Doctor Who: Dreams of Empire: 50th Anniversary Edition

by Richards, Justin

‘This is the old residential area,’ Howper explained patiently. His visor was up so that they could see his face. Victoria could almost sense him biting his lip, trying to keep his voice calm and sound helpful. ‘After this we cut through to the communications suite, and then on up the East Tower to the landing area.’

  ‘How long?’

  Sanjak answered as he passed. ‘Depends who we meet on the way.’

  Helana blinked, did not reply. She watched Sanjak as he checked the next section of corridor. Victoria could sense her anxiety. Her fear. She wasn’t used to this sort of thing, whereas the soldiers took it almost for granted, were almost grateful for the opportunity to reuse old skills. The situation was nothing new for Victoria either, but she could not say she welcomed it. She put an arm round Helana’s shoulder, held her a moment. The woman did not resist.

  ‘This reminds me of my father’s house,’ Victoria said.

  Helana looked at her, and Victoria could sense her making an effort to calm herself. ‘Your father is a lord?’ she asked at last.

  ‘No. He was a gentleman.’

  ‘My father is a lord,’ Helana said after a moment. Victoria could tell she had noticed the past tense in her comment. Could see she had decided not to ask. And Victoria was grateful for that. ‘Fear,’ Helana went on, ‘war, all this. It was something others did. My brothers in the Ninth. My husband. Kesar.’

  ‘You know Kesar well?’

  Helana turned sharply at Victoria’s question. She opened her mouth to answer, but then seemed to change her mind, and closed it again.

  Ahead of them, Sanjak was now beckoning for them to follow.

  ‘Kesar and my husband have been friends since they were boys,’ Helana said as they crept forward to the next room. But Victoria knew that this was not the answer she had been about to give. ‘They’re like family. They were like family.’

  Victoria took her hand, led her forward. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said. ‘The Doctor and Jamie are like my family.’ She paused, considered. Somehow that wasn’t quite what she had meant to say. ‘They are my only family,’ she said.

  ‘Do you think we’ll make it?’ Helana’s voice was strained. This was what was behind every question she had already asked, though unspoken for fear of the answer.

  So Victoria told her the truth. She deserved that, would know if she heard anything else. ‘I don’t know,’ Victoria said. ‘I truly don’t.’

  ‘I thought you were a general.’ The Doctor’s voice was low, as if he did not want to embarrass Kesar with the question.

  Trayx had set up his makeshift command centre in Kesar’s quarters. Now Trayx, Prion and Cruger were seated round the chess table talking through their options. Jamie was close by, listening and occasionally offering comments. The half-dozen surviving soldiers were posted around the immediate area, keeping in touch via the communicators built into their armour. Howper and Sanjak occasionally called in progress reports.

  Kesar was standing in the corner of the room. In his hand he held the faceless white king from the chess set that Cruger had fashioned for him. He turned in answer to the Doctor’s words, his bronzed featureless face offering no hint of his real reaction. His voice was quiet, a metallic scrape that echoed slightly off the nearby stonework. ‘I am a politician,’ he said. ‘My aspirations to military leadership were laid to rest with my cause.’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘A diplomat’s answer,’ he replied. He reached out for the chess piece. ‘May I?’ The Doctor took the king, feeling its weight, its smooth surface as he held it. ‘You made this?’

  ‘Cruger.’

  ‘Really? Perhaps I underestimated his artistic and aesthetic leanings.’ The Doctor handed the king back to Kesar. ‘Be good when it’s finished,’ he said.

  Kesar’s laugh was a dry rasp. ‘I still do not know where you come from, Doctor. But it seems they have chess there.’

  The Doctor nodded again. ‘They have chess everywhere. And nowhere does anyone how it originated. Fascinating, don’t you think?’

  ‘There is a story,’ Kesar said, ‘that the game was invented by a servant for his king.’

  ‘I may have heard that legend.’

  ‘For reward, he asked only that he be given an amount of laish.’ Kesar’s head tilted slightly. ‘Is this the same story?’

