‘Ahhh,’ he said. ‘I wondered why that thing was tugging my shoulder off.’
Dora had now reached him. She clung to him hard, unwilling to look down.
‘My earrings,’ she sniffled.
‘Yes. We’re under the point where the reactor was once located. Its magnetic core must have come loose from its housing, probably during the seismic disturbances. No wonder they evacuated this place. Anyway, in the time since it’s burrowed its way down towards Gorgoror’s gravitational heart. This crater must be thousands of metres deep by now. You’ve nothing metallic on you of any value?’
She shook her head.
‘Well, I have.’ He could feel his sonic screwdriver trying to dig its way through the material of his jacket pocket, as if this too was suddenly many times heavier than before. ‘Time to go.’
‘What about your rifle?’
The Doctor stared at her. ‘Good point yes. Valuable prototype. I’ll climb down there and get it back shall IT
Dora shook her head again.
Thought not.’
They stumbled across the remaining section of bridge, and reached the far side - a jagged concrete podium, jutting out over the gulf. The only way to move beyond this was via a closed steel door.
‘Can’t be too far to go now,’ the Doctor said.
‘Doctor - look!’
Dora was gazing back across the crater. Their pursuer had emerged into full view on the other side, and was regarding them with a smooth, featureless face. It was humanoid in outline, but taller than either of them by at least thirty centimetres, and jet black all over. Its flesh had a shiny, oily texture and was hung with a fin-like canopy.
The Doctor gave it only a sparing glance, before turning back to the steel door - to find that it wouldn’t budge when he pushed against it. Dora joined him, shoving with all her might. There was no response.
‘Buckled in its frame,’ the Doctor said. ‘Probably due to the magnetic forces in the crater.’
‘OK, I’m the action girl’ Dora said, snatching up a lump of stone. ‘We attack that thing as it tries to cross…
oh my word!’
The oil-black monstrosity was now six metres up a sheer concrete pillar, climbing with the flats of its hands and feet as if they bore sucker pads.
‘It’s trying to find a perch,’ the Doctor said. ‘From which it can leap.’
‘Leap?’
‘Walk on air, remember? It’s not called an Air-Walker for nothing. Two or three big jumps and it’ll be over here with us.’
The creature was soon twelve metres up. Not far over its head, various ganglia of shredded cables and entwined fragments of hanging rubble offered the aforementioned perch.
‘What do we do?’ Dora said, panic rising in her voice.
‘That outfit you’re wearing. Are there any tools in its pockets?’
‘Tools?’
‘It’s protective gear, Dora, for hazardous work. There may be something.’
She slapped down her sides and thighs, finding a single pouch containing a sausage-shaped packet filled with a squidgy white material.
The Doctor grinned and snatched it from her. ‘Dora Mossop, you’re a genius.’
‘For finding wall filler? We going to be doing some DIY, Doctor? Fix the place up?’
‘No, just the opposite. This is plastic explosive. Used in quarrying.’
‘Oh…’
On top of everything else, while she’d been running, jumping, climbing and generally bouncing around, Dora now realised that she’d been carrying something with the potential to blow her to smithereens. In normal circumstances she might have been sick, but it was amazing how quickly you got used to intense, high-end terror.
‘Stand back,’ the Doctor said.
‘Stand back where?’
‘Just stand back.’ He’d squeezed out some of the material and was now thumbing it into place around the edges of the buckled door.
‘There’s nowhere we can stand back.’
‘Get as far as you can, and crouch low.’
Dora did as instructed, but glanced up again. The Air-Walker was at least twenty metres up the opposite wall, and crouching on the end of a broken ventilation valve. It had coiled up like a spring.
‘Doctor!’ she cried.
‘Lie flat!’ he shouted, retreating and drawing his sonic screwdriver from his pocket, though it was such an effort to hold it steady that he had to use both hands. It bucked and twisted as if eager to flit out of his grasp.
