Godengine

by Craig Hinton

  The reaction was immediate. The roar of the GodEngine began to warble plaintively. In the place where Felice had been standing, one of the banks of panels exploded into thrusting flames that jetted outwards before subsiding, licking at the cold amber rock. Felice, struggling in Chris’s grip, had been lucky; Sleeth caught the full brunt of the detonation and fell lifeless to the floor, oily smoke curling up from his body armour.

  ‘No!’ screamed Falaxyr, suddenly realizing what was going on. ‘Kill them, Cleece! Kill them all!’ The Grand Marshal raised his own clamp, aiming his disruptor squarely at the Doctor, but he never got the chance to fire – his disruptor, clamp and upper arm exploded with the sickening plop of sonic disruption and ruptured flesh.

  ‘An imbecile, am I? A fool, am I?’ Draan strode over to his former lord and master as a string of explosions took out an entire wall of controls. The GodEngine itself was flickering with a brilliant pearly light; within, the statues and relics started to wobble precariously. Something was clearly going catastrophically wrong, and Roz wondered why they were all still waiting around in the chamber rather than making a run for it. She shot a questioning look at the Doctor, but he simply smiled enigmatically and held up his hand for her to stay her ground.

  Draan was now standing only a metre away from the Grand Marshal. ‘Your project has been a disaster, Falaxyr, and yet you call me an imbecile. You choose another as your adjutant over me, as though my lifetime of service was but nothing.’ He stood facing Falaxyr, his disruptor aimed at the Grand Marshal’s chest. His intention was obvious.

  The sword that speared him from behind was equally obvious. Draan twisted his head round to see his murderer, only to realize that, in Martian terms, he had not been murdered; he had been executed. Cleece withdrew the dripping blade and smiled.

  ‘You speak the truth, Draan. It was but nothing.’ Cleece watched as Draan, son of Slaar, slumped to the floor and died.

  Falaxyr beckoned him over. ‘Come, Cleece. We must leave here. I have a vessel capable of interstellar flight in a hangar above us. Come with me to Nova Martia – we will be heroes.’

  ‘You, maybe, coward Falaxyr,’ came a voice that was no longer timid; rather, it reverberated with a new strength, a new purpose. ‘But not Cleece.’ Sstaal ripped the false sword from Cleece’s relaxed grip and impaled him on the serrated blade.

  The look of puzzlement was clear on Cleece’s face. ‘Sstaal the pilgrim?’ he gasped, suspended from the blade.

  ‘Yes and no, Cleece. Our lives have both been led according to falsehoods and deceptions; that was the sin that Abbot Aklaar confessed to me as he died. You were not the orphan of a Warrior caste; your parents were pilgrims, from an endless lineage of pilgrims. There was a mistake, a confusion that arose during the chaos which followed the War. When the Abbot discovered the truth, he deemed that revealing the knowledge of your true birthright would be too traumatic for you.

  ‘I am the true Warrior, Cleece. But I choose to renounce that bloodline and embrace the heritage that I love. I am the new Abbot of Jull-ett-eskul Seminary.’ Sstaal withdrew the sword; unsupported, his rival fell heavily to the floor. ‘You are the dead.’

  The first wave of spectral TARDISes had almost completed their slow, steady journey to the GodEngine; the device itself was now almost impossible to look at, a nexus of blinding white light. The TARDISes suddenly stopped, forming a steady, floating arc around the incandescent pyramid. Roz had stayed her ground because of the Doctor’s orders, but she really didn’t feel happy about it. A shout from behind grabbed her attention.

  ‘Doctor!’ yelled McGuire. ‘Falaxyr’s getting away!’

  Bereft of his adjutants, bereft of his guards – those that hadn’t been caught in one of the explosions had decided to live to fight another day and exited the chamber as fast as they could – Falaxyr was running through a door in the rock wall that hadn’t been there moments earlier.

  ‘Leave him,’ said the Doctor calmly. ‘He’s somebody else’s problem now. This’ – he gestured towards the burning pyramid of the GodEngine – ‘is going to be far more interesting.’

  The deep thrumming noise from the GodEngine finally fell below human hearing, vibrating Roz’s body like a tuning fork. She swallowed – surely this was it? This was the moment when Earth would be destroyed, the moment when the Doctor’s precious web of time would be shattered and she and Chris would simply never have been?