  ‘If laish is like grain or corn, then probably. There are many variations of it.’ The Doctor looked round. Jamie had grown bored with Trayx’s deliberations and was coming over to join him and Kesar. ‘The legend on Jamie’s world says that the servant asked for the amount of rice that would result from placing a single grain on the first square of the board.’

  ‘That single grain would be doubled on the second square,’ Kesar continued the story. ‘And repeatedly doubled. One grain, then two, then four, then eight, and so on.’

  Jamie was listening now as the Doctor agreed. ‘That doesn’t sound much,’ he said. ‘What are we talking about?’

  Kesar’s face swung slowly round until he faced Jamie. ‘I do not know anything about your world,’ he said. ‘But the entire Haddron Republic would take over a thousand years to produce the laish the king promised to his servant.’

  ‘A nineteen-digit number of grains,’ the Doctor said. He smiled suddenly, his face seeming to grow sideways to accommodate the expression. ‘How was it Dante described the hierarchy of angels? Oh yes, “myriads more than the entire progressive doubling of the chess squares”.’

  Jamie did not seem to be impressed. ‘About the same as the number of these VETACs we’re facing then, Doctor.’

  ‘Oh that’s hardly fair, Jamie.’

  ‘We should be doing something.’ He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, impatient and anxious. His voice rose in volume and pitch. ‘Victoria’s in goodness knows what danger, Trayx and the others are trying to think of a way to keep the VETACs out, and you just stand here talking about a game.’

  ‘Calmly, Jamie.’ The Doctor patted him on the shoulder. ‘We’ll have something to do soon enough. But for the moment, why not get to know our comrades and their ways?’ He cleared his throat, his face growing more serious. ‘Now then, you’ve heard of Tolstoy?’

  ‘No. What’s that?’

  ‘He, Jamie, he was a great Russian writer. Anyway, when he was a soldier in the Caucasus –’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The Caucasus, Jamie. Anyway, he was a young officer there, and one night he abandoned his post so that he could go and play chess with another soldier. He got caught, and was arrested.’

  ‘Serves him right.’

  ‘The point is, Jamie, that the game of chess meant a lot to him. By his actions, he forfeited the St George Cross he was to have been awarded the next day as well, you know.’

  ‘Doctor.’ Jamie’s voice was lower now. ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘Oh?’ The Doctor’s face fell. ‘Oh. Well. Never mind.’ He patted Jamie on the shoulder again, as if in sympathy. ‘Let’s go and see how they’ve been managing without me, shall we?’ He tugged at his lapels, tripped slightly on the stone-flagged floor, and waved impatiently to Jamie and Kesar. ‘Come along.’

  As they neared the chess table, Trayx stood up. ‘No,’ he was saying loudly. ‘No, I cannot allow that. If anyone goes it should be me.’

  ‘On the contrary.’ Cruger was calm by comparison. ‘It should be anyone but you.’

  Prion’s voice was as level and emotionless as ever. ‘He is right, my Lord. You cannot be spared, although your leadership would imbue the venture with its best chance of success.’

  ‘Then I should go.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ The Doctor’s overly sympathetic tones cut the conversation dead. He stood beside the table, rubbing his hands slowly. ‘Having a bit of a tiff, are we? Perhaps I can help.’ He sat down abruptly on a spare chair. ‘Now what seems to be the problem?’

  ‘No problem, Doctor,’ Trayx reassured him, his former cool already restored. ‘A slight disagreement over who should lead a small expeditionary fo
rce.’

  ‘Hmm, so I hear.’

  ‘An expedition?’ Jamie was enthusiastic. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘What expedition?’ Kesar asked.

  ‘To the armoury,’ Trayx said. ‘We still have a copy of the toxin. It may be possible to release it manually into the VETAC command network.’

  Kesar nodded. ‘A good plan. And now you are arguing over who will get the toxin?’

  ‘Logall was the obvious choice,’ Cruger said. ‘An experienced field commander, but he is dead. Prion cannot go for obvious reasons.’

  ‘Oh?’ Jamie asked. ‘And what are they?’

  ‘The toxin would destroy me,’ Prion said simply.

  ‘Oh, aye…’ Jamie said quietly.