Dora could sense their dark stalker making its first leap, the membranes of skin extending between its limbs as it launched itself through the air. The Doctor looked up, and saw the creature alight on another piece of dangling wreckage. Immediately, it re-coiled itself. Two more such leaps and it would be upon them. He turned back to the door, wrestling with his screwdriver as he lay down and hit the button.
There was an ear-piercing squeal, and a thunderous BOOM as the blast almost swept them from the podium.
When they opened their eyes, there was a dusty, smoke-filled hole where the door had stood. The Doctor jumped up, hauling Dora by her collar. They followed a passage cluttered with smouldering brick rubble. Ahead of them stood another door - but this one was open, and there was a big space beyond it.
‘We’re through,’ the Doctor shouted.
He dragged Dora out into another vast, hangar-type
building. Its nearest exit was maybe fifty metres away, but they’d only made twenty when there was an ululating shriek overhead. As they looked up, the Air-Walker exploded out through a high vent. It briefly caught hold of another loose perch - a sagging section of roof, huge concrete cakes strung limply together by rusting wires, which now groaned alarmingly - and then sprang again, this time right at them.
The Doctor looked wildly around - there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
Dora didn’t even have time to scream. The horror descended like a dark angel, its membranes spread and billowing, its previously featureless head gaping to reveal row after row of knife-blade teeth.
The Doctor wrapped his arms around Dora, forcing her to the ground to shield her with his own body. But then there was a searing flash, a massive CRACKLE of energy - and when the Air-Walker landed beside them, it was a corpse: smoking and contorted, and giving off a foul stench of burning.
The Doctor and Dora rose back to their feet, bewildered.
‘Air-Walkers live on the planet Cha-Bala,’ the Doctor said sadly. ‘The natives of the neighbouring Ka-Bala worship them as gods of music.’
‘Gods of music?’ Dora replied, barely understanding what he was saying.
He walked slowly around the charred carcass.
‘They would abandon sacrificial victims on the surface of Cha-Bala, where Air-Walkers would eat them. They’d do a really thorough job, leaving nothing but hollow bones, which the Ka-Balans would recover and make into wind instruments. Apparently the sound is quite beautiful.’
Dora stared at him, perplexed.
‘Ironic, eh?’ He looked across the hangar, to where a tall but familiar figure in tiger-striped hunting fatigues was approaching. ‘That one god of music should be brought down by another.’
Kalik Xorax had tried to explain who he was and why he was being held captive, but he interspersed this so regularly with asthmatic gasps, and it was so long-winded anyway as he was clearly in a state of shock, that Amy soon got bored and recommenced her search for the TARDIS.
Xorax followed her around, still panting and jabbering.
She noted a few things he said - about having betrayed Krauzzen’s trust, and about how his fate would be ghastly though no one would ever know about it because he was a Torodon - but most of the rest seemed like self-justifying gibberish.
‘A man has to make a living, doesn’t he?’ he said, as she prowled the stacks of cargo. ‘I never set out intending to buy and sell people. I was an ordinary businessman.
When I was exiled to Earth for malpractice, I had
to put food on the table somehow. So when Lord Krauzzen contacted me, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse. I mean, what are humans to me? I suppose that sounds terrible.
But I’m Torodon, a different species from you. And when you’re a different species, well… it’s hard to have empathy, if you know what I mean. But I’m endlessly grateful for what you’ve done. I can’t—’
‘All right!’ Amy snapped. ‘If you want to thank me, look for the TARDIS.’
‘The TARDIS?’
‘It’s a tall blue box.’
‘You mean like that?’
Amy glanced up to where he was pointing, and saw the TARDIS perched on a shelf about five and a half metres overhead, sandwiched between two piles of bulging plastic sacks.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Erm… right. Can you help me get up there?’
‘I don’t think I could get myself up there.’ He adopted an expression of pained frailty. ‘I haven’t slept or eaten for days.’
