by Doctor Who
Broken Claw could already feel the agony of his wounds easing.
The hated blue scientist, Febron, had administered only a minimum dosage, and it had made little difference.
'She's dead. We each have a neural inhibitor implant. If she had escaped, Henk would have sent a remote signal, an electrical bolt causing total neural meltdown. She could not have survived.'
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That explained the device he'd found beside the body in the alley, thought the Doctor. A control box allowing a handler to punish his charge with various degrees of pain via the implant, if it threatened to misbehave. Of course Henk would have had a long-range, failsafe backup, just in case.
'But how did your Brood end up here? Krillitane aren't exactly pushovers. How did Henk capture you?'
'Why should I tell you?' Broken Wing spat back. 'You are just another humanoid, no doubt in league with Henk.'
'If I was, surely I'd already know?'
'Doctor, you speak with the monster as if in conversation, but the beast replies with the growls of an animal. How do you understand it?' Darke asked, perplexed.
'Long story, but he can understand every word you say, so mind your Ps and Qs.' The Doctor turned back to Broken Wing, who was studying the Doctor slyly.
'Your animal smells of sweat and fear, surely an indigenous creature. A primitive. But you? Your scent is not familiar. What are you?'
'Oh, nothing much, in the grand scheme of things. Just a passer-by. Tell me what happened. I can help.'
Broken Wing considered his situation. He could feel his strength returning, and soon he would be able to break free of his bonds. He could kill this puny biped then, if he so chose, but perhaps there might be some advantage in keeping the Doctor alive. His obvious 132
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medical skills could be useful in reviving the rest of the Brood. Yes, he would tell the Doctor his story. There was no shame in it.
The journey is not important. We were fugitives, forced to flee our homeworld along with our Brood. We travelled to a region of the galaxy where the Krillitane are unknown, where we could stay hidden from our enemies, and settled on a densely populated planet, rich with meat and the opportunity to hunt. But one of our young fell ill.'
'Someone she ate? Sorry. Bad taste.' The Doctor winced. 'Sorry.
Ignore me. Carry on.'
Broken Wing waited for any more foolish interruptions before continuing. 'Under normal circumstances, the weakling would have been excluded from the Brood, but we were already of limited number and the loss of a future warrior was not an option. That was when we encountered the blue scientist, Belima Febron.'
The Doctor raised his eyebrows. 'I bet she couldn't believe her luck. A brand new, unknown alien life form, walking right in through her front door.'
'She had a good reputation, and we were desperate,' Broken Wing told him. 'We took the form of her race and made contact with her.
She is a skilled biologist and saved the youngling, but in the process she learnt enough of our physiology to become a threat. I should have killed her then. What we didn't know was that she had entered into partnership with a business associate in order to fund her own research. Soon after, she and Henk
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arrived at our hiding place while we slept, armed with tranquilliser guns and manpower. Since then we have been prisoners. No, worse, nothing more than cattle, to be experimented upon.' Broken Wing shuddered and hissed through his fangs.
'Funny you should mention cattle, cos in a way that's what they're using you for. A herd of cattle.' The Doctor rocked on his heels, still crouching to maintain eye contact with the Krillitane. They're milking you. Well, oiling, I suppose you'd call it. Taking your oil and filtering it and draining it into barrels. Why would they be doing that, do you think?'
Broken Wing didn't answer for a moment. He could feel the cold hypersteel tubes that penetrated the skin painfully beneath his jaw, stabbing into two small glands which produced the very fluid that made the Krillitane what they were. A unique species in all the universe. The Oil is our essence, Doctor. The source of our greatest achievements. It gives us the power to evolve on our own terms, to adapt and to survive, to fashion ourselves into the ultimate life form.
Yet while it enables us to do great things, it has damned our race to its core.'
'You call the slaughter of the entire Bessan civilisation a great achievement? No wonder your own bodies are trying to poison you.'
The Krillitane's eyes narrowed. 'You know of my race?'
'Yeah, and to be honest I'd usually have no sympathy for you, but today you got lucky. I need to get you off this 134
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planet, before you decide to pilfer its infinite biological diversity and mash it up into whatever you decide looks pretty next.' The Doctor made another adjustment to the life-support systems, then stood up and began to walk away. 'But I promise you, I will do my best to get you out of here. All of you.'
'Where are you going?' the Krillitane hissed, irritated by the Doctor's impudence. 'If Henk is your enemy, then we are friends.
Release me, and we can join forces against him.'
The Doctor stopped beside Darke, who had been hanging back for most of the bizarre, seemingly one-sided exchange. The moment I set you free, I become a free lunch, and there's no such thing. You can stay up there for now, until I figure out what to do with you. I'll be back.'
Broken Wing stared after the pair as they disappeared into the shadows in silence. As a wave of impotent anger grew within him, he recognised the cloudy sensation of sedation clawing at his consciousness. His lip curled as he committed the Doctor's scent to memory. There would be a reckoning.
