SEVEN
Dampness.
Gritty dampness.
Scouring gritty dampness being grated over his forehead –
'I say, would you mind not doing that?' asked the Doctor, drawing a deep breath and pawing feebly at the cloth being draped over his face.
A hiss of indrawn breath came from the darkness beyond, the sign of a ministrant paying attention to his words.
'Anya! Anya! He's awake!' came the urgent, freighted whisper from a woman, speaking not far in front of him. 'Bring me the water. Quickly now!'
'Here you are, Masha,' said a second female voice. Liquid gurgled in the darkness, slopping around in a container. Metal scraped against metal, then the Time Lord found a cold semi-circle pressed against his mouth. Water ran from the container, and he swallowed gratefully, rinsing away the feel of grit and thirst.
The dirty rag across his face fell away, permitting a look into the ambient darkness beyond. After the total lack of light of an invalid he discovered that the minute amount of illumination seeping into the cavern from lighted tunnels allowed a patient watcher to discern everything going on about them, if in subdued tones.
There were two women fussing over him, an older one with short hair, and a younger one with much longer hair, who seemed to be almost deranged with fear. The older woman occasionally brought the younger one into line with a cuff over the head.
'Please,' he croaked, not wanting to spark a squabble. 'Don't argue over me. I'm not worth it.'
'Oh yes you are, friend,' said the older woman (Masha?). 'Those horrid Grandfather Frosts haven't bothered to take prisoners so far, apart from you. Instead of ripping you apart, bathing in your blood or turning you into a slave, they throw you in here, telling us to "keep you". Keep you! Whatever that might mean!'
The Doctor wondered that himself. The Cadaverites could have killed him with ease, if they so intended, simply by ripping him apart by sheer force of numbers in the cavern once he'd entered. But no, they hadn't – even if it seemed as if they were going to. No. Here he was, dizzy and nauseous from being hit on the head, yet far from being dead or injured.
So. Alive, then. They wanted him alive, most likely to answer an interrogation, to provide answers that creatures only able to move above-ground in darkness could not know. Becoming more alert, the Doctor examined his surroundings, discovering that he lay against the wall of a narrow cave or fissure in the cavern, so narrow that his legs reached the other side.
'What are you two doing at liberty?' he asked the two women. Masha, the elder, answered for both of them.
'Looking after them,' she said, pointing to the rear of the fissure. Following the pointing finger, the Doctor's eyes adjusted to the lack of light and he recognised a group of people, mixed adults and children, standing upright and still, silent and staring blankly straight ahead. 'We have to give them water, make sure they don't fall or injure themselves, walk them around every few hours.'
'Forty of them, now. There were seventy when we came in to begin with,' said Anya, shivering. 'They get called when the monsters want to feed, and they aren't seen alive again.'
Curiosity getting the better of him, the Doctor got to his feet, a little unsteadily, and carefully walked to the group of silent, entranced people.
'Deep hypnosis,' he muttered to himself, waving a hand in front of the nearest victim, a grey-haired woman. 'No reaction. Pupillary reflex?' and he shone a narrow beam of light from his sonic screwdriver into the woman's eyes. 'Ah! Not completely under, then.'
Rubbing his chin, thinking hard, the Doctor walked back to Masha and Anya, both crouched on the cave floor, huddled up to one another for security.
'What's so different about you, that they don't kill you?' asked Masha. 'Me and Anya here, we're just left alive to give these sleepers water and exercise them. What's so different about you?'
'I didn't get taken by the Cadaverites. I came to try and reason with them,' explained the Time Lord.
'Oh! You silly man! All these monsters do is kill and injure folk,' scolded Masha.
'Yes, quite,' acknowledged the Doctor ruefully, rubbing his tender scalp. 'Rather reckless, maybe, in hindsight. I didn't expect them to be so – hostile.'
Not-human, come out, came a peremptory mental hail. Pale white sentries bobbed at the entrance of the fissure, waiting to escort him.
'Be patient, do nothing rash,' whispered the Doctor to Masha and Anya. The germ of an idea was forming in his mind.
'Don't you be stupid, they aren't about to kill you,' whispered Masha.
Follow me.
'Alright, alright, I'm coming. Keep your hair on.' He managed to walk to the rock prison's exit unaided, even if his head did throb.
Insolent animal! A white fist swung at his ribs, winding him painfully.
'An idiomatic expression,' wheezed the Doctor, emerging from the fissure into the cavern proper, coughing noisily.
Silence, and follow.
The white figure ahead of him led the way sure-footedly over the rough floor. Within seconds of leaving the fissure and it's occupants, the Doctor found himself able to discern the outline of his escort, then the floor he walked upon and finally the cavern itself. A man might see the landscape around him by moonlight equally as well.
Bioluminescence! realised the Doctor. Moulds on the cavern walls and ceiling were radiating a faint glow, minute individually but sufficient overall to permit him to see the dimensions of the cavern, which was immense. It consisted of a long central hollow, easily several kilometres in length, with alternate branching sub-caverns opening off the main one. Overall, despite the roughness, the cavern interior spoke of excavation and deliberate construction, not the random erosion and weathering of nature.
Constructed. A gigantic amount of rock must have been removed to create a chamber so large, the Doctor immediately understood. Billions of tons, in a feat far beyond human capability. Yet the whole structure lay far underground, completely isolated from the surface, revealed only by the chance detonation of explosives in a mine tunnel.
Turn here, commanded the lead escort, moving to the left and into one of the huge chambers opening off the main cavern.
This part of the underground structure had elaborate calligraphy chiselled into the wall, in a script superficially similar to the Karausian's flowing style. Similar in style, utterly different in content; the Doctor couldn't read it. Great terraced steps rose on either side of the chamber, ascending to – living quarters? – cut into the rock. Straight ahead, the chamber ended in a stone dais, where a group of Cadaverites stood watching him hungrily.