  ‘That leaves the three of us.’ Cruger gestured to himself, Trayx and Kesar. ‘I assume that the Doctor’s forte is not in military matters, and the boy lacks local knowledge.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You don’t know the way, Jamie,’ the Doctor said quietly.

  ‘I agree,’ Kesar’s voice grated over the table as he sat between the Doctor and Cruger. ‘Trayx cannot be spared – he is our chief strategist. Without him, we are lost, whatever happens. Therefore I shall lead the effort.’

  ‘No.’ Trayx’s voice was firm. ‘No, if I am not to lead it, then you are certainly not to leave the Secure Area. That would be to present the VETACs with their prize on a salver.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Cruger is right. I am forced to admit that he is the only experienced field commander who can be spared.’

  ‘But I thought the VETACs were after him too,’ Jamie pointed out.

  Cruger shrugged. ‘Whether they kill me here, skulking in the shadows, or out there fighting matters not a whit to them. But I know which I should prefer.’

  Trayx stood up. ‘We can spare three of the troopers.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Half our garrison.’

  Cruger stood too. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Of my soldiers, I shall take Haden and Gunson. I suggest one other from your garrison.’ He smiled, his beard parting to reveal thin, sharp teeth. ‘Just a fair balance of our forces.’

  ‘And to get you into the armoury,’ Trayx said. ‘Take Darkling. He has seen action before, and his conduct this day has been of the highest order.’

  ‘I’ll come too,’ Jamie said.

  Cruger turned to him. ‘I think not,’ he said. ‘No disrespect, but I need a force I can rely on completely. I cannot take a risk, however small, with an unknown. These soldiers, I know. And they know me.’

  VC5 and VL9 stood side by side watching the VETACs dig through the last of the rubble. Heavy weapons were of no use as they might bring down the whole section of corridor roof. Tunnelling up through the ceiling or down through the floor had been discounted as possibly dangerous – either floor or ceiling could be mined. But they were in no hurry. Their primary target, their quarry, was Kesar. And he was going nowhere.

  There were only three possible physical escape routes. There was the VETACs’ own cruiser, and there was the long-range shuttle that stood on the main landing pad. The third possibility was another beacon stored within the fortress. VC5 was confident that he had covered all of these eventualities.

  Cruger led the way, proud and confident. Darkling reckoned there was a renewed confidence in the man. He seemed more upright, his voice more assertive as he led them through the dimly lit passageways towards the armoury.

  While Cruger strode through the fortress, the three soldiers circled round him, weapons held ready as they peered round every corner and covered every alcove and shadow. But so far there was nothing.

  As Gunson rounded the next corner and Cruger marched after him, Darkling paused. He held his hand out as Haden made to follow. She waited while he pulled her close, just for a moment. Then she slipped from his grasp and darted after the others.

  Darkling smiled beneath his visor. He flipped open the communications channel back to Trayx and reported where they were. Not far now. Just a couple more minutes and they would be there.

  ‘How does the virtual chess game work?’

  Kesar looked up from the chess table. He had been arranging Cruger’s hand-carved pieces in position. ‘It is controlled from Cruger’s quarters,’ he told the Doctor. ‘He initiates the game, and then the system responds in his quarters and one other location as chosen by Cruger himself. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Curiosity. I had a thought.’ The Doctor shrugged. ‘Half a thought. It’s gone now.’ He tapped his chin with his index finger. ‘I think I’ll go and see how it works. Where is Cruger’s room?’

  Kesar told him. ‘Hurry back if you hear anything, Doctor. It would be a shame to be parted from such august company.’

  The Doctor smiled. ‘It certainly would. Coming, Jamie?’

  ‘Aye, Doctor.’ Jamie looked round the room. Prion and Trayx were conferring in hushed voices by the door. Kesar was sitting impassive by the chess table. ‘At least it’ll be something to do.’

  ‘Any more news from Victoria?’ the Doctor asked Prion as they reached the door.

  ‘They are proceeding cautiously through the residential areas, Doctor. If all goes well, they should reach the ship before long.’

  ‘Good. Keep us posted, will you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The entrance to the armoury was blocked by thick vertical bars of solid duralinium. Their shadows cut across the uneven floor, backed by the red glow of the emergency lighting. The tips of the bars were sharpened points that bit into the floor. Cruger’s face was alternate streaks of red and black as he approached the portcullis. He was actually reaching out for the entry coder set into the wall beside the portcullis before he remembered that it would do no good.

