by Dan Abnett
‘I was… I was dying!’ Romea stared across at the other colonists. ‘We all were!’
A colonist cried out, his face wearing the same wide-eyed expression as Romea. ‘I… I see it too!’
There was another cry, then a gasp. Another colonist fell to her knees, sobbing, while another held his hands in front of his face and gazed at them as if they belonged to someone else.
Whatever was affecting the colonists was moving fast, jumping from one to another like a high-voltage charge. There was more weeping. Some of them just stood and shook their heads. Their faces were pictures of despair and wonder.
Martha shot the Doctor a puzzled look.
‘The Pilot System explained things,’ the Doctor began. ‘I ran into her by accident, really. I was on my way here but must have taken a wrong turn around the atmospheric scrubbers. Anyway, I came across a system node and introduced myself.’
‘Never mind that I was about to get my head bashed in,’ Martha scolded him. But she was smiling.
The Doctor shrugged and returned her smile. ‘One look at the surveillance system feed showed me things were getting bad down here. I had to come up with something that would stop everybody killing everybody else. That’s when I caught sight of the Pilot’s log.
‘The Artificials are linked to the Pilot System. Cybernetic grafts performed in vitro.’ The Doctor tapped the side of his head. ‘It’s how she wakes them up when it’s time for a spot of housekeeping, or if there’s a problem on board.’
‘Like the cryo-system failing?’
‘Exactly. Well, it turns out that the failure was catastrophic. Fatal.’
‘We know that. Romea told me the rest. Half the colonists died.’
The Doctor shook his head.
‘Not half. All of them.’
There was a sudden clatter from the metal ladder that led to the walkway. Treve had slid from about halfway up. He now clung grimly to the handrail, having regained his balance, but the look in his eyes was wild. Romea ran to him. ‘Dad!’ she cried softly. ‘Oh, Dad.’
‘Impossible!’ Treve muttered, barely noticing his daughter. ‘Impossible!’
‘Some people are going to have a hard time getting used to this,’ said the Doctor.
‘Getting used to what?’ Martha asked.
‘Being Artificial,’ the Doctor told her. ‘When the cryo-system crashed, the shock killed a lot of the colonists outright. Others died more slowly. The Pilot System woke all available Artificials to revive the rest, but it was too late. So they did the next best thing: they downloaded the colonists’ personality imprints and kicked the Artificial production line into high gear. They used up every last drop of raw material to create bodies for as many of the colonists as they could save. Even used DNA from the colonists’ bodies to make sure they looked pretty much as they looked when they went into storage.’
‘They grew new bodies for the colonists?’ Martha looked from colonists to Artificials and back. Suddenly she was seeing how alike they looked, behind their superficial differences. ‘Why didn’t they tell them?’
‘Thought it might freak them out, so soon after the shock of losing so many of their loved ones. Then, as tensions grew between them, they thought it might provoke violence. Much better that they discover it for themselves.’
‘These new bodies have the same cybernetic link as the Artificials?’ Martha asked. ‘So that’s why they could hear you in their heads, too?’
‘They didn’t know it was there. Your friend Romea was probably more in tune with it. That could be why she was attracted to an Artificial. As for the others, all they needed was a catalyst to get the process started.’
Martha was watching the colonists. They moved slowly, like people waking from a dream. The Artificials moved towards them cautiously, offering support and words of comfort.
‘They were about to kill everyone to stop the Artificials acting like people,’ she said. ‘But everybody’s artificial now.’
‘Everybody’s artificial now,’ the Doctor said. ‘But love is real.’
‘I’ve been meaning to ask you,’ Martha said. There was a distant look in the Doctor’s eyes which made her anxious to change the subject. ‘Back in the corridor you made some weird-looking moves. And you did it on the guy who tried to kick things off again. Time Lord kung-fu?’
‘Amtorian jiu-jitsu.’ The faraway look became a smile, as if the Doctor was grateful to have the subject changed. ‘Masters of the art vow never to use it in public. Just watching it can do spectators a mischief – headaches, nosebleeds and much worse.’
