by Doctor Who
The cavalry were closing fast. With a defiant, gurgling roar, Brelarn ran towards the captain’s horse, one hand outstretched to sting it.
Martha looked away as the captain brought down his sword on the alien’s arm. . .
Then one of the Zygons opened fire on the Doctor. The shot tore away half of the bush beside him.
‘Out of here,’ the Doctor shouted, grabbing Martha, by the hand and hauling her clear of the battlefield. As she raced to keep up with him, she heard a horrible hotchpotch of battle sounds: war cries and gunfire, the thunk of steel biting into flesh, bloodcurdling, inhuman screams. . .
‘Told you I had problems with the neighbour,’ the Doctor shouted over the blast of the shotguns. ‘The cavalry turned up at the Lodge, out of the blue.’
She grabbed hold of him, stopped him running. ‘How come?’
‘Edward Lunn. The human Edward Lunn.’ He smiled. ‘The brilliantly human Edward Lunn. Injured from his fall, gone through hell 163
and alien abduction, but ’cause kid, king and country’s in trouble, he gallops full pelt through the night to the barracks at Stormsby and tells all the King’s men we need help.’
They set off again for the cover of the wooded drive. ‘Did you see Nanny Flock?’ asked Martha.
The Doctor nodded. ‘She saved my life with a poker.’
Martha looked at him in dismay. ‘Does that mean I have to like her now?’
He grinned. ‘Nah.’
They ran on, but suddenly a woman’s screams compelled her to look back through the trees at the carnage. The churned up lawn was littered with Zygon bodies. She saw Cynthia Lunn being cut down by a mounted soldier, while Edward was trying to stave off two more using his shotgun as a club.
Martha looked away, sickened. ‘They must have thought that if they looked human they might stand a chance of slipping away. . . ’
‘Yeah, Haleston warned the soldier-boys something like that might happen.’ The Doctor’s face was ashen as the early morning light as the sounds of conflict died away. ‘They assured him they wouldn’t be put off.’
‘How do you know there aren’t other Zygons about?’ Martha said quietly,
‘Oh, there could well be a few,’ he admitted. ‘But I’ve emptied their body-print resource bank and killed the controls. The Zygons need to take fresh body prints from living subjects at regular intervals, remember – they can’t impersonate anyone without them.’
Martha nodded. ‘At least they’ll be easier to spot, I suppose.’
‘Doctor! Miss Jones!’ Lord Haleston was hurrying down the drive towards them, Romand keeping pace just behind him. ‘We’ve been observing the battle. Miss Jones, I’m so pleased you are safe and well.
And Doctor – you acted most valiantly.’
The Doctor didn’t respond.
‘Yes, well,’ Haleston went on. ‘I must attend to my wife and my friends in the aftermath, take stock of the damage. . . There will be so much to do. . . ’ He hurried away down the drive.
164
‘It was a battle beyond belief,’ Romand declared. ‘A highly accom-plished operation. . . ’
‘Operation!’ Martha echoed, her heart leaping into her throat. ‘Oh god, Doctor, that’s right – the Skarasen.’
‘What?’
‘It’s being operated on right now! Taro or some –’
‘What?!’
‘It’s only supposed to take a few hours.’
‘What? As little as that?’ The Doctor grabbed hold of Martha’s shoulders. ‘Taro’s gonna find that her crew’s been wiped out, her dreams are in tatters. . . ’
Martha nodded. ‘And I’m guessing once the Skarasen’s back under her control, getting him housetrained isn’t the first thing she’ll do.’
‘We’ve got to get to Wolvenlath,’ said the Doctor. ‘As fast as possible.
En vitesse! Schnell, schnell! ’
‘Whatever are you talking about?’ Romand sighed. ‘Can’t we enjoy a simple victory?’
‘There was nothing to enjoy here today,’ snapped the Doctor, as he sprinted away down the drive. ‘And the cavalry may have won this battle, but the war’s not over yet!’
165
Martha shivered as the Opel roared along the winding country lanes. She wished the sun would rise faster. The drive through the dawn was freezing cold, and the thought of what lay ahead for them in Wolvenlath was not exactly one to warm the heart. Even the Doctor was taking no pleasure in the drive now. His expression was stern, his movements to control their course precise and economical.