  ‘Darkling,’ he called. ‘You know the entry codes.’

  Darkling paused beside the box. For a brief moment he reflected on the wisdom of opening the prison armoury at the request of one of the inmates. But he dispelled the thought, and tapped in the access codes. The biometric scanner built into the coder read the contours of his finger, the electrical field of his body. From this it determined who he was and checked his security clearances and the code he had keyed in. With a sound like a huge sword being drawn from a tight scabbard, the portcullis lifted smoothly clear of the floor and disappeared into a dark cavity in the ceiling. The bars were barely raised before Cruger was ducking underneath. He paused the other side of the gateway.

  ‘Where is it?’ he asked, his voice at once both hushed and strained. ‘Where is the beacon?’

  Darkling motioned to Gunson to stand guard in the corridor. ‘Any trouble, just press a few buttons,’ he said, pointing at the entry coder. ‘The security system will know you’re not authorised and drop the gate.’

  ‘Just make sure you’re not standing under it,’ Haden added.

  ‘This way, sir.’ Darkling set off along the red-stained passageway. Cruger was close on his heel.

  The dust had not begun to settle as VC5 strode through it. The antistatic coating on his outer frame kept his armour shining bright as he clambered over the piles of rubble. It was not entirely clear yet, but it was passable. VL9 was close behind him. Ahead of them, several of the reactivated VETACs from the Banqueting Hall were dragging aside the last of the huge roof blocks that had closed the wide passage. The other VETACs from the hall had a separate objective. Through their vision circuits, VC5 could see that they were close to that objective now. From his estimations of the time taken by humans to make decisions and the speed of their locomotion, VC5 knew that the objective would be achieved in ample time. The priority now for the VETAC units from the cruiser was the Secure Area at the heart of the fortress.

  It would have been just as efficient for VC5 to have monitored and controlled operations from the cruiser. But the artificial intelligence that motivated him had been programmed with the knowledge and thought processes of the best Haddron commanders. And without exception they had led their men from the front. The fact that this had been for reasons based on mor
ale, courage, and their less efficient access to communications and battlefront data did nothing to lessen the impulse in VC5 to follow their example.

  Once they were through the mist of dust, VL9 stood to one side, standing motionless in an alcove. He would wait there for the moment, until a secure command post was established. His primary purpose was to act as a backup, ready to take over from VC5 should there be a problem with the command net. But for now he was a redundant element, a simple relay in the chain of command. A switch.

  The first battalion of VETACs marched through the dust after their commander. Their metal feet rang loudly on the stone floor, kicking up yet more dust to add to the thickening fog. Each unit collected data as it went – visual, aural, environmental. VC5 absorbed, catalogued and processed all of it. The computations and observations of a hundred VETAC units occupied a small part of his comtronic processor’s parallax capacity. But a single battalion, a hundred units, together with the dozen antiquated VETACs from the hall, would be sufficient to secure the primary and secondary objectives.

  The armoury was a vast area in the lower level of the fortress. But for the most part it was empty. The military needs of a strategically placed frontier post had been far in excess of those of a small prison.

  Darkling led Cruger and Haden past a multitude of rooms. Each opened on to the main corridor. Each was barred with a heavy portcullis not unlike the one that had closed off the main entrance. The first few rooms had been stacked with spare weapons – handguns, small field weaponry, crates of ammunition and explosives. But soon the rooms were empty, hung heavy with cobwebs.

  At the end of the long corridor the way was blocked by a single metal door. Beside it was another entry coder, and Darkling tapped in the opening sequence.

  The door swung slowly open. Beyond it was a small room, blood red in the dim light. In the centre of the room stood the bullet-nosed spider-legged projectile. On the readout two-thirds of the way up the device a single word flashed repeatedly: ‘Primed.’

  ‘Well, there it is,’ Darkling said. ‘Now what do we do with it?’

  ‘It’s too heavy to carry,’ Haden pointed out. ‘Could we broadcast from here? Hope they pick up the signal?’