by Doctor Who
A flash of movement caught his eye, drawing the Doctor's attention back to the security camera. A white coat swept across the screen and was gone, leaving a view of dark shadows and columns.
The crypt, and someone was in there.
The Doctor operated the control unlocking the steel door which separated the antechamber from the crypt,
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and it opened with a soft hiss. He slipped through as stealthily as possible. The first thing that hit him was the smell, like that of a zoo, a mixture of sweat and muck and enclosures. Then there was the unusual bubbling hum, emanating from all around him in the darkness, as if fluid were being pumped by a dozen tiny turbines.
He became aware of heavy shapes, hanging silently between the crypt's many pillars, of cables snaking across the floor, of the quiet rhythm of sleeping bodies breathing. He'd been in a place like this before.
A school in London, eight hundred and a bit years in the future. Then there had been a quick and easy exit, but this time he was trapped. With nowhere else to go, he might as well carry on.
Moving cautiously between the shapes he now knew to be sleeping Krillitanes, he could see a brighter area ahead, where a woman in a white lab coat was standing beneath a limp, battered Krillitane, its wings drooped and brushing the floor.
The Doctor stopped a short way behind the woman, and cleared his throat to get her attention. To his surprise, she continued to tend to the creature's wounds.
'What is it? Can't you see I'm busy?' she snapped, without turning.
'Nothing really, I just wondered what you were doing?'
With one swift movement, Belima Febron was facing the Doctor, a gun in her hand pointing straight at his chest. 'Who the hell are you?'
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'Nobody special. And shouldn't you keep your voice down?
Krillitanes are very light sleepers, you know.'
They're sedated. I decide when, and if, they wake up. Tell me who you are, or I'll shoot you stone dead.'
The Doctor,' boomed Henk's voice from the darkness. There was a clunk as a heavy switch was pulled, and bright lamps flickered on, their harsh light casting angular shadows across every surface. Thank you, Belima. I'll take care of things from here.'
Henk was accompanied by Branlo and two thickset lumps of men, who lumbered over and grabbed the Doctor by his arms.
'Oi, watch the suit. They're a bit heavy-handed for men of the cloth, aren't they?'
'You're either a genius or a lunatic, Doctor, or perhaps some combination of the two. How long did you think you could get away with your little deception?'
'Long enough.' The Doctor took advantage of the sudden light, and the clear view it afforded of his surroundings. The crypt ran the length of the western end of the Cathedral, filled with pillars bearing the weight of the marble floor above. Each pillar was about two metres distant from its neighbour, and between each group of four hung an individual Krillitane, ankles clamped securely to a strengthened brace, arcing across a metal framework. But this wasn't the only point of contact between technology and Krillitanes. Wires curled around muscles and sinews, electrodes pierced leathery skin, sharp clamps bit into wings, literally clipping them, 105
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and a tight aluminium collar forced their chins up at an unnatural angle, allowing tubes to penetrate glands otherwise hidden behind the bones of their lower jaws.
It was an ugly, brutal sight.
'What is this place?' the Doctor breathed, disgusted and horrified at the conditions the creatures were being held in.
'Rather impressive, don't you think? How do you like my Krillitane farm?'
'What? Farm!' The Doctor couldn't believe what he was hearing.
'You can't "farm" a sentient life form. Not even the unpleasant ones.
What are you hoping to get out of them? Wool? You'll have a long wait. They out-evolved the need for protective body hair millennia ago.'
'You know something of Krillitane biology, then? Excellent.
You should talk with my scientific adviser here.' Henk smiled at the blue-skinned scientist, who replied with a modest, grateful bow.
'Professor Belima Febron is the galaxy's foremost expert on the species.
I'm sure you'd be fascinated at some of the discoveries she has made -
with my financial support, of course.'
Then she must realise you can't hold Krillitanes under these conditions. Whatever the ethical objections, they won't just sit back and accept it.' Things were finally beginning to make some degree of sense to the Doctor. The Krillitane he had encountered last night had obviously been one of Henk's. 'You've already lost one, haven't you? What happened? Did it slip its lead while it was being taken out for walkies?'
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'We allow them some free-range time. We've found their oil is so much purer when they have enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, and it is their oil that provides the foundation for all our work.' Henk had wandered over to the alcove where Broken Wing was hanging unconscious, and gazed upon it disdainfully. 'Unfortunately the Brood Mother evaded her handler, but she has been dealt with. Rest assured, we are well aware of the Krillitanes' nature and have taken great pains to devise a system of emergency measures in the event of just such an occurrence. It won't happen again.'
So that's what all this was about. Krillitane Oil. A secretion generated by glands in their necks. That explained the pipes and the unsettling gurgling noise of fluid being drained. But what were this mad scientist and her banker extracting it for? 'You don't run a chip shop do you? Krillitane Oil is great for frying chips. Really tasty.'
'No more questions, Doctor. At least, not from you.' Henk sniffed, and caught Febron's eye. She nodded back, knowing what to do.