  The noise from the GodEngine unexpectedly changed tone and frequency, rising up the scale in a fiendish crescendo. As if on cue, the floating TARDISes – now too many to count, their insubstantial bulks overlapping to form an almost solid blue arc – simultaneously converged on the GodEngine, hurling themselves into its cold, brilliant fire. Roz couldn’t help thinking of the myth of the phoenix as the TARDISes consigned themselves to the flames.

  Then she realized that she recognized the warbling, ululating sound that now echoed off the smooth walls of the chamber, the noise that had replaced the growl of the GodEngine. It was a TARDIS – no, a chorus of TARDISes – rematerializing, their bellowings and groanings just slightly out of phase with each other. But with the passing of each long second, the chorus harmonized, eventually climaxing into one stentorian TARDIS sound.

  Everyone was now gathered round the Doctor, all hoping for some explanation. But he said nothing, simply beaming as the GodEngine’s burning white shape darkened and shrank, and shrank further. As the final trumpeting strains of the TARDIS were heard, the pyramid was dark once more.

  But it was no longer a pyramid. No trace of the beautiful, golden doomsday machine remained. A single object stood in its place.

  Solid, resolute and blue, it was the TARDIS.

  Roslyn Forrester realized that her eyes were filling up with tears. ‘Would you care to explain what all that was about?’ she mumbled, hoping that the Doctor wouldn’t see.

  She needn’t have worried; his own voice was thick with emotion at the reunion. ‘Just a second, Roz – there’s something I would like to check.’ He unlocked the blue panelled doors and stepped inside the vessel that Roz had never expected to see again – at least not in its current, solid form. She followed him in, indicating for the others to do the same.

  As the humans and Martians unfamiliar with the marvels of dimensional engineering tried to suppress their surprise at the huge, white console room with its hexagonal console and roundelled walls – everything in its place, just as Roz remembered it – the Doctor flicked a couple of switches on one of the panels of the console, and pointed to the scanner as it came to life.

  The image showed the Martian North Pole, where a collection of melted, twisted pyramids in gold and silver covered the dark and dirty snow. ‘That is what’s left of the external emitter array,’ the Doctor commented. ‘Now, to be terribly clichéd, watch the skies.’

  Moments later, a small dark shape rose from behind the wrecked array; presumably Falaxyr’s starship. It was a long thin needle, clearly designed for speed. Roz wondered how long it would take the Grand Marshal to reach the Ice Warriors’ new home, just over forty-five light-years away from Earth.

  ‘He will spread his poison to Nova Martia,’ breathed Esstar. ‘The cycle of death and revenge will begin anew.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ said the Doctor. ‘Remember, there are others currently in residence who do not take kindly to unauthorized space travel.’

  As he spoke, a spotlight of fire rained down on the ship from beyond the atmosphere, purple fire which Roz knew to be a Dalek plasma cannon, undoubtedly from one of the orbital battlesaucers which patrolled the inhabited planets of the solar system. Falaxyr’s ship was caught in the beam for less than a second before exploding soundlessly in the thin air of Mars like a moth cremated in a candle flame.

  The Doctor closed the scanner. ‘I did warn the Grand Marshal not to trust his allies,’ he said with sadness. ‘You can never trust them.’ Roz wondered who he meant: the Daleks or the Ice Warriors.

  ‘Doctor.
’ It was Rachel. ‘Although I would love to fully understand this machine of yours, I’m more interested in what happened out there at the moment. It was obvious that the subspace lenses weren’t holding at the tight focus that Falaxyr had ordered. So the GodEngine should have been destroyed. In fact, the explosion that should have resulted would have taken out Earth, Mars, and a number of the major asteroids.’ She thrust her chin forward. ‘So why the hell didn’t it?’

  ‘Quite,’ agreed the Doctor mysteriously. ‘It should have been quite nasty, shouldn’t it?’ He moved over to Chris, who was still holding a struggling Felice. ‘Brain-rack?’ Chris nodded. The Doctor reached out with a forefinger and touched it to her forehead and closed his eyes tightly. A second later, Felice relaxed into a deep sleep. ‘There,’ he said, turning back to the others.

