Night Of The Humans

by Doctor Who

  Heeva continued hitting keys on the control panel, turning her head every so often to watch the humans' progress. The hatch began to rise up, like a metal jaw, but then the control panel exploded in a shower of sparks, and Heeva jumped back, startled, to see the shaft of an arrow jutting from its smouldering remains.

  Captain Jamal rose from his seat, pounding his fists against the window.

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  'Get out of there!' he roared. 'Get out of there now!'

  Heeva turned, looking up at him, and she smiled. A sad smile of resignation. The second arrow hit her in the chest, sending her reeling back against the hull of the Beagle XXI, and she slumped forward, falling to her knees. Seconds later, the humans were upon her.

  Captain Jamal could do nothing but fall back into his seat and hit the thrusters once more. With a monstrous roar, the Golden Bough rose up from the surface of the Gyre, spinning round on its axis. Below it the seething black mass of humans swarmed towards the Beagle XXI and, for just a few seconds, the Captain saw their leader staring up at him, his face caked in gaudy, clown-like make-up.

  He was laughing.

  The casket's exterior was a puzzle in itself; a puzzle crafted millennia ago by a race who were now extinct.

  With Slipstream's gun still trained on his head, the Doctor slid the last piece of the puzzle into place, the tiny cobalt tile moving smoothly along a groove and stopping with a click.

  From inside the box he heard the turning of cogs, a low whirring sound, and then the casket opened. Its panels slid away and fanned out, like the wings of a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis.

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  There, resting in an intricately moulded block of quartz, was the Mymon Key.

  'Let me see it!' snapped Slipstream.

  Roistering his gun, he snatched the casket from the Doctor's grasp and lifted out the Key, holding it up to the light. It was unfeasibly small: a block of gold the shape of a pebble, in the centre of which was a single aperture. Tuco and Manco were beside him now, staring at the Key in awe.

  'Hard to believe, isn't it?' said Slipstream. That something so small could hold so much power.'

  'Too much power,' said the Doctor coldly.

  'Oh, really, old chap? This, coming from the man who travels in time and space, interfering with historical events? Bit rich, don't you think?'

  'Even its creators realised their mistake,' said the Doctor.

  'Why do you think they locked it away?'

  'Yes, curious that, Doctor. They locked it away. They didn't destroy it. They locked it in a box that could only be opened by one of their own. Or, indeed, by someone such as yourself.

  Somewhat ironic, don't you think? If you hadn't foiled my plans on Belaform, we'd have never met. If we'd never met, I wouldn't have known of your vast knowledge and your legendary command of alien languages. I'd never have thought to reel you in, and none of this would have been possible.

  Funny how things turn out, isn't it?'

  'And what will you do with it?'

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  'Oh, what won't I do with it, Doctor? A limitless energy source? Where does one begin? I could start by holding every planet and colony in Sol 1 to ransom. Think of it as a kind of taxation. Ten per cent of net profits on all industries or I turn the sun into a black hole. How does that sound?'

  'You're insane...'

  'Dear me, Doctor. Insane? Is that the best you have to offer?

  I would have thought it takes absolute clarity of mind to think as I do. Now come along... We literally haven't got all day.'

  Slipstream pocketed the Mymon Key and drew his gun from its holster, gesturing with it towards the lower end of the cargo hold. With careful, tentative steps the four of them made their way back down the uneven slope of upturned containers, their path barely illuminated by the torch. As their footsteps stirred up clouds of ancient dust, the flying fish swarmed around them, nibbling at the air.

  'So, Slipstream...' said the Doctor, 'Did you ever stop to think about why the Gyre is flat?'

  'I'm sorry, old chap... What do you mean?'

  'Well... This place isn't the only pile of junk in the universe.

  But it's the only one that's flat.'

  'Hadn't given it much thought, to tell you the truth.

  Astrophysics is more your area of expertise.'