She wished there had been more time to stay and help tend the wounded, assembled on the devastated lawns of Goldspur. Victor and Ian were lending a hand clearing up in the gruesome aftermath, Dr Fenchurch had been duly summoned, and medicinal brandy was doing the rounds ahead of his arrival. Haleston and the cavalry seemed to have things under control. She only hoped the same couldn’t be said for Taro the Zygon, over at Wolvenlath.
‘Haleston would have posted police guards at the site, wouldn’t he?’
said Martha.
‘I can see one in the road,’ said the Doctor.
A sick feeling built in Martha’s stomach as the Doctor slowed down in the car. Two more policemen were lying on the grassy verge by the side of the road. One was sprawled on his back, his face a swollen mess.
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The Doctor’s fists tightened round the wheel as he steered them off the road towards the dirt track.
‘What are you doing?’ Martha asked as the car bumped over the uneven ground.
‘Quick way down,’ the Doctor informed her.
The gradient grew steeper, and the car lurched as a tyre burst. ‘Victor’s going to kill you,’ Martha told him, ‘if you don’t kill us first.’
Brambles scraped on metal as the rear of the car caught the hedgerow.
As she glanced over her shoulder to see, she caught movement beneath the blanket abandoned in the foot well.
A short muzzle and dark, hazel eyes pushed out from the blanket.
‘Teazel?’ Martha exclaimed. ‘Where did you spring from?’
The Doctor’s eyes widened. ‘I left Teazel in Kelmore. That must be –’
With a terrifying growl, Teazel jumped up at Martha, his jaws snapping. She cried out, nearly tumbled from the car as it skidded round a hairpin bend. The Mastiff forced its way into the front seat between them, its front legs gashed open and bloody teeth tearing at the Doctor’s coat.
‘It’s a Zygon,’ she yelled. The car swerved from side to side as he fought to keep control. Martha hooked her arm around the fake Teazel’s neck, tried to drag it off the Doctor’s arm. The car smashed over a rock and the wheel with the punctured tyre went flying. The Opel tipped crazily to the left. Martha screamed as the animal’s bulk slammed into her. But the Doctor grabbed hold of her wrist, stopped her from falling out, even as the car slithered and span and gouged a crazy path through the gorse and heather.
The dog’s jaws snapped at Martha’s face. Then, a red haze began to engulf Teazel, and his body began to crack and swell. An inhuman voice slurred out: ‘Body. . . print. . . failing. . . ’
‘I set the real Teazel free hours ago,’ the Doctor shouted. The tem-plate’s wiped itself from the synthetic circuit!’
Unable to hold on with its morphing hands, the creature fell and hit the ground. A few moments later, the car sideswiped a tree. Martha was thrown against the Doctor and clutched on to him, the heavy 168
thrum of the engine rocking through her like her heartbeat as she gingerly tested her arms and legs for damage. Martha couldn’t quite believe she was still alive, let alone uninjured.
Then she heard a guttural, hissing roar behind her, and turned.
Teazel had gone; it was Brelarn who was running down the churned-up hillside towards them.
‘Come on,’ the Doctor snapped, taking her hand as he climbed out of the rattling car. She jumped down beside him and they sprinted through the wet grass towards the chained Skarasen, ly
ing beside its dead companion.
‘It’s still asleep,’ she panted as they approached. ‘That’s good, right?’
One giant eye snapped open as they approached, fixed on them.
‘OK, maybe not so good,’ Martha conceded.
The Doctor changed course, getting out of the Skarasen’s sight by running behind its head. The monster roared, and the compacted earth around its buried arms began to shake. Martha was knocked to the ground, and as she scrambled up the Doctor took hold of her shoulders.
‘Do you have any idea where the augmented activator and the sonic screwdriver might have ended up?’ he asked her urgently. ‘Quick!
Think!’
‘I. . . ’ Martha frowned. ‘I think your double had them when he went for me in Lord Haleston’s hut.’
‘Go and see. I’ll hold off Brelarn.’ The sound of harsh, laboured breathing was getting louder. ‘If we’re gonna stand a chance of controlling the Skarasen we need –’
With a broiling hiss of anger, the Zygon Warlord appeared from behind the Skarasen’s head and rushed to the attack. The Doctor managed to shove Martha clear even as he went down beneath Brelarn’s orange bulk. ‘Quick as you can!’ he yelled.