  ‘That was my T-web you used, wasn’t it?’ asked Santacosta.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘But the subspace field wasn’t anywhere near strong enough to influence the GodEngine,’ commented Rachel. ‘That was orders of magnitude greater. It was like expecting a candle flame to make a difference to a star.’

  The Doctor started ushering them out of the TARDIS. ‘Subspace had nothing to do with it, Professor Anders. From what I can remember of your work on Charon, you tried to break through the invaders’ subspace barrier by brute force. Professor Ketch took advantage of the complex interrelationship between subspace, gravity and electromagnetism to achieve his results. Besides the subspace field, the T- web also generated an enormous magnetic one – a bipolar magnetic field, to be precise.’

  Rachel smiled in understanding. ‘Of course.’

  Roz tapped the Doctor on the shoulder. ‘Subtitles for the hard of thinking?’

  He sighed. ‘The GodEngine was the result of the Martians’ attempts to utilize Osirian technology,’ he explained. ‘But the home planet of the Osirians – Phaester Osiris – is one of those rare planets without a magnetic field. The Osirians developed their technology based on the principles of the monopolar magnetic field, something which can only exist when there isn’t a natural – that is, bipolar – magnetic field.’ He turned to McGuire. ‘That was what prompted Mr McGuire’s expedition in the first place: Professor Esteban’s discovery of an intense magnetic field at the North Pole, which was actually the first activation of the monopole at the core of the GodEngine. When the Osirians finally captured the renegade Sutekh on Earth, they needed to install a powerful stellar power relay to keep him imprisoned. Mars was ideal for their purpose; they were able to place the relay here and know that it would work, because Mars also lacked a magnetic field. The centrepiece of their power grid was the Martian Sphinx, which I imagine the Martians cannibalized to create the GodEngine.’

  Chris nodded. It’s about a kilometre from here -’ And then realization crossed his face. ‘The others!’

  ‘Others?’ said the Doctor coldly. ‘You saved the entire Charon colony?’ Then he sighed. ‘Oh, well, who am I to talk? We’ll go after them in a minute. Anyway, the interaction between the T-web’s intense bipolar magnetic field and the GodEngine’s intense monopolar magnetic field started a feedback cascade in the power source.’

  ‘But that was exactly what I was worried about!’ snapped Rachel. ‘You’re saying that you deliberately wanted the GodEngine to blow up?’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘But as with many things, Professor, on my own terms.’ He locked the doors of the TARDIS behind him and sauntered over to the far wall, where the controls were still sparking and smouldering. ‘If I had left well alone, the subspace lenses would have collapsed, the subspace funnel would have ruptured, and the superluminal plasma stream would have sprayed out into the solar system in some random direction... then the power source would have detonated. I couldn’t take the chance that that would happen: I had to ensure that the magnetic monopole fell into the accretion disk and released all the energy at once, without any harmful side-effects such as random death rays sweeping across the solar system.’

  ‘But you still haven’t told us why or where that police box came from,’ Rachel laughed. ‘Police box, indeed.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. And I have no intention of doing so. What sort of a magician would I be if I gave away all of my secrets, eh?’ He turned to Sstaal and held out his hand, but his eyes were fixed on the lifeless form of Aklaar. ‘So, you are the new Abbot. Congratulations.’ Roz couldn’t tell whether he was being sincere or not, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. It had been a long day.

  ‘It was the Abbot – the late Abbot’s last request, Doctor.’ He smiled. ‘Of course, only I heard that request, so this could all be some fabrication.’

  ‘No, it’s no fabrication. You deserve it, Sstaal.’ McGuire waited for Sstaal to release the Doctor’s grip before grabbing the Martian’s clamp and shaking it warmly. ‘I hope that you and Esstar are very happy.’

  ‘And so we shall be.’ Esstar brushed her clamp against her new partner’s arm. ‘Once we return to Jull-ett-eskul Seminary, Abbot Kyren will bless us in the ceremony of partnership. Our clutchlings will be the first of a new generation; the first Martians to be born on a Mars devoted to peace and the ways of Oras.’

  ‘There is more, friend Antony.’ Sstaal bowed deeply to the human. ‘I request a favour.’

  McGuire frowned, but it was more in puzzlement than trepidation. ‘Such as?’

