BACK FROM THE DEAD
Author's note: This is going back a few years, but I found myself seized with a desire to write a fresh episode following on from my original 5-story saga based on Scream of the Shalka (still available on this site). For those who don't know, it features the BBCi 9th Doctor as portrayed by Richard E Grant, and we find the Doctor and new companion Alison accompanied by old enemy the Master, confined to a robotic body...
* * * * *
CHAPTER 1
"So, Doctor, you have walked directly into my trap, just as I knew you would. Now you will pay the price for your carelessness."
"But your trap's not sprung yet, is it? You never learn. Always go for the gloat instead of the kill."
"Forgive me if I choose to savour the moment. The sight of your helpless figure cowering at my mercy is too sweet to be swiftly dispatched."
"I am not cowering, I'm standing. Do your worst, and we'll see who laughs last."
"Very well, then. Farewell, Doctor. Your imprisonment will be... for all eternity!"
The Master cranked the little handle on the Mousetrap board and watched eagerly as the ball was sent on its way, rattling down the steps and along the pipe to bump into the scaffolding and dislodge a second, heavier, ball which plummeted through the bath with a hole in it and down onto the diving board. The Master's eyes gleamed as the little man was hurled into the air to plunge squarely into the tub, the jolt sending a cage rattling down its pole towards the defenceless form of the Doctor's mouse-shaped plastic counter...
The cage halted halfway down, caught awkwardly on one of the pole's spines, and teetered precariously a matter of inches from its intended victim. The Master knuckled his fists together, raven's-wing eyebrows bristling in frustration.
"Aha! Looks like you spoke too soon, doesn't it?" the Doctor exulted. "Seems I'll be meddling in your plans for just a little bit longer."
"Curses," the Master responded levelly. "Next time, Doctor, you will not be so fortunate."
They both chortled like schoolboys. Alison, her own mouse still safely a dozen squares from the caging area, eyed them disapprovingly and shook her head.
"You two have been so weird since you started getting along."
* * * * *
Elsewhere, twin moons glowed down through a fine mist of cloud onto a fantastic landscape of polished silver-grey rock, its twisting spires, gullies and arches forming a macabre jungle of writhing stone. Strange tricks of light and shadow stretched the unearthly looming shapes into something beyond reality. Grasping claws and groaning faces emerged from the earth, darkness pooling like something tangible in their crevices as what remained of the day's warmth drained away and mist gathered in the chill night air. Windless, the darkened landscape lay in silence and slept.
A heavy black boot slammed down on stone with a gritty crunch. Its owner crouched low, plasma rifle clutched in both hands, staring ahead through the mirrored visor of his helmet.
"I have visual contact. Still no comm response."
Across the expanse of dark wet grassy vegetation ahead, between the towering corkscrew-shaped masses of stone which obscured the view, he could see a circuit, four hundred feet across, of gleaming steel posts driven deep into the ground, each one surmounted by a glowing red light. If he had not known what it was, the faint shimmering effect which stretched between them like a taut, shining membrane could have been the product of tired eyes or a damp visor.
"Force wall is still up," he added into his helmet mike. "No sign of breaches."
With a sound like a small avalanche thirty more armed men came trampling up from cover to join him. Each one was identically garbed in a thickly padded black uniform, not an inch of flesh visible under their helmets and thick gloves. The bulky harnesses of personal force-shields weighed them down and made them stumble as they struggled across the slippery ground. The ugly brown metal slab of their landing craft faded into the half-light amongst the rocks behind them.
One was marked out from the rest solely by a flash of red on his shoulder. He gave a curt nod.
"Try the comm one more time."
"Yes, Sergeant."
He flicked a control on his wrist pad and spoke with clear precision into the mike:
"Spearhead Three, this is Ranger Platoon Seven calling Spearhead Three, please acknowledge."
Every man crouched motionless, alert for the faintest sound or movement. The faint hiss of their helmet speakers merely accentuated the silence.
"All right." The sergeant made a sharp forward motion with one hand. "We're going in. Force shields to maximum."
Each man twisted a dial on his harness, the hum of power rising sharply in pitch, and they hustled forward, heads low, weapons ready, to the force wall. From here they could see through its shimmering distortion the spearhead encampment laid out beyond, a neat square of collapsible steel and plastic huts, kept safe within the boundary. The two forty-foot gun towers stood empty, the muzzles of the heavy disruptor cannon drooping forlornly towards the ground.
The sergeant drew a coded key from his tunic pouch and deactivated the nearest projection post at the click of a switch. His men flooded in through the gap which opened in the force wall and fanned out across the enclosure even as he resealed the barrier behind them. The gun towers were quickly searched and manned. Other men moved fast around the perimeter. Most moved dead ahead and penetrated the cluster of huts at the centre of the camp, kicking open door after door, trigger fingers constantly tense and twitching in apprehension at what they might find.
No one called out to say they had found a thing. Flanked by two men, the sergeant marched ahead directly through the huts and into the slowly rising stretch of open muddy ground on the far side. His confident, commanding, heavy-booted stride came to a faltering halt at the sight which lay spread out before him.
Laid out in neat rows like faceless soldiers at attention on parade stood rank upon rank of simple crosses fashioned from steel tubing, each one standing in its own freshly-turned six foot plot of earth. The sergeant and the men at his back stood frozen. They stared at the graveyard and it seemed to stare mournfully back at them, its pathos all the greater for the military precision of its layout, when set against the human frailty to which it bore testament.
An unknowable span of time passed in silence before a fresh voice cut across them.
"Sarge..."
The soldier running up from the huts halted in mid-stride and stood alongside them transfixed by the sight. Reminded of his duty, the sergeant tore his eyes away and looked around.
"Speak up, lad."
"We... we found something in the barracks square, sergeant. We think it's alien."
* * * * *
In a small patch of open ground alongside the camp's mess hut there stood a shabby old eight foot high blue box with strange lettering across the top. The door popped open and Alison's cautious face popped out. She sniffed the chill, damp air and eyed the mist swimming about her booted feet with distaste.
"Doctor?" she called back into the interior. "I'm pretty certain this isn't Egypt."
"Are you sure?" came the response. "It can get quite cold at night, and..."
He fell quiet as he appeared alongside her in the doorway and took in the gloomy scene, nostrils pinched with annoyance.
"Hmf. I think the heptognomic coordinator may need recalibrating."
"I told you so," came the Master's voice, rich with self-satisfaction, from somewhere out of sight.
"Quiet, you." He glanced down at Alison. "And you."
"I didn't say anything!"
"Stop thinking it."
He slipped past her and walked out into the open ground, inspecting the military huts with an inquisitorial air.
"You're kidding, right?" she called after him. "You want to go out and explore this place that looks like the inside of Salvador Dali's head?"
"Can't hurt to take a little look around."
"I'm going to have that carved on your tombstone!"
But he was already circling round out of sight behind the TARDIS and there was nothing for it but to suck in a sour breath of this planet's unwholesome air and hurry after him.
Do you know where we are?" she asked, falling into step alongside him.
"Well..." He leaned his head back almost to ninety degrees and admired the sky. "You'll have noticed the two moons. Also the slight reddish tint to the stars, that's caused by iron-rich particulates in the troposphere which..."
He came to a halt with a crunch of his shoes against the gravelly earth. Twelve heavily armed and armoured troopers levelled weapons with perfect synchronicity and safety catches were snapped back with a chunky click.
The Doctor looked down the assembled gun muzzles with a scornful twist to his mouth.
"Oh, super. The military."