  'Well, then, maybe you've wondered why the Herald of Nanking crashed here in the first place.'

  'Again, Doctor... Such considerations are for 168

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  academics, not me.'

  'Of course. But, you see, places like this - galactic junk piles -

  they form in perfect locations. Points in the universe where the gravitational forces of all neighbouring stars and planets converge.'

  'Yes, Doctor.' Slipstream sighed. 'All very interesting, I'm sure...'

  'And the Mymon Key draws its energy from gravitational force.'

  'Yes? And?'

  'Which would make this the perfect home for the Mymon Key.'

  Slipstream clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

  'Ever the sentimentalist,' he muttered. 'So you're saying this place is the Mymon Key's home? That this inanimate lump of metal is happy here?'

  The Doctor shrugged. 'Yes! he said. 'I suppose lam.'

  'Oh, please. Really? Dear oh dear... Of all your arguments so far, Doctor, that must be the weakest. You want me to leave the Mymon Key here so it won't get homesick? You'll have to do better than that.'

  The brushed steel casing of the Nanobomb was lit up red with the light from its counter:

  00:45:00...

  00:44:59...

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  00:44:58...

  With every passing second, the room remained silent, but for the single, high-pitched beep. Then, from beyond its door, there came the sound of many footsteps.

  The door suddenly shuddered with a tremendous bang, a rounded dent appearing in its surface. Another bang, and another dent, this one more pronounced than the last. With the third heavy bang the door flew in on its hinges, slamming back against the wall with a thunderous clang.

  The humans stood in the corridor, three of them still holding on to the girder they had used as a battering ram.

  Django stepped past them and entered the bomb chamber, his flowing white robes dragging along the floor behind him.

  He approached the bomb, his eyes growing wide with wonder, and he sighed with satisfaction, placing his hands on its shining steel shell. He closed his eyes, and began to laugh.

  'We have it!' he said. 'We have the weapon of the Bad.'

  He turned to face his men once more, pointing back towards the fixtures that held the bomb in place.

  'Break it out! he growled. 'We are taking this back to the city.'

  They left the cargo hold and passed along a narrow 170

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  corridor that was tilted downwards, clinging to rusting pipes and decaying vines for balance. Tuco was muttering under his breath.

  Tm sorry, Tuco, old chap! said Slipstream. 'You'll have to speak up. I can't hear you.'

  'This is sacrilege,' hissed Tuco. 'We have desecrated the Tower of Gobo. You are stealing his treasure.'

  'Oh, so it's Gobo's treasure, now, is it? First we have the Doctor telling me it belongs here, and now you're telling me it belongs to a cartoon clown. Well that's just spiffing, isn't it?'

  Tuco wheeled around, holding the flaming torch to Slipstream's face.

  'You will pay for this when Django finds out. Oh yes...

  Tuco will tell Django all about this, and Django will make you pay.'

  Slipstream glowered at the human, his eyes growing wider with impatience. They moved on down the tunnel, coming eventually to the vast chamber of the control room, and the cage-like walkway above it.

  'Ah!' said Slipstream. 'We're here again. Yes...
I think I can remember the way from here.' He turned now to Tuco. 'Sorry, old chap... What was it you were saying, back there? In the tunnel? Something about telling Django about this and Django making me pay?'

  'Yes,' said Tuco. 'Django will make you pay.'

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  'Hmm. Not sure about that.'

  With that, Slipstream aimed his gun and fired. The blast slammed into Tuco, flinging him over the edge of the walkway. Seconds later, his body landed in the depths of the control room with a heavy thud.

  The Doctor and Manco looked at one another and then Slipstream, both wide-eyed with shock.

  'Yes! said Slipstream, smiling malevolently. 'Seems we've come to the end of the road, chaps. You've rather outlived your purpose, I'm afraid. Very handy when we were navigating all those tunnels, but now... ?'

  'No, Slipstream,' said the Doctor. 'Don't do this. You've got the Mymon Key. You can just leave. I won't try and stop you.'