  ‘The ceremony of partnership requires that both participants choose their closest friends to witness the blessing in the eyes of Oras. I would be honoured if you would witness our blessing.’

  McGuire grinned. ‘You want me to be your best man? Of course I bloody well will!’

  ‘Another wedding?’ muttered Roz. ‘I don’t know if I can handle this.’

  ‘How long before your clutch is born, Sidi-Ekk-Taleth Taal-Iis Esstar?’ asked the Doctor.

  Esstar smiled. ‘You honour me with your knowledge of the High Tongue, Doctor. But I am not the Abbot’s consort yet.’ She laid a clamp on her lower stomach. ‘My clutchlings long to be born, Doctor. It pains me to admit that they must be laid and hatched before we return to the seminary.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ replied the Doctor. ‘I can get you there rather more quickly.’

  Esstar looked at Roz. ‘What is he saying?’

  Roz was used to this reaction. ‘Trust him – he’s a Doctor.’ She realized what she had said, and knew why; since the rebirth of the TARDIS, something warm and deserving of respect once more burnt within him. It was good to have it back.

  ‘If you say so, I shall believe it,’ said Esstar. ‘And now it is my turn to ask a favour; will you be my witness before the eyes of Oras, friend Roslyn?’

  The Doctor raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Here we go again.’

  There had been two ceremonies in the ornamental gardens at Jull-ett-eskul. One was the sombre and respectful funeral of the Abbot, who was buried beside one of the bright yellow Fees-ett-Bakk bushes, as befitted an honoured child of Oras. During the lengthy and solemn prayers, the Doctor had quietly pointed out that a Warrior’s funeral was far more complicated, with burnings and burials in space and all sorts of complicated traditions.

  The second ceremony was a more joyous occasion. Sstaal and Esstar, now without armour and dressed in floor-length white robes, were blessed before the eyes of Oras in the delightful stone abbey that stood at the heart of the underground seminary. Roz, wearing her formal Adjudicator’s robes, stood behind Esstar, while Antony McGuire – who was dressed in a plain grey suit, courtesy of the TARDIS wardrobe room – was behind Sstaal.

  During the ceremony, Sstaal pledged his life to protect Esstar; in return, she also swore to protect him till death. They both then swore to raise their clutchlings according to the wisdom of Oras. As they held hands and bowed to one another, the other members of the seminary showered them with the sweet-smelling, pink and orange leaves of the Fees-ett-Bakk bush, which was apparently a reminder that life, death, partnership and birth were all stages of b
eing.

  ‘Santacosta’s going to try to contact Oberon,’ said Felice as Sstaal and Esstar accepted the congratulations of the guests. She was now fully recovered from her ordeal. ‘With the knowledge that Rachel and I gained by working on the GodEngine, we think we can duplicate Professor Ketch’s work and find a way to break the invaders’ subspace blockade. If we can do that, the outer colonies might be able to help us free Earth.’

  ‘The subspace interference should not be a problem for much longer,’ said the Doctor. ‘When the GodEngine malfunctioned, it flooded subspace with all manner of exotic particles, which will eventually play merry hell with their strange icaron generator. It shouldn’t be long before the subspace blockade is over.’

  Chris nudged the Doctor. ‘What about the web of time?’ he whispered sarcastically.

  The Doctor shot him an acid look. ‘This is a wedding and I am feeling magnanimous. Anyway, it is time that we went. I want to find Wolsey – he must have been terrified when the TARDIS was destroyed.’ Roz smiled, and decided not to ask how the cat could have survived the destruction of the time machine. However he had managed it, it had probably taken a large chunk out of his nine lives.

  She looked round the reception, and saw that the newlyweds were coming over to them.

  ‘You wish to take your leave of the celebrations so soon, honoured friends?’ asked Esstar.

  ‘Things to see, people to do,’ said the Doctor. ‘But it was a lovely wedding.’

  ‘We have a gift for you,’ Esstar added. She held out a hide-covered book which Roz recognized as a copy of the Book of Oras. ‘You have spoken often of your Benny, and of her study of our people. We hope that this will answer some of her questions.’

  The Doctor took it from Esstar’s clamp and beamed at her. ‘She will be delighted, Esstar.’

  McGuire rushed over. ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’