The Doctor felt an ice-cold rush in his neck, and woozily realised that the scientist had injected him with a sedative. That really wasn't fair.
Just when he was getting somewhere. Oh well. He could do with a nap anyway...
He sagged, unconscious, in the arms of his captors.
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yes blinked open, sweeping away the residue of Eunconsciousness, and the familiar recessed lighting and white panelling of the ceiling above finally resolved into focus. The soft ringing alarm wasn't showing any sign of ceasing, though.
With a sigh, Emily swung her legs over the side of her bunk and dropped lightly to the deck, the shock of cold metal against her feet helping to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. Not that she'd slept particularly well. Her dreams had all ended in some form of hideous death for the Doctor, and the chimes of the comms alarm were a welcome excuse to wake up.
'Babe, I'm awake. You can turn off the alarm now. Just show me the message.'
Transmitting to Comms Terminal now,' cooed the 109
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shipboard AI's gentle voice. Emily quickly read the brief transmission.
Her data on Henk had been received and verified, and payment credited. No word of thanks, or even an indication of who had actually been paying her. Not that it mattered. This job had been a one-off, passed on to her by a family friend, which she'd taken solely because Henk had been the target. She didn't care where the money had come from.
The message signed off with an odd footnote. 'Our client has informed us that agents have been despatched and will arrive in one solar day. You would therefore be advised to leave prior to their arrival.'
It read like a warning. Or was it a threat? Either way, it was none of her business any more.
Emily was about to head into the cockpit to begin the prep cycle for launch, when she caught sight of her rucksack, and the disassembled barrel of her sniper rifle jutting out of it at an angle.
Once again she felt a pang of guilt. 'Aw, rats and barnacles,' she sighed, slumping resignedly into the terminal's flight seat. It was no good. Much
as she'd tried to convince herself she had the chops to be a hard-nosed bounty hunter, the truth of the matter was that she was way out of her depth, and her conscience wouldn't allow her to simply cut and run without at least warning the Doctor that being anywhere near Henk had just became a whole heap more dangerous.
Within thirty minutes, Emily was kitted up and on the move, cutting across country to make up for lost time.
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It was early afternoon, and the bright, clear skies of the morning had been obscured by ominous, heavy clouds, threatening to coat the landscape with another layer of thick snow before nightfall.
Emily hurried on, trudging through a copse of scrubby woodland, mindful that she had limited time to make the round trip, and vainly hoping that the Doctor would be where she'd left him.
So focused was she that she didn't notice a shapeless heap ahead of her, partially buried in a small drift of snow, until she all but tripped over it.
'Oh gods,' Emily gasped and stumbled backwards, clinging to the trunk of a tree, covering her mouth to ward off the urge to vomit. Alert and terrified, she scanned the woodland around her, but there was nothing to be seen except the dense expanse of trees and branches. An army could be hiding out there and she wouldn't have been able to see them.
After taking a moment to regain her composure, Emily steeled herself to examine the remains of the body on the ground before her.
It - she - had been a humanoid female. Her left arm was dislocated, wrenched at a hideous angle, and there was a jagged tear across her midriff. The dead woman's eyes stared emptily towards the sky, as her blood saturated the snow, steam drifting lazily from the open wound.
The body was still warm. This was a recent kill.
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and immediately noticed the ridge of cartilage along the bridge of her nose and at the base of her forehead. An alien, then. A Calabrian?
What was a Calabrian woman doing out here in the woods? Apart from being murdered. Maybe she was another one of Henk's people?
His staff seemed to have a pretty high mortality rate, she thought morbidly.
Snap.
A noise right behind her, a twig breaking. Before Emily had a chance to react, a rough hand grabbed her under her chin, while another twisted her arm painfully behind her back.
'Get your hands off me,' Emily shouted, kicking out as she was lifted from the floor, her boot connecting with the knee of a second assailant, who crumpled to the floor, shouting a string of expletives as he fell.
'I've got her. Get the neck brace on, before she gets a chance to shape shift.'
Emily saw a third man rush towards her, a large, painful-looking collar in his hands. They were all wearing monks' robes. Henk's men. Probably the same ones she'd seen outside the Cathedral. They must have been with the Calabrian.
'I didn't kill her. This is nothing to do with me.' She struggled, but the man's grip was too tight.
'You should be dead,' growled the rough voice of her captor, his breath hot against her ear.
The one she'd floored with her wild kick had recovered himself, and was storming towards her, eyes blazing. He 112
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lashed out with the back of his hand, slapping Emily hard. That was for Lynch,’ he snarled.
Emily screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the next punch, but none came. She half-opened her eyes to find a fourth figure, holding a portable scanner in her direction.
This isn't her.'
'What do you mean? Of course it's her. Who else would've killed the Calabrian?'
'I'm telling you, this isn't Toeclaw.' The monk was agitated, scared. He pulled out a blaster, pointing it wildly in every direction. That Krillitane witch is still out there.'