The Doctor guided Martha away, and they weaved their way towards the door, making their apologies and passing between the groups of Artificials and colonists – though, Martha realised, that distinction had lost all meaning.
‘Come on, let’s see if I can’t give the energy cells an upgrade, make the reserves last long enough to get them where they’re going – provided they don’t go starting up the fabricator prematurely.’ His smile broadened and he spun his sonic screwdriver around one finger, gunslinger-style.
‘This Amtorian jiu-jitsu,’ Martha said as they reached the door. ‘You any good at it?’
‘Not bad, actually. I always meant to take my final rank grading – very fetching belt: purple and puce…’
The travellers stepped into the dimly lit corridor. It would be the last time any of the generation ship’s passengers would remember seeing them.
‘… I just never got around to it. Takes ages, you see, and takes place any time, anywhere. You can be taking a bath, shopping or just walking down the street when one of the masters jumps out and attacks you…’
They made their way back to the TARDIS, standing in a huge empty cargo space that, Martha hoped, would one day be full of fabricator-made equipment with which the colonists would begin to build a new world – for themselves and for those they once considered merely Artificial.
The Doctor was about to open the TARDIS door when he hesitated, key raised.
‘Did you hear…?’ he said. His eyes darted this way and that, checking the shadows.
‘You did tell the Amtorians you weren’t taking that grading, didn’t you?’ Martha asked.
‘Yes! Absolutely. Probably.’ The Doctor slotted home the key and pushed the door open a little too urgently for Martha’s liking. ‘Perhaps… we should be going!’
‘We are not unsympathetic,’ said the Drast. Standing on the observation platform with the Segue slowly flickering below them, the beautiful masked faces of the Drast looked at Martha.
For a moment, she felt a flutter of hope. ‘Then you’ll help me?’ she asked.
‘We will not help you,’ said one of the Drast.
‘But you should not be disheartened,’ said another.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Martha, puzzled.
‘Your species will not suffer for very much longer,’ said the first Drast.
‘As soon as the Segue is successfully calibrated, we will leave this world,’ said the second. ‘When we leave, we will be obliged to open the Segue more fully.’
‘This will cause a catastrophic quantum collapse,’ said another. ‘It is an unfortunate but necessary consequence of full Segue operation.’
‘The Earth will be disintegrated,’ another told her. ‘The Master will die.’
‘The human race will be put out of its misery and spared a future of suffering.’
‘No!’ Martha stammered. ‘No, no! That’s not what I want! I don’t want you to kill us all! I don’t want you to put us out of our misery! I want you to help us!’
‘We thought you would be content,’ said the Drast.
‘This is what will take place,’ said one.
‘We consider it favourable,’ said another.
Martha took a few steps backwards in shock, too stunned to speak. The enormity of what the Drast had just told her, so clinically and matter-of-factly, began to sink in.
In order to save the world from the Master,
she now had to save the world from the Drast.
‘Begin the next recalibration test,’ the Drast said.
In the chamber below her, the armed guards were leading in the next volunteer.
It was Griffin.
He glanced up at her, but did not acknowledge her. He was busy fiddling with the buckles of his safety harness.
‘This is loose,’ he told one of the guards. ‘I don’t want it coming off. Can you tighten the buckle? I can’t reach it.’
Griffin glanced up at her again. This time he winked. With a sudden chill, Martha realised that Griffin was about to try something. He was surrounded by guards. The idiot was going to get himself killed. She had to do something. She had to distract them.
‘Stop!’ she shouted from the platform. ‘That man’s not a suitable candidate for the Segue!’
The Drast turned to stare at her, questioningly. Down below, the guards faltered and looked up at the platform for clarification. Their attention was no longer focused on Griffin.
One of the guards had moved in to adjust Griffin’s harness. As he and the other guards looked up, Griffin ripped out a fist and floored him. At the same moment, Griffin grabbed the trailing safety line and lashed it around like a skipping rope, snagging the other two guards around the knees. With a savage snap of the line, Griffin flipped them both onto their backs. It happened so fast.