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TEN
ind how you go, Sam,' John Garrud cried warmly after the old
'M man, his best customer, staggering away through the snow.
Old Samuel was always the last to leave, and tonight was no exception. Silly old fool always managed to get home in one piece, whatever state he was in. The Huntsman would've taken one sniff of the inebriated gent and left him well enough alone.
John sighed, and stared up at the dark sky. Not even a glimpse of the setting sun tonight, only thick clouds, threatening another snowstorm. After all the fuss and terror of the previous night, a heavy snowfall didn't hold the same sense of foreboding as it used to.
He was about to shut and bolt the door when he heard hurried footsteps crunching on the snow further
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along the street. Too early for the first patrol, thought the innkeeper. He held the door open, just a crack, enough to have a bit of a nose at whoever was about to pass by, and pressed his eye against the crack, waiting for them to come into view. So long as it wasn't another stranger like that Doctor fellow. He'd been pleasant enough company, but the last thing they needed was for their inn to get a reputation for harbouring murderous scoundrels and miscreants, however well mannered.
A few moments later and there they were, two figures, soldiers possibly, clad in unusual orange armour. One of them had the bearing of aristocracy, a hooded cloak billowing in the wind behind her. The other, walking at a measured distance behind, was obviously a bodyguard, albeit slight in stature.
As they passed, the lead figure suddenly glared directly towards John's hiding place, and inclined her head in a bow. There was no way she could have seen him, and her smile chilled his bones to the marrow.
Alarmed, John shut the door and slammed the bolt home, leaning against it for good measure.
Best not mention that to the wife, he decided.
Henk took a sip from his glass and watched the assorted new arrivals warily interact or avoid contact altogether, and fleetingly worried that a meet-and-greet function before the main show might have been a mistake.
The atmosphere in the Rectory was uncomfortable
to say the least.
Amongst the delegates, at least two groups 138
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had a history of inter-species conflict, though Henk had known that already, and was counting on their antipathy influencing the course of negotiations. That none of them knew the precise nature of Henk's product was also causing hackles to be raised to match their expectations.
He had brought together this disparate group very particularly, carefully selected to ensure that he had something to offer each and every one of them, a product that would fulfil any number of very unique requirements, and that some would be desperate to obtain if they saw their historic enemies doing so. Maximum profitability was his primary concern.
A quiet cough from behind snapped him out of his reverie. It was Branlo.
'Sir, the Calabrian delegate and her escort have just arrived,' the lad whispered discreetly, not wishing to spend any more time amongst these business people than he had to. These alien races freaked him out.
'About time. Hurry them along, Branlo. The others are becoming restless. I think it's time to kick off the main event.'
Henk noticed Belima, nervously clutching a glass of some herbal infusion and avoiding eye contact with anyone that threatened to pass too close. He wandered over to her.
'You look radiant.' He smiled, meaning it. He usually went for blondes, but blue was equally appealing. Perhaps, when all this was over, they could get to know each other better while watching the profits roll in. 'Don't worry, I
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won't make you talk to any of them in person.'
'Good job. It's bad enough my work has to be reduced to a commodity in order for it to reach its fullest potential.' Febron gazed into her glass, as if looking for answers. She'd known where things were going when she'd first signed on with Henk, and it was pointless bemoaning the depths one had to sink to simply to secure funding. Her work was more important.
'After tonight, everything you've striven for, all your sacrifices will have been worth it. And the universities and corporations that shied away from the moral ambiguities of what you have achieved will regret their lack of vision.' Henk laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The final delegate has arrived, so we can begin.'
The Doctor's eyes sparkled, staring into a small glass vial suspended amongst an intricate web of electronics and filtering equipment, where a dense yellow fluid gathered slowly, dripping from the nozzle of a brass tube. 'She's brilliant. Quite brilliant,' he muttered, as another tiny drip plopped silently into the vial.
All the Krillitanes seem to do is sleep and eat,' Darke muttered, paying little attention to the contraption that so entranced the Doctor.
Instead, he nervously watched the far end of the crypt for any sign that the winged creature had slipped its bonds. 'Your collection of bottles and pipes may be fascinating, but I'm more concerned that the beast will only sleep for so long, before indulging in its other favourite pastime.'
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'No need to worry about him,' the Doctor said absently, concentrating on unclipping the vial of precious fluid and carefully lifting it out of the spaghetti-like mess of technology. 'I made sure he'll get a full night's sleep. He won't be bothering anyone for a while. Probably have a bit of a head on him when he wakes up, though.'
Decanting the viscous fluid into a test tube he'd retrieved from his jacket pocket, the Doctor squeezed a rubber stopper in the end, before pushing the now empty vial back into its resting place with a click. That'll set them back a bit I should think. Right. Come on.' The Doctor leapt to his feet and ran off in the direction of the anteroom.
Darke took another look into the shadows before hurrying after him. He was happier once they were on the other side of the reinforced security door, trapping the monsters on the other side.