Without warning, something heavy and powerful, crashed into the clearing from above. Twigs and branches scattered to the ground all around Emily, and suddenly the grip of her captor loosened. Emily looked around wildly, trying to make sense of what was happening.
The monk with the blaster lay, unmoving, a few metres away, his neck obviously broken.
She looked up as a scream echoed through the woodland. A grey, indistinct shape leapt agilely from tree trunk to branch, chasing down one of Henk's monks as he fled in blind panic. The poor man didn't stand a chance.
Emily had no intention of hanging around to find out what happened next. Pausing long enough to retrieve the monk's blaster, she ran in the opposite direction, as fast as she'd ever run in her life.
There could be no doubt
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that she had just witnessed the awesome power of a Krillitane.
A distant howl echoed through the woods, impossible to locate.
Emily heard two men shouting instructions at each other, and then, inevitably, a strangled scream.
Emily began to sob between gulps of air, realising that there was no hope of escaping. She'd had a chance to leave, why hadn't she taken it? Her footsteps began to falter, and she stumbled, reaching out to grab a branch for support. She clung to the tree, panting, tears streaming down her face.
Then, with a sickening thump, the battered, lifeless body of a monk smashed into undergrowth nearby, its passage interrupted by a tree trunk. Emily gasped, unwilling to look at the body, its spine wrapped unnaturally around the tree. Then she sensed a presence, approaching from behind, the creature that was about to snuff out her life.
'You are not one of Henk's people, are you?' came an unexpected voice.
Emily turned, slowly. Standing there was a Calabrian woman.
Impossibly, the same woman whose body she had discovered just minutes earlier.
'No,' she replied, surprised at the resolve in her voice. 'I'm nothing to do with that monster.'
The Calabrian woman studied Emily for a moment, head cocked to one side, like a hunter sizing up its prey. Then perhaps you would help me kill him.'
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Eyes blinked open, sweeping away the residue of unconsciousness, and an unfamiliar stone ceiling finally resolved into focus. A thumping headache continued to bang away at his frontal lobe, and it wasn't showing any sign of fading. There was no way of knowing how long he'd been out of it, but it could easily have been a few hours.
The Doctor was in the antechamber to the crypt, tied securely to a chair near the monitoring station. Febron, the brains behind the brawn of this very dodgy set-up, was busy making adjustments to the various systems that ran through it, her back turned towards him.
'It's not very sporting, is it, really? Sticking a great big hypo in someone's neck when they're not expecting it,' the Doctor complained. 'You could've given me some advance warning. I mean, had I known, I could have adjusted my physiology to counteract whatever tranquiliser you pumped into me, mitigate its effects. But no, bang, squidge, bleugh.' He lolled his head back, dangling his tongue, but Febron took no notice of his little piece of theatre.
Then again, what kind of cunning malevolent genius would warn someone when they were about to knock them out?' The Doctor sniffed and shook his head vigorously to clear it. 'Aw, what was that stuff, anyway? Ropivacaine? Fentanyl? My tongue feels like I've been licking envelopes for three months. Did you have to?'
Febron finally spoke, impatiently and without casting him a backward glance. 'You should have been
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unconscious for three months, considering the dosage I gave you.'
She finished what she was doing, and sat on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, apparently now ready to engage in conversation.
'You know, you have a fascinating biology, Doctor. I've never seen anything quite like it.'
'Make the most of it. You'll never come across another one quite like mine.' As the Doctor spoke, he quietly tested the ropes that bound h
im to the chair, but was disappointed to find them expertly fastened.
If he'd had a grain of sand for every time he'd been tied up over the years, he'd probably have enough by now to form a comfy retirement planetoid in the Bournemouth Cluster. Not that he was planning on hanging up his trainers quite yet.
'Anyway, ignoring my fascinating biology, your boss thought we should have some fun talking Krillitane, so let's talk Krillitane. You been torturing them for long?'
'Firstly, Mister Henk is not my boss. He's merely my financial backer—'
'Sounds like a boss to me,' interrupted the Doctor, but Febron ignored him.
'And secondly I'm a scientist, not a butcher. My Krillitanes are being held under laboratory conditions. Their natural proclivity towards hunting demands that they are kept under lock and key, as much for their own safety as ours.'
'Laboratory conditions, eh? Funny that, because I could've sworn Henk called it a "farm".'
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Febron smiled icily. 'Perhaps not the word I would have chosen, but Mister Henk has a weakness for a colourful turn of phrase. Our project is a scientific and commercial venture, something rather more special than merely agricultural.' She paused, possibly concerned that she'd revealed too much. 'However, none of this is your concern.'
The Doctor watched her move away, but he wasn't going to let the conversation end there. 'Well, it is my concern, you see, because I've got a bit of a soft spot for this little planet, and I'm not overly happy with any bunch of suits and scientists who think it's OK
to dump a herd of ruthless imperialist carnivores on it.'
'You've no need to worry. Once our business here is completed, we'll be in a position to create a purpose-built facility on a less developed world.'