Kneel to the Great Ones, not-human.
Aware that disobedience might bring casual death, the Doctor carefully went down on one knee, sweeping his left arm low across the floor, right arm folded across his middle. Good enough for Bess, he consoled himself.
Come forward, that we may see what manner of creature you are.
The group looked closely at the Doctor, who returned the scrutiny equally closely. Ten Cadaverites, backed by a half-circle of at least twenty armed with what might be adapted mining-tools, or simply edged and bladed weapons.
Two of the presumed dectet of leaders turned to face each other. Their telepathic conversation overspilled enough to allow the Doctor to "hear" them, in what amounted to mental eavesdropping.
More than human.
Not old as we are, yet old.
A curiosity.
One with knowledge. Worth keeping alive. For the moment.
Yes. For the moment. While we learn from it.
The whispered non-conversation stopped.
'Am I permitted to talk?' asked the Doctor. Nobody hit him, or forbade him, so he continued. 'I came to the mine to try and communicate with you, to find out what you wanted and why you attacked the humans.'
How noble, not-human! How very noble. Rest assured, your sacrifice will enable us to learn more about humans and their world.
Yes. Their world. That is, it is their world for the moment.
Meanwhile, we will communicate with you, and you will answer our questions.
'And if I refuse?' darted back the Doctor, beginning to lose his temper.
We kill all human cattle in the mine.
'This is outrageous!' snapped the Doctor, genuinely angry. Within seconds he forced his temper into check, using a series of calming Tibetan chants.
'Very well,' he continued, pursing his lips. 'Ask away.'
What will the human response to our attacks on their town be?
'They will attack you with atomic projectiles. Probably within days.' Most unusually, the Doctor felt a grim satisfaction in stating this fact. The Cadaverites didn't like this news, and fell to babbling amongst themselves telepathically.
Then why did you come here alone to talk?
'Because I am not human, as you already know. My intent was to seek an accomodation.'
The concept of "accomodation" seemed foreign to them; they clucked and hissed to one another in confusion. After settling the point the questions continued.
What do the humans know about us?
'More than you suspect. Centuries ago another subterranean colony of yours was uncovered, and your behaviour and appearance passed into legend.'
Do they know if we have any weaknesses?
'They do by now. Silver is your weakness, as I understand. The humans in Trevilho are arming themselves with silver weapons as we speak.'
Apparently his tone was too contemptuous; a knotty fist struck across the back of his head, pitching him forward.
Do not gloat at the Great Ones! Animal!
'I am not an animal,' retorted the Doctor. 'And if you are so superior, why were you stuck down here?'
Once again he suffered a blow to the head, though this time the dectet hissed angrily at the servant behind who struck him.
You are alive only because you are useful to us. Refrain from insolence.
'My question still stands. Here you are, stuck underground, totally isolated. If you are as advanced as you claim, why are you here at all!'
The ten leaders stopped to hiss amongst themselves.
You will be made to understand.
You will attend to our history.
You will learn the futility of resistance.
We are the survivors of the Greater Will. The Karausians deemed it wise to refrain from procreation, to gradually and gracefully die out as natural causes extinguished our race. We did not agree
The Greater Will fought until utterly defeated. Still, the Karausians did not slaughter us. No. They transported us across space, fifty thousand naked prisoners taken hundreds of light years from home. We were transported into these artificial caverns by trans-mat, left to die of hunger and thirst and madness.
We did not die! We prevailed! We still prevail!
The arrogance, malice and glee in these declarations were tangible things, and a clue to how these creatures managed to survive for two thousand years in a barren and inhospitable environment: sheer force of will, a will at the edge of reason in it's intensity.
'There can't be more than a few hundred of you left,' commented the Doctor. 'You can't challenge the billions of this world.'
The dectet hissed and bobbed in a manner that sounded unpleasantly like laughter. The Time Lord decided that he found these creatures amongst the most repellent he had ever encountered.
Our numbers increase all the time, not-human.
We number a thousand already.
And for all your talk of silver weapons, the humans cannot stop us.
Take him! Take him to see the converts! Let him understand that we will prevail!
The rush of self-congratulatory gloating over, the escorts moved the Doctor away from the dectet and their entourage, out into the main cavern.
Right, not-human.
His eyes now adjusting to the darkness, the Doctor realised that while the cavern walls and ceiling were glowing with gentle phosphoresence, the floor did not. Nor did it possess the same rough finish of the wall, or what he could see of the walls; it must have been worn smooth by the passage of countless Cadaverite feet over centuries of imprisonment.
Turn here, not-human
The instruction led him into another vast chamber branching off from the main cavern, a chamber terraced and tiered from the narrow entranceway, with flights of steps carved into the rock, what might be considered an alien dormitory . Now, his mind primed by that thought, the Doctor saw hundreds of Cadaverites lying prone on the terraces, in attitudes of rest. Or was that right? Many were writhing and twisting, like fever victims. Dotted here and there were Cadaverites in ragged clothing, whilst others lay amongst the torn remnants of clothes.
'Replicative absorption!' realised the Doctor with a sudden start. These creatures were not alien prisoners resting from labour, they were humans undergoing the parasitical DNA metamorphosis into Cadaverites. That explained their repose and febrile convulsions.
His skin crawled in a compound of disgust and sympathy. Disgust for the vile process, which he had witnessed in other races and at other times, which entailed one being suffering complete disintegration both mental and physical, so that another entity could arise from the ashes. Sympathy for the human victims, who would soon cease to exist as their body chemistry was over-written and catalysed, leaving a collection of resources for the Cadaverite DNA to exploit.
By accident and surely not design he was able to look directly at one of the miserable victims of the Cadaverite process, a teenaged girl whose hair was falling out, whose fingernails were becoming longer and sharper than any human nails had a right to be, whose skin had lost the healthy melanin tint of a human and was instead taking on the pallor of a cave-dweller. She twisted in hopeless misery as her immune system gave up the struggle with the invading alien DNA.
