The Doctor was silent for a moment. ‘Yes. The crash was an accident. The Clade was awakened from stasis before it had been fully programmed . . . Its personality template would have been unformed.’
‘Please don’t talk of me like I am not here,’ hissed Godlove. ‘Alvin, dear Alvin, he was there at the right moment to provide me with a surrogate template instead. Thanks to him, I have become more . . . self-determinin’. Heh.’
‘Imprinting . . .’ managed Martha. ‘Like a chick . . . Follows the first thing it sees. Thinks it’s the mother . . .’
‘Hardly,’ Godlove seemed insulted. ‘Far more sophisticated than some mere mammalian instinct.’
‘You’ve developed your own persona,’ The Doctor nodded as he pieced it together. ‘Alvin was the one who made the first direct contact with the Clade’s main functions. And in return for doing what he wanted, for using the bio-engrams to heal people, it copied him. All the time he was using the Clade, it was using him, absorbing all his traits.’
Godlove gave a shallow bow. ‘And here I am. Behold the Clade.’
Nathan spat into the dark. ‘Alvin Godlove ain’t no man for anyone to design himself upon! Nothin’ but an amoral soul, steeped in greed and avarice!’
The gun came up. ‘What is that? The squealin’ of a piglet I hear? You are a pathetic little example of your kind, boy. You’d be cold and dead flesh right now if not for me! Or have you forgotten what it is that saved you from a chokin’ death of smallpox?’
Nathan was on his feet in an instant. ‘You stinkin’ highbinder! You cursed me, that’s what you did! Tormented me with visions of hell and then sent those outlaws to murder my pa!’
Godlove made a contemptuous face and turned away. ‘Y’all should be on your knees, begging to give me all you have in gratitude.’
‘All I got for you is this!’ The Doctor saw the flash of hate in the boy’s eyes as he surged forward, pushing past him in a rush.
‘Nathan, don’t!’ Martha called out.
Nathan’s hand came out from under his waistcoat with a small block of metal in his trembling grip; before the Doctor could stop him, the teenager had it pressed against the back of Godlove’s neck.
It was a derringer, and the Doctor recognised it as the small pocket-pistol that Sheriff Blaine had kept locked in a glass cabinet in his living room. He chided himself; he’d seen the beginnings of a rush for revenge in Nathan’s eyes before they left Redwater, but he hadn’t thought the boy would carry a second weapon on him. He gave a disappointed sigh.
‘I’ll kill you, Godlove,’ spat Nathan. The gun was small, but it was made up of two very large calibre chambers. At point-blank range, even the healing capacity of a Clade Command Module might not be enough to repair the damage it would inflict.
The boy was trembling, his finger frozen on the trigger. The fact that he hadn’t shot Godlove straight away gave the Doctor a slim hope. ‘Nathan,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t do this. Just put the gun down and walk away.’
‘Why?’ Tears streaked the young man’s face. ‘It’s because of him that my father is dead! He brought it all on us! Him and that godforsaken thing!’ He sucked in a shuddering breath. ‘They’re all killers. I’ve seen what they did, in the dreams a hundred times over in a hundred different places. They feed on hate, they’re parasites for misery – they don’t deserve to live!’
Godlove was very still, the gun hand pointing away from the youth. Any sudden movement, and the boy would jerk the trigger by reflex. ‘If I die, so will the woman . . .’
‘Killing won’t bring your father back, Nathan.’ The Doctor held out his hand, palm up. ‘All that will do is make you like the Clades. Those nightmares you had, those belonged to someone else, and no matter how bad they were, you know they’re not yours. But if you pull that trigger, that won’t be true any more. You’ll be like them. Killing out of anger, out of spite and hatred. The blood will be on your hands.’
‘I can’t . . .’ he gasped, holding back a sob.
‘You can,’ said the Doctor. ‘Put down the weapon. Prove that you’re better than them. Look past the hatred and think of your father. What would he want you to do?’
Nathan glanced at Martha and swallowed hard. ‘Look to those who need help.’
‘Yes.’ The Doctor stepped closer, his hand before him. ‘He’d want you to do what was right.’ He looked into the boy’s shining eyes. ‘Just say four words. I will not kill.’