She was about to point out that his ‘endless gratitude’
wasn’t up to very much, when she heard the slide-hiss of the entry door. Xorax glanced at her, his hollow eyes suddenly wide with fear. She motioned him to keep quiet.
From where they were, the door was out of sight, but they listened intently. It hissed closed again. She pricked her ears for the slightest sound - a whisper of voices, the creak of a boot on the polished metal floor.
But none of that came.
‘We must hide,’ Xorax breathed into her ear.
‘I don’t think anyone’s come in,’ she replied quietly.
‘Someone has. And he’ll be searching for us right now.’
‘In that case I have to get up to the TARDIS.’
Xorax glanced to the top shelf again, only to shake his head and back away from her. Flattening himself on the floor, he slid his body beneath a pallet on which various machine parts glittered. Amy again listened out, but still heard no sound of approach. Xorax was peeking up at her from his place of concealment. She stuck her tongue out at him, before attempting to clamber up the great stack of shelving on her own. She was perhaps halfway up when she glanced over her shoulder, and, having a clear, unobstructed view through several other racks of goods, saw something that made her blood run cold.
It was the giant, Zarbotan.
He was now searching for her, but, to her astonishment, not by plodding around on foot - by apparently floating through mid air. She was so unable to believe the evidence of her own eyes that she remained in full view for several, near-disastrous seconds. When she suddenly realised how exposed she was, she clambered onto one of the midway shelves, and lay down. She had restricted vision from there, but could still see him. He was standing upright on some kind of silver hover-board, which could apparently move in any direction he wished. He was two aisles away, elevated to three metres in the air, and pivoting cautiously around as he scanned every level of shelving. His movements were graceful, but also rather ghostly - an effect enhanced by the dim greenish light of the hold.
Amy lay frozen as he swished past her at a lower level and disappeared round a corner. Briefly he was gone, though evidently he would soon make another pass, probably checking out the higher ledges. She glanced ruefully up at the TARDIS: so close and yet so far.
With no other choice, she hung by her fingertips before dropping into the aisle and scampering away, looking for somewhere - anywhere - to hide properly.
‘Well, Doctor,’ Zubedai said, approaching with pulse-rifle levelled. ‘It seems you’ve changed sides. I’m not sure that’s completely a surprise.’
‘What is a surprise is that you’re the one who’s caught me,’ the Doctor replied.
‘Ahhh!’ Zubedai lifted his laser-sighted visor. ‘You think a soft-living celebrity like me shouldn’t have the instinct for this sort of thing?’
‘I’ve no doubt you’ve got the instinct. But the ability is something else.’
‘Well…’ Zubedai chuckled. The parts of his face that hadn’t been covered by his oxygen mask and visor were smudged with dust, suggesting that his hunt, so far, had been a lively one. ‘Maybe in overhearing your explosion, I got lucky. But we all need a bit of luck.’ He raised his rifle to his shoulder. ‘I don’t know what points I’ll get for you, if any… but that’s no matter. I’m content to take a share of your money.’
But before Zubedai could fire, he gave a strangled gasp of pain. The blackened carcass of the Air-Walker lay alongside him, though apparently there was still a spark of life in it; without warning, it had turned its head, and clamped its serrated teeth onto his left ankle. Zubedai’s gasp became a shriek as it applied crushing pressure.
Desperately, he began kicking out, raining down blows with the butt of his rifle.
It was all the distraction Dora needed.
‘Doctor!’ she cried, throwing something. ‘The wall filler!’
The packet of plastic explosive was still half full. By the time it landed at Zubedai’s feet, the Doctor had already drawn his screwdriver and activated it.
This second explosion was much bigger than the first, throwing both fugitives to the ground, pummelling their ears. After the echoes died away, it took almost a minute for the dense cloud of smoke to clear. Cautiously, the Doctor wafted his way through. When he reached the edges of the small crater and saw the ragged remnants strewn across and around it, he could only shake his head.
‘I make that Hunting Party - nil. Inconsequential Species - two.’