I cannot let this happen, said the Time Lord to himself. Taking his captors by surprise, he vaulted up the giant terrace step, landing next to the wretched teenager. A quick jab of his fingers at her temple and she passed out – a process possibly also helped by his pressing the blade of Avtandil's knife to her neck. Sleight of hand made the knife vanish before his guards caught and threw him back to the lower level.
Interfere if you wish, not-human. You cannot help them all.
Look upon them! Cattle being converted to the Greater Will! You cannot doubt that we will prevail.
'I can hope, nevertheless,' replied the Doctor, estimating that there were approximately seven hundred humans here, most of whom were in the final stages of conversion. Indeed, one Cadaverite rose triumphantly to it's feet while he counted.
Back to the prisoners, not-human.
They weren't gentle about getting him back to the fissure with Masha and Anya, probably cross that he'd managed to interfere with the conversion process for one prisoner.
'Good god! You're alive!' exclaimed Anya when he was propelled with considerable force into the narrow prison, stumbling and almost falling.
'Yes, I am,' he replied. For the moment, he nearly added.
'Told you so. Anya, get the man some water,' scolded Masha. 'The only thing I can offer you – sorry, you didn't tell us you name.'
'The Doctor.'
'"Doctor"? Doctor what?' asked Anya.
'Just "The Doctor".'
'A comedian. Or, considering that you deliberately walked in here, a lunatic,' replied Masha crossly.
'I, madam, am neither. Now, I have learnt a great deal about our captors, but a little reflection will tell me even more. Can I have quiet whilst I think?'
Anya made a face. Masha seemed impressed at being called "madam".
'Go on, you silly goose, go and exercise the sleepers,' she ordered, then settled down to watch her fellow prisoner think.
The Doctor's thoughts were composed equally of what he did and did not know, what the Cadaverites told him and what they omitted.
They didn't even ask my name, he pondered. Here is Masha, a woman possibly about to die, and she still wants to know who I am. Not the Cadaverites! No, to them I'm just a not-human. If they tried to convert me and obtain my memories and intelligence that way, then I would die – a regeneration would be triggered, and they'd be back at the start again. If their colleague in the BTR communicated to them via telepathy before dying then they already know I cannot be controlled by mental power.
On the other hand, I am well-informed about political, military and social events above ground. Not to mention I possess the Tardis. Quite the catch!
Very well, now, what about my hosts. We can presume that this cavern did not house all fifty thousand prisoners, especially since at least one other cavern existed in the Black Forest region. Say twenty-five thousand prisoners. Of whom no more than five hundred were left until a few weeks ago.
It was the classic problem of a closed system. The fugitives were left here five hundred years ago, no water, no food, no light, nothing, nothing, nothing. Instead of becoming extinct, the Cadaverites actually prospered, witness the giant structures create within their prison.
How did they manage to survive? That was the big question. Given survival, then the Cadaverites could muster their mental powers and alter the environment to their tastes, over time. They could extract metals from the bare rock, creating those tools he had seen, tools that doubled as weapons. With tools they could dig for water. All of it hinged, critically, upon their surviving.
Survival. Survival above all else. The Greater Will prevailing, a force greater than those individuals who composed it.
Anya and Masha witnessed the tall, white-haired stranger snap his fingers, sit upright and say two words aloud: the first they recognised from science classes – "Eureka". The second they recognised from horror stories and grim tales of snow-bound pioneers – "cannibal".
'It all fits!' exclaimed the Doctor, assembling the pieces in his imagination.
Survival at any cost. Disregard ethics or morality, and the resources to sustain survival were obvious: other Cadaverites.
'They must have retained a core of leaders, an elite who were beyond the rules others lived or died by. The majority of the prisoners went into a state of self-induced trance, requiring minimal amounts of water, food or air to survive. The leaders formed a separate group. Most of them would also be in a trance state, only to be revived periodically to feed on the living bodies of their comrades!'
So the surviving leaders had spent the centuries extracting and refining metal ores, locating water from underground springs and streams, dining on their inert companions. Yet even this absolute amoral survival was insufficient. From twenty-five thousand their numbers had dwindled to five hundred, a fractional remnant.
None of this had been mentioned to him, or even hinted at , by the surviving Greater Will leaders. Not the sort of thing you wanted to publicise amongst your followers, really: yes you will live forever provided you eat Uncle Fred, or yes you will live forever except minus your arms and legs plus any other meatier parts of you that look succulent. No, that would never do.
'Truly, the criminally insane,' murmured the Doctor to himself. No wonder the Karausians stuck them here.
And that was another puzzle. The Karausians were indisputably a higher form of life, given that they were willing and able to die rather than continue to exist at the cost of other races. Why, then, did they burden Earth with tens of thousands of monstrous, amoral, near-indestructible killers?
'I said, Mister Doctor, what do we do now?' asked Masha, loudly, tugging on his coat sleeve.
'Eh? Oh, sorry, were you talking to me?'
'Yes! Those horrid little bobbing sentries have disappeared, for the moment at least before the next ones arrive, so we can talk. What do we do now?'
That decision at least didn't require much thought.
'We escape, my dear. We escape!'
Their sentries at the fissure's opening probably returned to the Dectet. Orders. The Doctor felt that his sustained usefulness to the Cadaverites was greatly lessened or finished entirely, now that they were aware nuclear weapons might be used against them. So escape became the only solution.
First things first – the group of entranced sleepers at the back of the fissure. Left here, they would ultimately provide the Cadaverites with food.
'Unacceptable,' muttered the Doctor to himself. Reaching around in his pocket, he came across the mirror device used to counter-hypnotise John. 'Excellent!' he told the cave walls. First of all he used the device on Masha and Anya for a few minutes, rendering them far less susceptible to the Cadaverites.