‘I will . . . not kill.’ All at once the tension came out of the youth and he let the derringer drop into the Doctor’s palm. The Doctor gave the weapon a severe look and tossed it away into the darkness.
Nathan went to a crouch at Martha’s side, begging the girl’s forgiveness. The Doctor caught an arch look of derision on Godlove’s face, and he stepped closer to the other man. ‘Don’t you dare ridicule him. Everything he said was right. On another day, I might have turned my back and let him do it.’
‘But you didn’t,’ sniffed Godlove. ‘You were oh-so merciful, weren’t you?’
‘Because I want something from you,’ he said, steely-eyed. ‘I saved your life. Now you save Martha’s.’
Godlove took a step back and gave the Doctor a look up and down. ‘No, not just yet,’ he began. ‘First you and me are gonna deal.’
The vertical shaft was narrow and rough-hewn. Traversing down it scraped thin strips of flesh from the hands of the longriders, leaving traces of watery, polluted blood on the rocky walls. Kutter fell hard the last few yards and landed poorly on a flat stone in the middle of the passageway. His leg snapped with a wet crack and he hauled himself up without any apparent evidence of pain. Tangleleg surveyed the mine tunnel they had emerged in as Kutter sat briefly, manipulating the mechanisms of his gun.
After a moment, he aimed the weapon at the broken bone and pulled the trigger. A haze of glittering energy washed over the leg and the bio-engrams worked at the damaged tissue and bone, knotting it back together. The process took longer than it should have; the hosts the two Clades had gathered for their operation on the third planet were of poor quality. The organic systems of the two dead outlaws, already pushed far beyond their normal function, animated only by injections of brute power and alien technology, would soon reach the point of uselessness. Sustaining them, finding animal flesh to feed them, was becoming a problem.
Considering this, Kutter buzzed the data to Tangleleg, who replied in the affirmative. It was important that they complete the mission within the next planetary rotation. After that point, they would need to co-opt new hosts and that could prove difficult. Already, they had clogged their memory systems and combat functions with the remnants of the human forms they had stolen. Kutter still thought of itself as Hank Kutter to some degree, even though all that remained of that man was dead and gone. All that existed now was just a walking corpse in thrall to an intelligent weapon, masquerading as a person – and Hank Kutter’s memories and personality were just a thin layer grafted onto the predatory mind of the Combat Module. It was pure chance that the outlaw was a being with the same kind of violent nature as the Clades. It made the control easier to facilitate, gave the Clades a way to conceal themselves among the dominant species of the planet.
While Kutter repaired himself, Tangleleg found where the tunnel branched, one route falling away down a shallow incline, the other staying level. The Clade weapon’s tactical computer calculated that the objective would most likely be on the lower levels of the mine, in the zones deeper underground that afforded the most protection.
But it was important to be certain. Tangleleg dropped into a crouch, peering into the darkness with his heat-ranged eyes. Against the cool blue of the rocks he spotted a faint stripe of green; a small reptile hiding behind a stone, cold-blooded but still visible to him.
Tangleleg’s hand shot out and snatched up the rattlesnake, catching the animal in the cage of his fingers. Its mouth gaped and bit at him, curved razor fangs going deep into his bloodless skin. The longrider was di
mly aware of venom being deposited in his flesh, but ignored it. The millions of hair-thin wires threaded through Tangleleg’s blood vessels by the Clade would doubtless absorb the toxins, analyse them, perhaps even store the molecular formula on protein chain data-strings for replication, if it proved lethal enough. The Clades were always looking for new weapons, after all.
Ignoring the snake’s angry clatter, the longrider held the reptile and placed the muzzle of his gun to its head. A dozen tiny sensor cords snapped out and stabbed the animal, rooting into its nervous system. Through a secondary information feed, Tangleleg drew sensations from the dying snake’s primitive mind. The process only worked on lower phylum non-sentient animals, and then it could only drag up data from recent, short-term memories – but it was enough. Rifling through the snake’s brain as someone might flip through pages of the book, Tangleleg searched for any moment where the reptile had been disturbed by human intruders.
When he found it, he buzz-communicated to Kutter, who stood testing his weight on the newly bonded leg. The others were below them, in a cavern.