  Slipstream laughed. 'You're a terrible liar, Doctor,' he said.

  'We both know I could fly out of here and wherever I went you'd be waiting for me. No... Consider this my insurance policy.'

  Slipstream aimed the gun at the Doctor's face, still grinning. He thumbed a green switch on the side of the blaster and it emitted a shrill squeal that rose in pitch.

  'Now I'd like to say this will hurt me more than it'll hurt you, but it won't. It really won't. Goodbye, Doctor.'

  His finger curled around the trigger, and he laughed with a brief derisive snort, but then he

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  froze. His evaporating smile was replaced by a look of utter horror.

  'Don't even think about it, Slipstream. Put the gun down.'

  Standing behind him, with the barrel of his own gun touching the back of Slipstream's head, was Charlie, with Amy by his side.

  'Damn and blast!' said Slipstream.

  He spun around on his heels, ready to fire, but Charlie was quicker, and punched him full force in the face, breaking his nose. Slipstream staggered backwards, dropping his gun.

  Acting quickly, the Doctor picked it up from the ground and hurled it out across the control room. The blaster tumbled through the air, spinning end over end. When it hit the ground it fired once, sending a bright green bolt of light ricocheting around the control room. Screens shattered and wall panels exploded, lighting up the vast room with cascading sparks.

  Then there was silence.

  'Whoops,' said the Doctor. 'Should have thought that one through. Everyone OK? Manco? Amy?'

  Manco nodded sheepishly, clearly dazed by everything that had happened in the last thirty seconds.

  Amy simply beamed at him, and the Doctor smiled back.

  Desperately, Slipstream scrambled to his feet, and was about to make a run for it when Charlie

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  pinned him up against the railing, aiming the gun at him once more.

  'I don't think so, somehow! he said. 'Not this time. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just shoot you. Right now.'

  'Er... Hello?' said the Doctor, standing at Charlie's side.

  'Remember me? We met earlier. Got off on the wrong foot, but I reckon we can put that behind us. Anyway... I think there's been enough death for one day. This man belongs behind bars.

  We're taking him with us.'

  Still seething with anger, Charlie glowered at the Doctor.

  Then he looked at Amy, and the look she gave in return was clearly all it took to persuade him.

  'OK,' he said. 'Come on, then. Let's go.'

  They left the control room, and made their descent further down into the ship, along the last stretch of corridors that would take them out into the human city.

  As they walked side by side, the Doctor turned to Amy.

  'So...' he said. 'How are you? Miss me?'

  Amy nodded enthusiastically, her eyes dewy with the promise of tears, and then she threw her arms around him with such force that it knocked the air out of his lungs.

  The Doctor laughed and parted her back. 'I'll take that as a yes,' he said, then whispered in her

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  ear: 'I'm so glad you're OK.'

  They carried on walking.

  'Well, yeah,' said Amy. 'I'm fine. And actually... Seems to me that you were the one who needed rescuing this time.'

  'What's that supposed to mean?'

  'Back there? You were in quite a lot of trouble. Until me and Charlie turned up, that is.'

  'Oh really? Until you and Charlie turned up? So... You and Charlie, eh? Been making friends, have we?'

  'And what's that supposed to mean? Are you jealous?'

  'Jealous? Me? What? No! Jealous? I don't know what you're talking about.'

  'So I'm not allowed to make friends with other aliens, is that it?'

  'Don't be facetious.'

  'Ha ha... You are. You're jealous. You're, like, green with envy.'

  'I'm not even going to dignify that with a response.'

  'Ha... The jealous Doctor. Oh, that is priceless.'

  'I am not jealous.'

  'You so are. What's your doctorate in, anyway? Got a PhD in jealousy, have you?'

  'Be quiet.'

  They had reached the ship's exit. Manco tapped a code into the door's control panel and the hatch

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  opened up. Holding the others back with a gesture of his hand, he leaned out into the street.