'Ladies, cover your eyes until further notice,' he announced, before moving to begin the recovery and rescue. He didn't want Masha or Anya struck still as stones before leaving.
One by one, with halts for people to recover their wits, or to cry, or hug one another, the Doctor released the captives from their mental chains. When all had been restored to consciousness, Masha and Anya warned them: be ready to run from the fissure, into the cavern and back to the mine tunnels.
The Doctor radiated confidence to the freed captives, even if he felt distinctly apprehensive. They needed to get up through the tunnels of the mine, outrunning any pursuit, and, if they managed that feat, would emerge into darkness. Sunset above meant that the Cadaverites laying seige to Trevilho could move about freely, not to mention their pursuers, who might even now be on their way. He walked quickly with the Russians to the breach in the cavern wall.
'Does anyone know the way out?' he asked quietly. An elderly gentleman, dusty and scratched, wearing a suit that had once been impressive, raised his hand. 'Good. You lead everybody. When you get to the first large worked-out gallery, I want you to take the emergency connecting tunnel across to the next one. Wait there for me.'
'What are you going to do!' asked Masha, in a frenzy of hope, worry, fear and concern. The Doctor tapped one side of his long nose.
'Don't worry, my dear. I shall be along shortly. Oh – please take this.' He passed over Avtandil's knife. 'Silver. Kills Cadaverites instantly.'
Before the huddled group began to move, he gave them a final warning; his counter-hypnosis would give them limited protection against Cadaverite mind-control, for a short time only. They must move silently and swiftly.
They did. Even the terrified children, a dozen of them, managed to be quiet and quick.
The patter of hasty footsteps died away, allowing the Doctor to examine the breach more closely. Yes, just as he hoped – pitted, rough, full of nooks and crannies a man might use to climb upward. No time to waste, he commended himself, and selected a hole for his foot.
Behind him came the shuffle of hasty footsteps. Masha come to check up on him, most likely, well she could give him a boost upwards –
Interfering fool! came the silent Cadaverite rasp, and a chill white arm circled round his neck, stronger than a steel band, pulling him backwards, cutting off his breath. Black spots sprang into his vision while he struggled vainly against the appalling strength of the creature, hearing his bones creak in protest, smelling the pungent reek of a carnivore's breath in his nostrils.
Then the alien strength vanished, the encircling iron arm became a boneless jelly, the weight of the creature fell from him and he could breathe again, drawing in great, grateful lungfuls of air.
Turning to see exactly what occurred, the Doctor realised that the sentries must have been rotated, leaving a gap of a few minutes where he had seized the chance. One dead Cadaverite lay at his feet, face down, a knife in it's back. Masha stood over the body, looking a little pale, and pointing into the depths of the cavern. The second sentry stood motionless thirty metres distant, watching the two escapees, gnashing it's fangs and clashing it's talons.
'I just knew you were going to get into trouble,' murmured Masha. 'I just knew it.'
The Doctor measured distance and speed. In the time required to bend and pull the silver knife free, the second Cadaverite would be upon them. He bent as if to pluck the knife from the body, then pulled his sonic screwdriver from a pocket and fired a three-second pulse at the leaping Cadaverite.
Which promptly exhibited all the symptoms of a scalded cat, leaping away from them, squalling in pain and clutching it's ears, to finally crumple on the cavern floor.
'Did you kill it?' asked Masha, retrieving the knife.
'No. No, I don't think so,' replied the Doctor thoughtfully.
'Pity.'
'Not a very charitable attitude! Now that you're here, give me a hand to climb up the hole in the wall here. Cup your hands. That's it, now – push!'
Masha stared at the stranger climbing up the ragged wall like a human spider, using holes and crevices she couldn't even see to ascend ever higher, for the saints only knew what end. When he stopped, the Doctor stretched out a hand to the jagged roof of the hole, and Masha felt her teeth throb and her head buzz, until she felt dizzy and sick. A loud crack sent echoes chasing themselves around the cavern walls, and she heard the clatter of falling dust and debris.
The Doctor dropped lightly to the floor, accompanied by another loud crack, and a faint rumble. Masha stood still, not alert to the danger, and he remembered she didn't know about the sonic screwdriver or what it could do.
'Time to leave,' he called, above another series of cracks. More debris came pattering down, drowning out the sound of approaching feet – alerted by their sentries, the Cadaverites were coming to investigate.
'What did you do!' asked Masha at a dead run, hearing crashes and bangs from behind her yet not daring to stop or even turn whilst running.
'Sonic screwdriver,' called the Doctor, jogging along calmly. 'Adjusted for sub-sonics. I found a flaw in the gallery ceiling and persuaded it to spread.'
A dull roar from the crudely-hewn gallery behind them preceded a gout of dust that played around their back and heels. Obviously the roof had collapsed entirely.
'Phew, can we stop now? I'm not made for running, Doctor.'
'We can slow down, but we can't stop, Masha. The Cadaverites behind us have been stopped by the roof falling in. However, if any are left in the mine above us then they might be heading down here to intercept the escapees. We need to be in that worked-out gallery before they find us.'
Masha slowed down still further.
'Give them an earful of your magic wand.'
The Doctor tutted.
'Masha, it doesn't have endless power! A few minutes use exhausts the power, and I hadn't fully recharged it before we left.'
By the time they tip-toed into the rendezvous, Masha had the beginnings of a world-class headache, brought on by the light levels. This didn't stop her from noticing and exclaiming in alarm; nobody else was present.
'hsst!' came a whisper from further into the chamber. Anya emerged from the emergency shaft, waving at them. She looked both relieved and grateful.
'Lord alive, how glad I am to see both of you! Valentin led us into here for safety, out of the way.'
'Valentin has the right idea, Anya,' said the Doctor. 'Pass the message on – move along the passage to the next chamber.'