The Doctor was already sitting at the monitoring station, chattering away excitedly. The thing about the Krillitanes, the really amazing thing about them, is that they don't have to wait for thousands of generations to evolve. If they find a weakness in their physiology, they can change it. All they need to do is find another species with the attribute they need, and they take it. Bang. Next generation, problem solved. A species that truly controls its own destiny.'
Darke shrugged. There was a reason he'd chosen soldiering over a career as an apothecary.
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soldier's face, the Doctor remembered that the universal truths of the twelfth century were very different to those of the human race post-Darwin. Well, most of them.
'Sorry, I'm racing ahead a bit. Missed out the Reformation and the Renaissance entirely, but they're not really your problem. All you need to understand is that the Krillitanes have the power to take the essence of any living creature they choose, and make it part of themselves.'
'You make them sound like gods. Vengeful gods.' Darke glanced at the security door, not so sure that mere metal could hold back such powerful beings.
'Oh, not so much "vengeful". Not even malicious really. As far as they're concerned, it's their birthright. They've leapfrogged their way up the food chain, quicker than their culture could mature.
Super-intelligent, hyper-evolved geniuses, but with the mentality of pack animals, governed by their primal urge to hunt. More like a gang of selfish, greedy children with unrestricted access to a sweet shop.'
The Doctor sniffed. 'Anyway, everything the Krillitanes are, everything they do, is the result of an evolutionary quirk of fate, an insignificant hiccup in the grand scheme of things. Just a few thousand years ago, a tiny gland that controlled their ancestors' ageing process started producing a brand new chemical.' He jiggled the test tube of oil extract, a look of wonder on his face. 'Never seen before in all of time and space, and suddenly they became unique in the universe.
Only, as vital as
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the oil is to them, it's also lethal. A blessing and a curse. Safe enough when it's tucked up inside their glands, but poison upon contact with their skin. They have to drain themselves every day. Very carefully.'
'No wonder they are so angry. So it is this oil that gives them their power?'
'Absolutely. Sort of. This enzyme usually stays mixed in with all the other chemicals in the oil. The Krillitanes have never thought to separate it, why would they? But Belima Febron not only identified it from a chance encounter, she's managed to isolate the specific chemical and filter it out into a quantifiable commodity, and that's what this is all about."
The Doctor paused, deeply impressed by the contents of the thin glass tube he held between his fingers.
'She's bottled evolution.'
Emily glanced up towards the vaulted ceiling of the nave, looking for likely escape routes. With wings like the Krillitanes', she might have stood a chance of making it to the windows, but they were too high to be any kind of option for her. The only other exit led deeper into the Cathedral, and yet again she regretted not taking more care in getting to know the lay of the land. It wasn't as if you could fail to notice this edifice of white stone.
She would have to stick with Toch'Lu for a while yet and hope that by chance she might stumble across the Doctor if, as she suspected, he had already found his own way in here.
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Toch'Lu was talking to the awkward young man who had come to welcome them. 'I can only apologise for the lateness of our arrival,'
Toch'Lu explained smoothly to him. The repairs our vessel needed were rather more extensive than at first thought. I do hope we haven't missed anything important.'
'Not at all, Baroness Deel. In fact, you couldn't have timed your arrival better. We're about to begin, so if you'd care to follow me?'
Branlo felt more comfortable with the Calabrians, humanoids like him rather than the
exotic beings he'd been looking after for the past few hours.
'Of course.' Toch'Lu bowed, and they followed Branlo through into the cloisters, just in time to see the last of the delegates trailing into the Chapter House. Emily recognised the tentacled robotic travelpod of an Octulan as it disappeared through the doors.
A moment later and they had crossed the threshold into a huge circular room, where each of the delegates was being ushered into comfortably appointed areas, designed specifically for their individual needs. Emily noted that each was fitted with an induction loop patched into a universal language translator. The attention to detail was impressive. Henk had either spared no expense or, more likely, used his extensive criminal contacts to get all this stuff.
Toch'Lu and Emily were shown to the Calabrian seating area, richly carpeted and furnished with a collection of genuine and reproduction Calabrian antiques. Emily
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took a seat behind her Krillitane companion, where she could keep an eye out for trouble.
The Octulans were a few delegations away, past the Siilutrax and a group of tall, grey aliens she couldn't identify. There were three Octulans, their travelpods now docked with a pressurised communal bubble that dominated their area, into which each pink mass of flesh had shuffled. Earth's atmosphere was too dense for them to exist outside of their protective travelpods, but as a species they delighted in physical contact, so the clever inclusion of an enclosure was another Henk masterstroke.
Henk. The thought of the man made her shudder. This had not been supposed to happen, and she'd tried so desperately hard to avoid it. Emily took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
All around her, the hum of conversation was beginning to die away into expectant silence. Something was about to happen. All eyes turned towards a raised platform that stood before an onyx-like curve of glass that filled a sizeable area of the space.