Griffin knelt, delivered another vicious punch to make sure the first guard was unconscious, and then took hold of the man’s machine gun. As the other two guards attempted to rise, he shot them both at close range.
The whole episode had taken less than four seconds.
Alarms started to sound. The Drast looked down from the platform in dismay.
‘What is he doing?’ asked one.
‘He is deranged,’ said another.
‘Contain the Segue Chamber,’ ordered a third.
‘Oh, Griffin, you maniac! What are you doing?’ Martha murmured as she stared down into the chamber. More guards were storming into the vault. Griffin had detached his safety line and was rushing towards the obelisk plinth. The guards seemed reluctant to take a shot for fear of hitting the Segue assembly.
‘Detain him,’ said one of the Drast.
‘Disarm him.’
‘This is unfavourable.’
Griffin stood on the plinth. He had a predatory grin plastered all over his scarred face. He looked up at the observation platform and yelled, ‘You see me? You see me, up there? I’ll be honest, I don’t know how this thing works!’ Griffin aimed his captured machine gun at the one of the obelisks. ‘But I’ll bet real money that emptying an entire clip into it on full auto is going to be bad news!’
‘The test candidate must not be allowed to damage the Segue,’ said one of the Drast. Behind their masks, the Drast were glowing brightly, as if in a heightened state.
‘Is he right?’ Martha demanded. ‘What would happen?’
‘Concussive, explosive trauma to the Segue assembly could cause Segue generation failure,’ said one of the Drast.
‘There is also a probability,’ said another of the Drast, ‘that concussive, explosive trauma to the Segue assembly could trigger a cascade reaction in the Black Hole Converter.’
‘And that would mean?’ Martha urged.
‘This island group would be annihilated in a mass gravitational implosion.’
‘Do you hear me?’ Griffin yelled. ‘Call off your goons and let me and the volunteers out of here, or I’ll shoot. I’m not kidding around! What’s it going to be?’
‘I think you should listen to him,’ Martha told the Drast. ‘I really think you should.’
‘Why?’ asked the Drast.
‘Because he’s one of the most ruthless men I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting,’ said Martha. ‘He absolutely means what he says.’
‘This is unfavourable,’ the Drast chorused, glowing more brilliantly.
‘Don’t push him,’ warned Martha. ‘Shut the Segue down.’
‘That is an unfavourable option,’ said one of the Drast.
‘The Segue is linked to the Zone’s primary power grid,’ said another.
‘So?’ asked Martha.
‘If we shut the Segue down, it will cause a power blackout across the entire industrial sector.’
‘I don’t think you’ve got a lot of choice,’ said Martha. ‘Unless you want to risk him blowing us all up.’
‘A power blackout would collapse our disguise fields,’ said one of the Drast.
‘It would reveal us to the Master,’ said another.
‘Well, that’s a shame,’ said Martha. ‘If your disguise fields collapse, you’ll have to find a new place to hide. Alternatively, you can die right now.’
‘I’m waiting!’ Griffin roared.
The Drast looked at one another.
‘Initiate Segue shutdown,’ the Drast said.
A painful prickle of static filled the air. There was a loud series of bangs as power systems cut off or switched to standby. The lazy lightning bolt of the Segue shivered and then vanished in a belch of gas and overpressure.
Koban plant plunged into blackness.
Kuro, Shiro and the other manufacturing plants went dark. Blackouts overtook the Aka and the other slave camps. Grid by grid, block by block, Yokohama, Tokyo and the entire bay area went out.
In the first ten minutes of the blackout, panic boiled through the labour zones, the Marine Terminals and the plant domes. After twenty minutes, rioting began. Gunfire was rattling out across the smog-bound megapolis sector. Frantic workers were overwhelming UCF riot squads.
The Drast had fled. Martha never found out what became of them. She suspected that their lives didn’t last very long after the shutdown.