Kutter nodded and drew his gun.
Tangleleg tore the rattlesnake in two and handed a piece to his comrade. They ate the raw meat in silence as they walked.
The Doctor folded his arms. From the corner of his eye he could see Martha’s chest rising and falling in shallow, panting breaths. Every moment that they wasted here, she was inching closer to death. He couldn’t help but think of the look her mother had given him in the aftermath of that mad night with Professor Lazarus and his experiment . . . The sheer weight of blame in her eyes, putting it all on him. He’d wanted to promise her that her daughter would not be hurt while she travelled with him, he’d really meant it – but that didn’t count for anything now. He’d failed Martha. She was at the edge of life, and it was because of him.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. No, he told himself, I’m not losing Martha, not like this. I’m going to take her home, whole and well.
He opened his eyes and saw Godlove watching him with a sly smirk. ‘Tell me what you want,’ said the Doctor.
Nathan gaped. ‘Doc, you’re not gonna make nice with this creep?’
‘Hush up, little boy,’ Godlove sneered, ‘the menfolk are talking now.’ He reached up and picked idly at some of the decaying skin on his face. ‘Well, well. What is it that I need, I wonder?’
‘Some deodorant?’ Martha forced out the words with a defiant grimace. ‘A nice exfoliating scrub?’
Godlove ignored the jibes. ‘What I require, in return for bringin’ that sarcastic little cat of yours to rude health, Doctor, is a change of attire, if you follow my meanin’.’
‘What the heck is he babblin’ about?’ demanded Nathan.
Godlove peeled a lump of pasty, crumbly flesh from his cheek and rolled it between his fingers, eyeing it with disgust. ‘Poor, poor Alvin. Poor, weak human. His meagre frame just ain’t built to carry the weight of me, y’see.’ He gestured with the massive gun. ‘This body is riddled with imperfections, aches and illness. It won’t last me much longer. Why, I am almost embarrassed to be seen wearin’ it in good company.’
Nathan’s eyes widened as he caught the Clade’s meaning. ‘Lord have mercy, you ain’t comin’ anywhere near me!’ He backed away.
Godlove rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, child. Youth and vigour you may have, yes, but you’re still human. At the end of the day, your race is still the sorry cousin, galactically speakin’.’ He grinned again. ‘What I require is a more . . . resilient host.’ The Clade waved the gun at the air. ‘How about it, Doctor? Your life for Missy Martha’s?’ The weapon rotated in Godlove’s fingers, turning to offer him the grip of the huge pistol. ‘You’ll be certain to have a moment to save her, ’fore I get me a permanent residence in that happy head of yours . . .’
‘Doctor, don’t!’ Martha called out, crying in pain as she moved. ‘Don’t touch it! You can’t let that thing take you over!’
Godlove licked his lips. ‘Tick tock, Time Lord. What’s it gonna be?’
‘Give me the gun,’ said the Doctor.
EIGHTEEN
NATHAN’S HEART FROZE in his chest when he saw the Doctor reach for the Clade weapon. ‘You can’t do it, Doc!’ he shouted. ‘That thing is pure evil!’
His cries fell on deaf ears. The Doctor’s slender fingers closed around the pistol grip and there was an actinic flash of blue-green light that sparked across the walls of the cavern. As one, Godlove and the Doctor went stiff and trembled, sparks of power arcing between them where they both gripped the heavy shape of the gun.
Godlove gasped out a word. ‘Commencin’—’
‘—Transfer!’ the Doctor continued, spitting it out from unwilling lips.
There was a noise like bones breaking, like tendons snapping, and the gun came away from Alvin Godlove’s grip and into the Doctor’s hand. In its wake, a hurricane of wires and cables tore free of the man’s arm, each one of them whipping into the air and clattering where they scratched over rock and stone. Still connected to the butt of the gun, they hissed around the Doctor, weaving and dancing. He stood stock still among them, unmoving, staring into the dark.