There was a sudden CRACKLE of electronic gunfire -
it sounded as if it was just outside the hangar. The Doctor hurried towards the exit.
Dora stumbled after him and, when she caught up with him, peered down onto another flat wasteland dotted with ruins and the wrecks of abandoned vehicles.
A small group of figures were staggering across it - matchstick shapes from this distance, but Dora recognised the tattered black clothes and black mop-hair of Sophie, who was only covering the rugged ground at the speed she was because a tall young man, presumably Andrei, was propping her up. The group was clearly in the last stage of exhaustion; instead of using the cover of the ruins, they were tottering along in the open. About fifty metres behind them, three more figures - clad in body-armour and hunting fatigues - capered in pursuit.
However, these surviving members of the hunting party
only discharged the occasional bolt, and seemed to be deliberately missing their targets, striking the ground or flattening nearby buildings, as if herding the terrified humans. They laughed excitedly.
‘They’re enjoying themselves, aren’t they?’ the Doctor said grimly.
‘Do something, please!’
The Doctor was thinking quickly, but no obvious solution presented itself. At the far side of the wasteland was the upward curved perimeter of the dome wall, though at this point it adjoined with a different dome: an immense arched entranceway giving through to another set of towering, rusted structures - almost certainly the rocket base. It was difficult to see clearly through the stained and misted partition, but one particular tower over there, a huge flimsy edifice, soared above all the others. That had to be the base control tower, which was a reassuring sight, though it was at least a couple of miles away from here, and not only did he have to get himself and Dora over there in one piece, but he had to get the other fugitives there as well.
A change in tone from the hunters caught his attention.
He peered down. They had halted, and seemed to be milling around in a minor panic. Finally, they took cover behind the skeleton of an earth-mover.
Very slowly, the Doctor smiled.
‘What’s happening?’ Dora asked.
‘They’re getting a dose of their own medicine,’ he said.
‘They’re taking fire.’
Rory and Harry bawled with laughter as the hunters went to ground.
Rory loaded another hunk of rock onto his catapult and let fly. The missile winged its way across the ruins, and struck the cat
erpillar track behind which the crown of a hunter’s helmet had just ducked. He and Harry were perched inside the scoop of a derelict crane. Its jib was partly lowered, so they’d been able to scramble up it, and had found it an excellent vantage point from which to assail the enemy with the array of primitive weapons they’d brought from the labour camp. As well as Rory’s catapult, for which he had a stockpile of ammunition, Harry had a homemade crossbow, and a quiver full of flint-tipped arrows. They also had a spear and a sling.
Harry discharged another arrow. Rory let fly with another lump of rock. The hunters had only been about fifty metres away when they’d come under attack, so the first few shots had struck cleanly. Now they’d taken cover and were all but invisible, but Rory and Harry kept up their bombardment, determined to buy as much time for the fleeing fugitives as they could.
‘Having a good time up there?’ someone called from below.
Rory glanced down, and saw the Doctor and Dora standing on the ground beneath them. The Doctor’s arms were folded. He was smiling, but sternly - like a lecturer just about tolerating amusing but wayward behaviour from his students.
‘Doctor!’ Rory laughed delightedly. ‘I knew you’d get here! Look - we’ve got them pinned down!’
‘So I see,’ the Doctor replied. From ground level, it was impossible to pinpoint where the hunting party had hidden themselves, but he knew they wouldn’t lie low indefinitely. ‘I take it you’re not alone?’
‘He certainly is not,’ Harry said, poking his head out of the jib. ‘I’ll have you know this was my idea - Dora!’
‘Harry!’ she screamed.
Harry made to scramble back down the jib, but Rory stopped him. ‘We need to maintain this assault. The longer we keep them — ‘
‘The longer you maintain this assault, Rory,’ the Doctor shouted, ‘the more likely they are to locate your exact position. And remember, each one of those men has a weapon that can turn this machine into a pile of tooth fillings.’
Dr. Who - BBC New Series 45 Page 14