  'What do you see?' asked the Doctor. 'Is the coast clear?'

  Manco shook his head.

  'No. They're near the western gate. Lots of them. We can't go that way. We'll have to use the south gate. Follow me.'

  Walking in single file, the five of them stepped out of the ship and into the streets of the human city, with Charlie and Slipstream trailing behind. Charlie alternated his aim between Slipstream and the far end of the street, where a crowd of humans were congregating at the gate, as if in anticipation.

  'What are they waiting for?' he asked.

  The Doctor pointed at the sky, and looking up Charlie saw the blazing orb of the comet. It looked now like a ferocious eye, its centre so bright as to appear almost black. Its edges were lost in a shimmering haze.

  'They're waiting for that,' said the Doctor.

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  17

  The small lump of ice and rock entered the upper atmosphere of the Gyre with a cacophonous bang, its outer crust breaking away like a shower of sparks. As it plummeted towards the surface, it dragged behind it a quivering tail of fire and smoke, and it made a sound like the rumbling of heavy thunder.

  Down and down it fell, piercing a hole through the muggy green clouds, travelling at hundreds of metres a second, before slamming into the salt plain with astonishing force.

  Though the fragment was no bigger than an egg by the time it struck, it left a crater more than four metres across, and sent a rippling shockwave out across the plain, hissing through the salt crystals.

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  It had crashed into the humans' path, no more than a hundred metres ahead, and all of them cowered in its wake, diving to the ground and covering their heads as if expecting a second onslaught.

  All of them except Django.

  Next to his throne, strapped to the eight-legged carriage with lengths of rope, was the Sittuun bomb. He couldn't read the markings on its outer casing; they were written in the language of the Olden Ones, which only the heretic, Manco the Wordslinger, could understand. Nor did he really understand the digital display, and the numbers that changed with every passing second. He knew enough, however, to understand that these digits were counting down.

  00:34:01...

  00:34:00...

  00:33:59...

  'We move on!' Django yelled at his men, who were slowly beginning to gather themselves. 'We move on!'

  The c
aravan of humans began moving again, their machines hissing and chugging away, the foot soldiers trudging through the salt.

  Django didn't take his eyes off the bomb. To him, it wasn't just a bomb. The truth was, he had little understanding of what it actually did. The Sittuun had tried to explain, when they sent their

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  emissaries to the human city, but he hadn't really listened.

  Their words meant little to him, and he had little time for them.

  They were liars and servants of the Bad, of this he was sure.

  Why else would they wish to destroy this world before Gobo's return?

  Django thought about the Bad. He remembered, as a child, being taken to the Chamber of Stories by his father. There, he and the other children were made to sit and watch the silent images of the Olden Ones projected onto a great screen, while one of the city's elders would tell them what the story was about.

  The Bad didn't always look the same. His face would often change, but he always wore the same clothes - a black hat with a wide brim - and he often had a moustache.

  The Bad had haunted Django's childhood nightmares, and had plagued his waking thoughts. He had known, early on, that the Star with the Green Tail would return in his lifetime. The Elders had predicted it. They had taught him that with each visit the Star drew a little closer to their world, and that one day it would come to them. They had taught him that the star was Gobo, and that one day it would save them from the Bad.

  Now that day had come. The Bad had sent his servants, the Sittuun and the one calling himself the Doctor, to ruin everything, but Django had thwarted them. He had their bomb, and he had the

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  one person capable of disarming it. Manco.

  'Warning. Warning. Coordinate delta three nine is corrupted.

  Warning. Warning. Coordinate delta three nine is corrupted.'

  The voice of the Golden Bough's alarm remained unnervingly calm and impassive, speaking in a dull, pre-recorded monotone, though the ship itself was struggling to stay in the air. As good a pilot as he knew he was, and as hard as he tried, Captain Jamal simply couldn't make it fly in a straight line.