more. A loose end. A falling out among crooks and villains.’ Suddenly he banged his fist down on the panel. ‘How should I know? Now I really need to concentrate on tracing this signal and neutralising it. Why don’t you two go away and leave me in peace?’
Trayx smiled thinly, and gestured for Mithrael to lead the way out of the room. ‘Very well, Doctor. We’ll check back with you later.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘Good luck.’
The Doctor grunted noncommittally as the door closed.
From outside in the corridor he could hear Trayx’s receding voice as he and Mithrael headed away: ‘Get Logall. We’ll meet in your office. I want to review the defence procedures and the patrol roster. And check how long we have until that ship gets here, assuming its course and speed remain constant.’
The Doctor sank deeper into the chair, swinging it slowly back and forth. He was not at all sure he could trace the signal using the equipment to hand, or that it would do any good now. But he could try. He pulled his recorder from his coat pocket and put it to his lips, his mind already deeply engaged on the problem. In front of him, the images on the screens flickered and changed as the computer switched the cameras and swapped round the pictures according to which its expert systems felt were important.
Doctor Who: Dreams of Empire: 50th Anniversary Edition Page 10