Bringing up the rear, the Doctor repeated his trick of the cavern roof on the roof of the emergency shaft, being almost too successful and nearly burying himself in rubble. Beating dust from his shoulders, he emerged into the second chamber to a ring of concerned faces.
'Ah. Yes. A slight over-estimate there. Never mind, keep moving – along the emergency passage in the corner.'
The trick was repeated twice more before the group moved into the main tunnels. Bringing roofs down under tons of rubble would – hopefully – stall any pursuit. Any Cadaverites ahead of the escapees in the upper levels – well, deal with that problem when it came, decided the Doctor. Many of the Russians now had mining tools or improvised blunt instruments as weapons: defenceless no longer, nobody in the group looked prepared to give up without a struggle. Be that as it may, determination could only drive them so far for so long, as the escapees, not having eaten for days, and having been stood comatose for just as long, began to flag.
'Five minutes rest, Doctor,' pleaded the elderly man, Valentin. 'I cannot go on and the children are worn out.'
Reluctantly, the Doctor agreed to a five-minute break. Afterwards he chivvied the group onwards and upwards, always listening for pursuit, until the group came to a hairpin and their leaders stopped abruptly on the upslope.
'Keep moving!' hissed the Doctor, worrying over the delay. Several of the Russians gestured in alarm at the turn of the tunnel just ahead. Visible in light from the tunnel's cable-hung lamps were the bobbing shadows of Cadaverites, easily dozens of them, on the wall opposite. The shadows became smaller and more distinct, indicating that the creatures were coming down the inclined floor.
Without speaking the group closed up, with the children in the centre.
Cattle! Come to us!
Obey. Return to your prison
Give us the non-human!
Throw down your weapons.
None of these commands worked, the net effect merely being that several of the children seemed stunned and uncertain. Masha brandished her knife.
'See how sharp my blade is, you miserable cotton-coloured rascals! Come near us and I'll skin you alive.'
Valentin struck his crowbar against the ground, sending up sparks.
'White devils. I will play hockey with your heads!'
Brave words, applauded the Doctor internally. Not that his rag-tag stood a chance against the alien killers, and he knew that they knew it.
The Cadaverites moved down and round the hair-pin bend slowly, with relish, hissing to each other. The Doctor counted thirty of them, all moving slowly, with an arrogance borne of near-invulnerability. They might be stopped or slowed by the sonic-screwdriver, in which case edging past them might be possible – worth a try.Unfortunately, the device's power-bar showed nearly exhausted when he pointed it at the Cadaverites, and they only cringed back for several seconds before the power gave out entirely. Their body language changed then, from arrogance to annoyance, that the human cattle had seen their masters humiliated.
EIGHT
A bass rumble, combining sound and vibration, made everything in the tunnel stop abruptly. Anxious eyes turned up towards the roof, checking for cracks or falling debris. All, without exception, human, Cadaverite and initially the Doctor, feared a tunnel collapse.
No! he realised. Too regular. An engine?
The rumbling grew and shook the tunnel walls, accompanied by the asthmatic growl of a diesel engine until an elderly Komsomolets caterpillar tractor, battered nearly paintless, lurched around the top of the hair-pin.
Simultaneously the Cadaverites began shrieking in pain, running blindly from the oncoming tractor, flailing blindly at the escapees, running anywhere – Valentin gave one a mighty blow from his steel truncheon; Masha, quick-witted enough to jump aside, slashed one creature in the arm as it flailed by. A shriek of pain later it collapsed, dead, at her feet.
How ingenious! The Doctor recognised an ultra-violet lamp riveted to the radiator grille of the tractor, glowing gently purple and the cause of the alien's distress.
A familiar very large shape jumped down from the cab, shouldering a rifle. A shatteringly loud bang echoed up and down the tunnel and a Cadaverite dropped instantly dead. The Doctor put out his hand and pushed down the muzzle of the AK47 before John could shoot any more of the retreating aliens.
'Needless killing,' he commented. 'They're quite harmless for the moment.'
'Need a lift, Doc?' asked John.
'You don't know how grateful I am to see you!' enthused the Doctor, releasing the officer's rifle.
'Who's this?' asked several Russians.
'Who are they?' asked John.
'How did you get up here?' asked the Doctor. 'Enough questions! Never mind, just keep moving. Everyone, just keep moving.'
At his suggestion, they abandoned the tractor in the tunnel with it's engine running. The baleful ultra-violet light on the engine front would keep any Cadaverites at a safe distance until the fuel ran out. Another breathing-space.
'We still have to get from mine to town, in the dark, avoiding any wandering vampires on the loose, with only one gun and from what you say a single knife between us. Have I missed anything or are matters even worse?' commented John, on hearing what had occurred in the cavern.
'You have it exactly. How many people can fit into that BTR vehicle?' replied his companion.
'Papa Doctor, can we rest?' asked a small girl, no more than ten years old, visibly exhausted by the flight from several levels below. More of the children were trailing, and would have been at the rear if the group didn't ensure they remained firmly in the middle.
'There's no time to stop,' replied John, surprising himself with how adept he was with small children. 'But I'll give you a piggy-back, Little Mistress - ?'
'Irina,' replied the girl, solemnly. John squatted down and Irina climbed on his broad back, clutching firmly around his neck.
'Make sure the children don't slow down. Do whatever you can to keep them moving,' called the Doctor. He felt heartened. The escapees were in the upper level of the mine, less than half a kilometre from the entrance, and still no more Cadaverites appeared. It was possible that John had driven them all before him with the UV-adapted tractor.
'Where did you get that ultra-violet lamp?' he asked, curious. Also, it might distract the escapees. One small child, of indeterminate gender, already held onto his hand with a desperate energy, looking up for reassurance. The Doctor gave one of his warm, paradoxically human smiles and the child responded with an equally sunny grin.
'A doctor in Trivelho, Czech fellow called Karel. He was recommending sun-lamp treatment for our good friend Zelinski, mentioning that the ultra-violet would do him good. Comrade Zelinski gladly gave up the UV lamp at the worker's sanitarium for the greater good of the Motherland.'