Martha forced herself to keep running, driving herself faster and faster. Behind her, the wounded Zygon’s bellow of rage mingled with the grating roar or the Skarasen, gathering itself to rise.
∗ ∗ ∗
169
The Doctor struggled in Brelarn’s grip. He saw the barbs in the Zygon’s palms, beady with venom, as they moved inexorably towards his face.
Then the Skarasen stirred and shifted and the ground about it shook. At the same time, the Doctor arched his back, breaking Brelarn’s grip and knocking him clear. The Zygon cracked his huge skull against a rock and lay still.
The Doctor scrambled up, saw Brelarn was still breathing – then shot a worried look at the Skarasen. It was trying to raise its head, and the heavy chains that secured its neck were pulling taut. He started to run after Martha. But as he passed the abandoned ditch-digger, the squat, red-orange figure of a Zygon scuttled out from behind it, raising her claw-like bands as she blocked his way.
‘Ah, Taro, there you are,’ said the Doctor, acting casual as he moved a little to the right, blocking Brelarn’s body from view. He smiled.
‘What’s wrong? It’s me, Felic!’
‘Felic?’ Taro hesitated. ‘You were supposed to stay here and assist me. What has happened?’
‘I encountered some humans. But I dealt with them.’ He smiled tightly. ‘Have you made the repairs?’
‘The healing transmissions were accepted and our control matrix re-established.’ She gestured frantically beyond the Skarasen. ‘But that vibration in the air. . . ’
‘It’s the engine of a human motor car I borrowed. . . ’ The Doctor shrugged. ‘I left it running. Primitive machinery takes so long to start –’
‘Silence it,’ snarled Taro.
‘The diastellic therapy has left the
Skarasen sensitive to vibration. You can see it is disturbed. Aggressive thought impulses may weaken the control matrix.’
‘Might they now,’ mused the Doctor.
As if on cue, the Skarasen roared again. The Doctor jumped as the chains at its neck fell away, clanking and clanging as they tumbled to the ground.
And he saw that Brelarn was back on his feet.
‘Uh-oh,’ he said.
‘Kill the Doctor, Taro!’ the Warlord screamed. ‘Kill him!’
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Taro’s face scrunched up in rage. ‘ Doctor? ’
‘What?’ the Doctor protested. ‘Fair’s fair, Felic pretended to be me –’
Taro grabbed for the Doctor’s neck. Her fingers caught his flesh and the sting shocked through him. Gasping with pain, he sank to his knees. Then a shadow fell over him as the Skarasen’s head blotted out the sun.
Martha slammed back the bolts on the hut door and threw it open.
The hot, iron stench of blood filled the little room; the Zygon body still lay prone in the corner. She covered her mouth with one hand as she knelt down to begin a frantic search on the muddy, bloody floor.
Hang on, she thought, turning back to the body. That thing’s still here. If it’s dead, isn’t it meant to disappear?
‘It’s all right,’ she told herself, clearing away a litter of papers and leather-bound books. ‘Just means there’s no one on the Zygon ship left to spirit Felic’s body away. That’s a good thing. That’s –’
Suddenly the corpse rolled over and lunged for Martha’s legs. She cried out, tried to crawl clear, but a gnarled hand closed on her ankle.
Deja vu, Martha thought. She managed to yank herself free but over-balanced and fell on the floor. When she tried to scramble back up, Felic grabbed hold of her hair.
‘You left me for dead,’ the Zygon slurred, leaning in close to her face. ‘I will leave you the same. . . ’
He shoved Martha into the shelves that lined the wall and she cried out, collapsing to the floor in a pile of ink bottles and blotters. ‘You don’t want to kill me,’ she told him shakily. ‘Your plan’s shot to hell –the King’s safe and your crew is dead. The only one who can help you now is the Doctor, and if you kill me –’
‘You are lying,’ panted Felic. ‘The Doctor is our prisoner.’
Martha shook her head. ‘Try taking his form, then.’
The Zygon clenched its fists, closed its eyes as if concentrating.
Martha tried scrabbling up, but Felic opened his eyes again and kicked her back against the wall.