Godlove released a low gasp of air and sank to the ground in a heap of angles, his body abruptly robbed of any support. Nathan thought of a puppet with its strings suddenly severed. What little colour still remained in the conman’s face ebbed away and his sightless, misted eyes went dark as the spark of life finally left them. The host body, the husk of meat and bone that had been Godlove, was no more. Nathan stared at the dead man. Only moments ago the youth had been on the verge of ending the man’s existence, but now, seeing Alvin in the stark pallor of death, he could not find the wild anger he had felt before. Nathan searched inside himself and all he could bring forth was sadness. He felt nothing but sorrow and pity for Godlove.
An agonised gasp drew his attention back to the Doctor. His breathing was coming in rapid chugs of air and sweat beaded his face. Nathan made to move closer to him, but the Doctor shook his head violently.
‘No! Stay back! Keep away!’
The rattling dance of the wires stilled and they hung suspended all around him; and then with blinding speed, each razor-edged tip turned and buried itself in the Doctor’s flesh. He cried out in agony, bearing his forearm with a savage yank of his sleeve. The cables bored into the meat of him, burrowing through his skin like worms through mud.
Nathan’s stomach knotted with nausea at the sight of it, unable to turn away from the horrible spectacle. He imagined the wire tendrils of the Clade weapon infiltrating every organ inside the Doctor’s body, tapping into every part of him. The full horror of it shocked him to his core; and the man was willing to do it for the life of one woman.
He glanced at Martha, saw her crying. He knew immediately that the tears were not of pain, not for herself, but for her friend. For the harm he was doing to himself. She closed her eyes as the Doctor screamed, the echo of the sound resonating down the long, dusty tunnels.
The Doctor fell to his knees clutching the ugly gun to his chest. Nathan caught a strange scent in the air, like overripe fruit, sweet but with the tang of decay. In the silence that followed, a chill ran down his spine, turning his blood to ice water.
Nathan ventured forwards a step. ‘Doc?’ He asked. ‘Doc, talk to me.’
‘He . . . shouldn’t have done it . . .’ Martha whispered.
The youth placed a careful hand on the Doctor’s trembling shoulder. ‘Doc?’
‘It’s difficult . . .’ The reply was hollow and distant. ‘So strong . . .’ Slowly, the Doctor turned to face Nathan and he flinched at the expression on the man’s face. From the moment he had first met him, when his dreams had been driving him to panic, Nathan had known the Doctor was a good, decent person. There was something in his manner, in the light in his eyes that was noble and true. Nathan hadn’t even questioned it; he had just trusted the Doctor, because that seemed like the right thing
to do.
But that man, the man who had helped Nathan fight down his fears, who had pulled him back from the brink of losing himself to his rage – that was not who was there before him now, crouched on the floor of the cavern. For the first time, Nathan was afraid of the Doctor.
‘Don’t touch me,’ he growled, and Nathan drew back his hand as if it had been burned.
‘Doctor?’ Martha breathed. ‘Are you still in there?’
He came to his feet and took quick, stiff steps across to where the girl lay against the wall. ‘No time,’ he said, biting out the words as if each one gave him pain to voice it. ‘Must be now. Before. Too late.’
The gun in his balled fist came forward, moving of its own accord, shifting to point at Martha’s injury. The tendons stretched tight in his neck, the Doctor’s brow furrowed and the Clade module shifted and changed, planes of metal and discs of bony material folding back in on themselves to reveal a glowing green teardrop of glassy crystal.
‘Don’t. Be scared,’ he managed.
Martha nodded weakly. ‘I trust you.’
With effort reddening his face, the Doctor’s finger tightened on the trigger and emerald energy flashed into being, enveloping the girl’s torso. Martha’s back arched and she gasped.
The youth watched, conflicted. Was he hurting her? Never! No matter what had happened, he couldn’t believe the Doctor would ever do something to injure his companion. You’d have to be a fool not to see that she cared a great deal for him. The bond they shared was more than just travelling friends, it was clear as day even to someone with a plain and simple upbringing like Nathan.
The green glow ebbed and flowed across her wound and, to his wonderment, Nathan saw the damaged skin draw tight, colour returning to it. Martha pulled at the makeshift bandage on her belly and it came away leaving no sign of injury. The beam fluttered across her jacket, miraculously knitting back the burn hole in the leather. In moments, it was as if Martha Jones had never been shot.
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