The Russians moved slower now, from caution rather than exhaustion. They passed a dead Cadaverite, shot by John on his journey down the mine in his clanking transport earlier that night. Irina tightened her arms around the officer's neck in a reflex action.
'I'm scared, mister. I'm scared of the monsters,' she complained, eyes screwed tightly shut. The small co-traveller hanging onto the Doctor's hand nodded silently, eyes wide at the awful sight they passed.
'Don't worry, we'll get back home safe and sound,' consoled the Doctor, sounding vastly more confident than he felt.
'Ha! Monsters beware!' snorted Masha, brandishing her silver knife. 'One touch from this blade and they die.' The Doctor's small companion looked suitably impressed at this, and a few of the adults managed to look amused.
'Well, Irina, you may be scared of monsters, but monsters are scared of me!' announced John, pausing to punch the tunnel wall. Bits of dust and rock flew amongst the escapees, causing a slight panic until they determined the walls were not falling inwards. 'I've killed dozens of them in my time,' he continued, nonchalantly and truthfully, referring to the Autons.
The Doctor nodded at the large officer, with Irina dangling from his back.
'See? We will get home.'
They emerged from the mine entrance into the dark, chill air of northern Russia, which still felt warm and welcoming compared to the environment they'd had to suffer.
A bleak, sterile light from flourescent bulbs in the quarry showed the derelict BTR a hundred metres away, rendered a sickly bilious colour in the sodium glare.
'Your chariot awaits,' deadpanned John, pointing the personnel carrier out to the Doctor.
'Most amusing. Does anyone here know how to drive a BTR? A young man in denims amongst the Russians stuck up a hand.
'Me, mister. I did my national service last year, including servicing and driving them things.'
'Good. You are the Driver.' And the way he pronounced it definitely made it "Driver" with a capital "D". 'When we get in that vehicle, your duty is to get us all to Trivelho, no matter what.' And once again there were capital letters in "No Matter What".
'Er, mister Doctor, only about a dozen people can get in one of them,' explained another young man, clearly a recent conscriptee who knew by practical example what the BTR could hold.
Ignoring him out of sheer necessity, the Time Lord began to shepherd the Russians across the mine apron, keeping his eyes on the buildings around them. Orange light cast by the lighting system, still sustained by the power plant, threw long dark shadows of infinite threat across the apron. The escapee's shadows flowed and danced erratically across the uneven ground en route to the big military vehicle.
'Children inside first,' called Valentin. The small escapees scurried over the roof and into the passenger compartment by dint of hauling themselves up via handles welded to the hull. Irina only let go of John when he promised to join her inside immediately.
Only after more adults packed into the interior did the presence of a dead, decaying Cadaverite under a sheath of coats come to light. Howls of protest later, the rotting corpse was thrown outside in a folded overcoat.
'Get onto the outside. Find a hand-hold and hold on with your hands, both of them, tight as you can,' ordered the young man in denim to the adults remaining.
'Twenty inside, twenty outside,' commented John, looking around for potential attackers.
Nobody. Cables fluttered and blew in the chilly night wind. Nothing else moved.
Valentin took a hand.
'You're the driver; you - mister Fur Hat, you sit next to him on the right. You, Big Man, you can sit on top of the hull with your gun.'
John, dubbed "Big Man" to his amusement, did indeed secure himself to the hull with a length of rope. More Russians joined him when the interior could no longer take any more people. Valentin took command of the gun turret, clacking handles and levers, checking ammunition belts, turning it through five degrees from the axial orientation.
'Don't waggle that thing while we're driving. If you move it across more than ninety degrees you'll start knocking us off,' warned John. The Doctor ignored them all, being crammed into the passenger compartment in front of the radio. His prime objective was communicating with the outside world, a feat not easily managed at the best of times in isolated north-west Russia, still less so under current circumstances.
'What is "waggle"?' asked Anya, stuck on the outside of the metal box with John. 'You Moscow folks talk damn funny.'
Masha waved the magic silver knife in front of them both.
'You, Big Man, you need to get this back to your friend the Doctor. I can't see any use for it here.'
John could. He had bumped and rumbled and slowly driven up the road from Trivelho to the mine in his 1950's artillery tow vehicle, seeing occasional Cadaverites loping over the fields roundabout, even over the road before him. The aliens fled before his ultra-violet headlight, apart from one that had turned on him inside the tunnel workings; a single silver bullet saw it off.
'Here, you need a lanyard around this,' he told them. 'See. A ring in the hilt, thus –' and he threw a knot and binding together ' – then a dangling cord. Prevents loss by dropping.'
A crescendo of roaring, whining and coughing suddenly burst into being below them as the engines of the BTR came to life after days of inactivity. Plumes of exhaust smoke shot into the night sky, angled to the body of the personnel carrier, being produced by the low-efficiency engines running on cheap Romanian diesel.
'Off and away!' chortled John, watched with apprehension by others clinging to all the metal handholds they could find.
Down below, barely able to move in the cramped interior, the Doctor looked in dismay at the radio. The fascia was split, a couple of dials were missing and when he dismounted the rear cover, broken vacuum tubes fell about.
'Smashed,' he said to those listening, simultaneously turning the problem over in his head. The radio had been intact when he finally dismounted it from the wall. The Cadaverites must have come into the vehicle and deliberately smashed it while he was in the mine. Why would they do that? Thanks to telepathy they would already have known of the radio from their single alien comrade trapped in the BTR, yet they didn't bother to destroy it at that time, a task that would have taken seconds.
'Something rotten in the state of Denmark,' he muttered to himself. 'Except for Denmark read Russia.'
Valentin shouted an unintelligible curse, then began firing the turret heavy machine gun. He was immediately cursed in his turn by everyone present, for making too much noise, scaring the children and spreading cordite fumes into the passenger compartment.