‘Can’t do it, can you?’ she said quietly, clutching her ribs. ‘Because he’s gone. Face it, you’ve lost.’
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Felic’s breathing grew more laboured as he tried again to will the change. The effort made him stagger back and slump against the opposite wall. His dark red eyes opened and stared hatefully into hers.
Suddenly a loud, terrifying roar shook the hut. ‘The Skarasen,’ Felic whispered, struggling to rise. Martha started to get up too, leaning heavily on a shelf for support. But as she did, something toppled down from a higher shelf to land between her and Felic.
She stared. It was the sonic screwdriver and the activator. The Zygon must have hidden them up there before attempting to deal with her.
Felic grabbed for the fallen prizes just as she did. Martha got the screwdriver, but the Zygon beat her to the activator.
‘Give that to me,’ Martha shouted.
‘No, human.’ Felic looked up at her, clasping the activator to his knobbly chest. ‘I am dying, But you will never. . . have control. . . of the Skarasen. . . ’
So saying, the Zygon ripped away the metal components from the gnarled growth. A rush of red energy crackled round his fingers and sent a spasm through Felic’s body. Then he fell backwards, crushing the pieces against the floor with the last or his strength.
‘No!’ Martha shouted as another wild roar tore through the hut.
She snatched what was left of the activator from Felic’s lifeless fingers, then threw open the door and ran outside.
To find the Doctor was in deep, deep trouble.
‘Die, Doctor,’ hissed Taro, her grip tightening on his throat. ‘No human can survive the full power of a Zygon’s sting.’
‘You’re forgetting, Taro,’ the Doctor gasped. ‘I’m – not – human!’
Bringing up both arms, he broke her grip and pushed her away, then staggered back to his feet. His neck was swollen and burning. He could feel the alien toxins bubbling beneath the surface, sapping his strength. And now Brelarn was coming at him again, Gritting his teeth, the Doctor stumbled away, circled round behind the ditch-digger.
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The Skarasen was properly awake now, and getting angry. The ground quaked as it started to shift one of its buried paws.
‘The engine noise must be silenced, Commander,’ Taro shouted. ‘It is imperative!’
‘Go then,’ Brelarn hissed.
‘I shall deal with this one.’
‘Doctor!’ yelled Martha. He turned to find her running down the slope towards him, waving the sonic in one hand, clutching something else in the other. The sight of her gave him strength and he staggered to join her.
‘Oh my god, your throat. . . ’ Martha looked shocked as he approached. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Adam’s apple?’ he croaked, reaching for the sonic. ‘Overrated. Did you find the activator?’
She pulled a face. ‘Yeah, but it’s a bit broken.’
He grabbed it from her, held the sonic to it and buzzed. ‘No residual delta waves,’ he muttered. ‘Now it’s just a regular signalling device.’
He threw it away. ‘We can’t send the Skarasen back to sleep.’
Martha grabbed hold of his arm. ‘Company again.’
Brelarn was slowly approaching, his scarred, hideous features twisted in a gloating smile. ‘You have lost, Doctor. With the Skarasen returned to our control, we have a fresh source of food.’ The Skarasen roared again as if to underline the point, and the noisy grind of the Opel’s engine cut dead. ‘We shall rest and recover,’ the Warlord went on. ‘My children will grow old and strong and thirsty for human blood. There will be other opportunities and we shall take them.
Eventually, we shall subjugate this world.’
The Doctor held his ground and shook his head. ‘I’ll stop you, Brelarn. Wherever and whenever you strike, I’ll stop you.’
A ghastly hiss escaped the Zygon’s lips as it reached out its blood-soaked arms to him. ‘You will be dead. . . ’
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As Brelarn lumbered forwards, a gunshot echoed out. The ground spat shards in the air, peppering the Zygon’s feet. The Doctor jumped back into Martha’s arms, and Brelarn turned angrily to face this new threat.
‘Romand!’ Martha cried.
The Frenchman was crouched inside the ditch-digger, waving a duelling pistol. He fired again. The shot whistled past Brelarn’s head and almost hit Martha. ‘Run, you two!’ he cried.
‘Who from, him or you?’ Martha complained, grabbing the Doctor’s hand and pulling him towards the shelter of a nearby crane. Brelarn made to follow them, but another whistling gunshot hit a boulder beside him and drove him back.