Martha moved through the Koban plant. There was no light. With the disguise fields cancelled, her perception filter had started to work again. Frantic guards bumbled past her in the gloom.
She located the holding room, and took off her key. The volunteers were in a state of terrified pandemonium.
‘Come on!’ she yelled. ‘It’s me! It’s Martha!’
‘Listen! It’s Martha!’ Hito cried.
‘I’m going to get you out of here!’ Martha shouted. ‘Follow me!’
‘Martha!’ Tokami wailed. ‘It is so dark! Are we going to perish?’
‘No, we’re not!’ Martha said. ‘Follow me!’
Terror strangled the pitch-black tunnels and hallways of Koban plant. Griffin heard gunfire chattering and booming in the corridors around him. The guards were shooting at anything and everything, even each other.
He hugged the walls, the machine gun in his hands. His eyes were adapting to the gloom.
Two guards in hazmat suits came racing around a corner ahead of him. He aimed the gun, closed his eyes, and let off a spray of rounds. No point letting muzzle flash destroy his twilight vision.
He checked the corpses, helping himself to spare clips and a pistol. In one bloodstained pocket, he found a mobile phone.
Griffin switched it on. The service finder icon whirled hopelessly, on the bright little screen, for over a minute. Then it stopped, and the icon of the Archangel Network appeared.
Griffin grinned. He’d had the number on his phone for six months. He’d learned it by heart.
Aserious sense of alarm had begun to spread on the operations deck of HMS Valiant.
‘Yokohama/Tokyo Zone is not responding,’ one operator reported.
‘Power reads as down. I’ve got reports of rioting,’ called another.
‘This is bad,’ said the deck officer, reviewing the reports as fast as they came in. ‘This is a disaster. The guidance plants have closed down.’
‘Someone will have to tell him,’ suggested an aide.
‘Not yet! God help us, not yet!’ the deck officer exclaimed. ‘He’ll go ballistic! You know what he gets like when he hears bad news!’
‘Shoot the messenger?’ the aide said.
‘He’d shoot us
all,’ replied the deck officer. ‘Or worse. Why did this have to happen on my watch?’ The aide declined to answer. The deck officer turned to the staff manning the operation stations. ‘Get me a complete picture. Full spectrum sweep, all the data you can get. Route Toclafane shoals from North Korea and Russia. Wake up UCF Taiwan and find out if they know what the hell’s going on. If I’ve got to report bad news to him, I want it to be the full picture.’
The operations staff got to work. The air became busy with chatter and demands for info.
At her desk, disturbed by the patchy, desperate data coming out of Japan, the ADC jumped when her phone rang. She answered it.
‘Griffin, this will have to wait,’ she said. ‘We’ve— What? Where are you? Say again? You’re where? Slow down! Slow down, Griffin… Start at the beginning…’
When she finished the call, she saw a look on the deck officer’s face as he read the reports.
‘Sir?’ she said.
‘It’s a disaster, ADC,’ the deck officer said. ‘The guidance plants were a vital resource, and they’ve gone dark. It’s mayhem down there.’
‘Do you want me to take this to him?’ the ADC asked.
The deck officer looked at the ADC as if she’d just saved his life. She probably had.
‘Would you?’ he asked.
He was standing on the bridge, in his tailored suit, gazing pensively at the world he had brought to its knees. As tyrants went, and they all went one day, he looked remarkably chipper.
He looked around as the door chimed open. The ADC walked in.
‘See?’ he smiled. ‘My day just got even better. A gorgeous young lady in uniform. Ah, the perks of power.’
‘Sir,’ the ADC saluted.
He hand-slid down the stair-rails to greet her, a lascivious grin on his face.
‘Keep “sir”-ing me like that, and I’ll promote you to queen,’ he said. ‘There must be somewhere that needs a queen. I’ll look into it. What have you got for me? Not all bad news, I hope?’
‘Some bad news, I’m afraid, sir.’
His face darkened. ‘Oh dear,’ he said, deflating. ‘Not another food riot in Brazil. I hate it when that happens.’