'I got one of them,' he called back, defiantly. 'Knocked it over.'
'Save your bullets,' said the Doctor. 'You can't hit a moving target except by luck, and Trivelho can use that weapon.'
Up on the roof the Russians and John felt the nip of cold night air, made sharper by the speed of their passage. The Driver didn't bother to steer to the right side of the road, instead staying on the middle, and he kept his headlights off. The only concession he made to the piggyback passengers was to stay at forty kilometres an hour, which they still felt was screamingly dangerous.
Remembering his promise to Irina, John stuck his head into the passenger compartment.
'Sorry, Princess, I can't fit in, I'm too fat. I'd squash you like a jelly!' and he squeezed his face flat between his palms, making the solemn girl smile.
'Look!' pointed Masha, at a loping white figure running up the road towards them. The Cadaverite paused in puzzlement when the BTR thundered into view, not knowing what to make of the vehicle or it's passengers atop and within. Valentin succumbed to temptation and loosed off a burst from the heavy machine gun, missing but forcing the creature to dart left. Unfortunately it chose the wrong side of the road at precisely the wrong moment, as Driver swerved to miss where it originally stood. Eleven tons of BTR struck the alien, knocking it howling across the road and off into slushy banks of snow piled up on the side.
'That may not kill it, but, my! It must have hurt,' commented a rooftop passenger, their words hard to make out in the whistling wind.
Hurt the alien may have been; dead it was not. They found this out the hard way when other Cadaverites began to converge on the BTR on it's short journey to the town, summoned telepathically by their injured companion.
'Holy mother! Here they come!' shouted one of the rooftop passengers in warning.
More slinking pale shapes came rushing up the road towards them, coming from the direction of Trivelho, apparently trying to intercept the escapees before they reached the town.
The first alien didn't try to be subtle or careful. It leapt directly at the BTR's cab, to be shot instantly by John, dying before it hit the hull, bounced off and fell to be crushed by the four nearside wheels.
Cattle! Stop and climb down!
Cease firing!
There were other mental commands, ineffective against John and the Doctor, yet beginning to affect the Russians. The BTR began to slow down.
Masha pressed the silver knife against her temple, seeming to draw strength from the blade.
'Keep driving! Don't slow down!' called the Doctor, summoning his own mental abilities and trying to project them, keeping the alien influence at bay. 'Fight their influence!'
John banged his rifle butt against the hull top.
'For the love of God don't slow down or we're all dead!'
Valentin recovered enough to fire both the machine guns in the turret, sending great glowing tracer balls zooming down the road, wobbling as the vehicle moved.
The bullets might not be able to kill the Cadaverites, judged the Doctor, but dodging them forced the alien hunters to break their concentration. His own abilities were outranged and overpowered by the combined alien effort when they mustered.
Another alien came at the BTR, from the side this time, leaping onto the mudguard and clutching at the roof. With a fury that frightened the Russians who witnessed it John wielded the iron bar Valentin brought out of the mine, smacking it down in a blurred arc against the creature's fingers. Horrid brittle snaps cracked from the aliens ruined hands and it fell wailing to the road.
'Any more for any more!' yelled the officer, following up with a barrage of Anglo-Saxon swearing that impressed his audience.
There were more, Cadaverites who ran alongside the vehicle, slashing at the tyres with their knife-like talons, taking care to remain beyond the reach of the big human.
'Can't – can't you shoot them?' asked Masha, her thoughts not forming properly, flowing thickly in her mind like treacle as the aliens sought to cowe and control her. Behind her, Anya collapsed onto the hull roof, nearly sliding over the edge. Another escapee, less seriously affected, grabbed her by the shoulders and prevented the unconscious girl from falling.
'Short of bullets,' replied John, down to five silver rounds. He'd shot several Cadaverites en route to the mine and didn't want to run out of the effective ammunition before they reached Trevilho.
One of the huge tyres went with a bang, sending a shudder through the whole vehicle. Risking a fall, which would be fatal, John leaned outwards and shot a Cadaverite. The others scattered, leaving another of the tyres going flat; fortunately the BTR still had six intact ones. Nevertheless, their speed fell.
Ahead of them the road ran between wrecked buildings, and further ahead the glow of fires could be seen as the town's defenders fought on in their hopeless struggle.
A fist-sized stone, hurled with great force, came out of the night between the wrecked houses and struck John squarely in the chest. His response was more swearing and a bullet fired back where the flying rock came from. More stones and even planks of wood came soaring at the BTR, bouncing off the sides or the unlucky passengers. The driver revved the engines even more and dropped a gear, swerving slightly to spoil their attacker's aim. Even that threatened to dislodge people, and there were frantic yells at him to stop driving so erratically.
'Don't stop till you get into the town square,' called the Doctor. 'The lighting there will protect us from attack. And turn on your headlights to show we're not hostile.'
Swiftly, demolished and burnt houses gave way to intact ones, defended by the town's militia, who looked with amazement at the battered personnel carrier racing by them. One brave soul tried to stop it by standing in the road; he jumped aside with inches to go when he realised the BTR wasn't going to stop.
All eleven tons of the vehicle slammed into a lamp-post, breaking it off at the base with a rusty crack, and welcome light from surviving lamp-posts around the town square showed hundreds camped on the cobbles. The driver braked hastily, sending up spurts of rubber smoke from the five remaining tyres.
'Trivelho town square, all passengers disembark please,' said John, sticking his head into the passenger compartment and winking at Irina.
The Doctor came out last, feeling drained after trying to fend off the Cadaverite's mental attacks.
'Thank you,' he said quietly to the driver. The young man didn't reply, being diverted by the big military helicopter that sat on the cobbles nearer the town hall.
'What's that doing here? Are they evacuating?' he asked.
Unfamiliar, hard-faced soldiers wearing berets came striding towards the BTR and it's occupants.
'I think we're about to find out,' murmured the Doctor.
A few of the Russians camped out in the square came over to see who the new arrivals were, and within seconds discovered that they weren't new, or arrivals.
'This man rescued us,' explained Masha. 'Him too,' pointing at John. Word of mouth spread incredibly quickly and soon the BTR was the focus of eager families trying to discover missing loved ones.
'Nadya! Anna!' yelled Misha, the small man with a sub-machine gun who'd threatened John days before. Now he elbowed his way into the crowd and swept up one of the rescued children, wrapping one arm around a short plump woman with tears running down her red cheeks. Speechless, he pumped the Doctor's hand in gratitude.
The hard-faced soldiers pushed their silent way past the crowd to confront both John and the Doctor.
'I'm the Doctor, pleased to meet you,' began the Time Lord, extending a hand that remained unshaken. 'And this is my companion, Lieutenant Izvestilnyuk.'
None of this made any impression on the strangers.
'It's vital that these people are given medical checks and an injection of a broad-spectrum anti-biotic,' stated the doctor.
'Sergeant!' snapped one of the soldiers, wearing a large grey moustache. 'Get these people rounded up and take statements from them. Apart from these two.'
Mutterings of dissent could be heard from the crowd around the BTR. Clearly those in the town square hadn't finished finding out what had happened to these escapees and resented the soldier's interference. The sergeant whistled and more soldiers came running, separating out the escapees from others. Masha cocked his sub-machine gun, apparently ready to take on anyone threatening the Doctor, until the Time Lord shook his head in unmistakable disapproval.
Valentin came over, dragging himself away from a soldier.
'Get off me, you cretin!' he barked. 'Major Valentin Taraschenko, Twenty-Third Guards Armoured, Red Army, Retired,' he intoned at the moustachioed soldier. The soldier caught up and grabbed the elder man's upper arms. 'And you, sir, who are you?'
'Colonel Stefan, Special Service Detachment, Guards Airborne Brigade. Currently very active. Take him away, trooper, but don't damage him.' The tone was one of dry amusement, over a steely nature.
'Come along sir,' said the burly soldier, removing the still protesting man.
'You treat them with respect! They saved all our lives!' he called over his shoulder.
'Quite,' commented the Colonel, looking with intensity at the two travellers. Two more soldiers came up to stand guard. One saluted the officer.
'Sir, Sergeant Kotelnikov is taking statements from the civilians.'
'Good.' Another long pause whilst he stared at John and the Doctor. 'Now maybe we can get the truth from these conspirators. Take them over to the interrogation tent.'
Petrosian turned uneasily to check that the vampire still lay bound on the table. Yes, it did. Lately it had stopped trying to frighten or alarm him with mental messages, which meant checking to see that it remained alive or conscious.
Wretched creature. Zhadov kept hitting it's heels with a broom-handle, taking out his dislike of the thing. Petrosian, for his part, kept clear of it. Part of his mind told him that keeping a monster like this in a basement violated operational requirements, whilst he remembered Zelinski's stern command not to tell anyone.
Why would Moscow Centre decide to keep this creature from myth hidden in a dingy, not-very-secure provincial basement? Surely the science staff needed to examine it, find out what weaknesses it had, what made it tick? None of the interrogations he or Zhadov carried out revealed anything, apart from a mocking sense of humour.
In fact, where had Zelinski vanished to? The officer's behaviour got erratic at times. For example, five minutes ago he simply sat bolt upright and left, muttering about "got to go for a minute". Go where! They had a rota for getting food, drink and answering calls of nature and Zelinski wasn't on it yet.
Oho, what's this? wondered Petrosian. His wandering eye fell across the radio table. Zelinski's hasty departure was so hasty he hadn't taken the code book, which lay, enticingly, on the table. Not only that, Zelinski's own notebook, which he'd transcribed messages in, lay underneath the small black codebook.
Making sure that the door was locked, Petrosian went over and looked at the notebook. He might persuade himself that he was merely checking on his superior's strange behaviour when really it amounted to curiosity. The first page marked with a turned-down corner was where he looked first.
"Initial reports indicate mine security breached by offensive outbreak MVD reinforcement needed stop hostile activity not contained at mine security cordon around town needed soonest stop town citizens issued arms expediency end"
Straightforward enough. Next page had a new entry.
"Interrogation of intruder captured in Trevilho ineffective stop intruder unwilling to communicate stop physical methods ineffective stop drug treatment ineffective please advise end"
Nothing he didn't already know. The sodium pentothal Zelinski used might as well have been water.
Next page.
"qcweoh kqewrpwe pqowje c ow fophhje kncbe soppe pnwperi spd pmwer cerp puwerv gweouvw fope flels sotqr mcoeeys qpehe"
Petrosian blinked. What the hell?
'That must be the code,' he murmured to himself. Next page.
"ffffffffffffffffpppppppppppppppppperrrrrrrrrrrrrcmmmmmmmmmwerpodddddddddddddddddpmkpwerommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmwppppppprmmmmmmmmmmmmmsjkeeeeeeeeeeeeeoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllll"
This wasn't code. It seemed to be complete gibberish. What the hell had Zelinski been doing? The next page consisted of more nonsense, and the next page, and the next.
With a smooth click, the door closed behind Zelinski, making Petrosian whirl round in guilt and alarm.
'Seen enough?' asked his superior, with a sinister and quiet intonation.
'What are you sending nonsense to Moscow Centre for, you imbecile!' asked Petrosian, waving the notebook. With a start he realised Zelinski's service issue Tokarev was pointing at his stomach, with the addition of a silencer. The man smelt of cordite and scorched cloth.
'Why send nonsense? Why, because the Master commands it,' replied Zelinski, softly, reaching down to the table and ripping off the rags around the alien's head. Two glaring red eyes looked up at him.
Petrosian leapt for Zelinski.