No Control
Chapter Six: The Evil Unleashed
The Doctor was on the knife-edge of panicking. He felt as if he was beginning to slide down into a bottomless pit. Psionovores, Threllips, Divergents, Daleks... was this how it would end? The life squeezed out him as some glorified party trick? Over the roaring in his ears he could hear Julreth shouting, screaming. Peering through the red fog of his vision, he saw someone grab the steel fist around his neck, then rush to the console. Suddenly the grip around his neck released and the Time Lord slumped back into chair, wheezing and groaning like the TARDIS in flight.
Once his aching lungs were under control he was able to focus his senses to see Julreth was standing in front of the outraged Antola. "What do you think you're doing?" she screamed, tears running down her face. "You were going to kill him! He never hurt you and you were going to kill him! You bring us here, nearly freeze us to death, then try and scare us to death and you, you bring that thing here," she flailed a hand in the direction of the CyberLeader, still standing with one arm outstretched. "A dead body defiled by you just for fun! And then you use it to try and kill someone? What's wrong with you?"
Phen and Tharby watched on, silent. Antola had browbeaten them all for years, but her behavior this night was beyond the pale – and certainly more than Julreth could bear to take. Now, a great reservoir of frustration was pouring out of the girl as she finally told Antola what she thought of her.
"Why do you have to make everything all sick and twisted? You don't care about anyone else or what they feel! You want to ruin everything in this world and the next! You want to be with the Cyberons when you know they're evil! Well, you're evil!" she shrieked at the top of her voice.
Antola's expression didn't change, but no one looked quick enough to spot her hand sweep out and strike Julreth across the face, sending her reeling against the Doctor and the pilot's chair. Antola's voice oozed with disdain. "I don't care what you think," she sneered.
"Don't you?" the Doctor challenged, his voice a dry rasp. "Then why bring everyone here? Why do all this? You want attention. You want everyone to think about you and be awed at the depths of depravity you'll sink to." He managed to sit upright, helping Julreth stand at the same time. "You could have come to this planet on your own if you just wanted a novelty hatstand like the CyberLeader. You could have brought him up, had your little party with no objecting voices. But no, you bring four of your friends for a huge audience to see you sink or swim." He let out a short, pained laugh. "You don't care what we think? Antola, you care about nothing else!"
Phen took a step forward, his face stern. "You've gone too far this time," he announced. Never before had any of the socialites come to blows before.
"You want me to apologize?" jeered Antola. "I'd sooner apologize to Cy over there. And he forgives me my transgressions, don't you?" she asked sweetly of the silver giant.
The massive head turned to face her.
From its voice box came a single, terrifying word.
"NO."
Hols ran faster than she had ever moved in her life up the shaft as a noise like the savage screeching of some prehistoric bird ripped through the stillness of the tombs, mingling with the sound of violently-tearing-and-twisting membranes from the cold canyons behind her. From before her, however, she could make out a dull, rhythmic beating noise getting louder and nearer.
She reached a cross-junction and skidded to a halt as a silver-carapaced figure marched inexorably up the side-passage towards the main shaft – and her. Its empty eyes were fixed, hypnotically, on her as the strange robotic creature approached. Mouth wide open, Hols back-pedaled across the main shaft and into the next side passage, even though she was getting further and further away from the surface and with it, the chances of escape and survival.
She was so transfixed on the Cyberman in front of her she didn't sense the powerful metal fist smash through the membrane of the tomb behind her, or the second hand that immediately followed as the second Cyberman tore its way out of the sepulchre. Hols only realized the danger as she literally backed into it in her attempts to avoid the first Cyberman, as a steel hand grabbed her shoulder. Luckily, the fake Cyber armor – the same armor whose design that was confusing the reviving minds of her attackers – was strong enough to withstand the crushing pressure. Hols literally tore herself free, leaving the two Cybermen staring expressionlessly at the hollow fake Cyber arm in their grasp.
Hols turned to flee down the side-passage, but this delay had cost her. The revivification of the Cybermen in this area had increased. Ahead of her she saw another Cyberman punch its way through the door of its sepulchre, and more entombed Cybermen were attempting to punch their way to freedom. Two of them blocked her way deeper into the tombs, and directly beside her a shriek of slicing plastic allowed yet another Cyberman to force its angular helmet out and stare directly at her.
She was trapped...
Everyone stared at the CyberLeader. Tharby tutted, assuming this was just another mockery Antola had programmed it to say. "You never give up, do you?" he complained.
Antola grinned. "I've barely started!"
"This is ridiculous," Phen agreed.
"Cy still loves me," Antola gloated, patting the mighty silver figure.
The Doctor wasn't smiling but gently eased out of the chair, getting as far away from the CyberLeader as he could, taking care to make no sudden moves. Julreth gripped his hand and instinctively followed him. "You didn't type that vocal response in," he accused. "Did you?"
Antola wasn't in the least bit concerned. "I know! How interesting! How did you manage that, Cy?" she asked the CyberLeader with exaggerated curiosity.
"THAT INFORMATION IS NO LONGER RELEVANT," the CyberLeader boomed, rotating its helmet to face them. "WE WILL SURVIVE. WE HAVE SURVIVED. ALL FLESHMEN ON THIS PLANET WILL BECOME CYBERMEN."
"Yes, yes, how terribly amusing," Phen tutted.
Antola's smile faltered.
"WE SHALL USE THE RESOURCES OF THIS CRAFT TO SPREAD THE CYBER EMPIRE TO OTHER PLANETS AND CULTURES, WHERE ALL FLESHKIND POPULATIONS WILL BE ALTERED AND TRANSFORMED INTO CYBERMEN."
"It's not Antola," the Doctor breathed. "That's the real CyberLeader speaking!"
"WE WILL BECOME STRONGER. YOU HAVE NO OPTIONS. YOU WILL BECOME LIKE US."
In her living quarters, the Guardian stood behind the still-open doorway, trying to control her breathing. She was no longer sure if this was a dream or an illusion, if she'd ever had a life beyond the confines of these endless, evil tombs, but the fear she felt was very genuine. She could hear, just outside, more and more the silver warriors emerge from their wrecked cells, gaining strength with each stride as they formed into pairs, aligning themselves into phalanxes like soldiers on parade.
Struggling to control her breathing, the Guardian stayed where she was and managed not to scream as the nightmare outside got closer and closer, marked by the juddering rhythm of their strides. She heard the icy ripping sound as the tombs right outside were torn asunder, once, twice, thrice...
And then there were no more Cybermen left to emerge.
All of them were awake now.
Phen still was convinced it was all a trick. He leaned in forward to bring his face level with the CyberLeader's immobile mask, and stared at the ravaged skull within. "Well, we're not interested in becoming Cybermen, Cyberons or Cyber anything, so you can just shut up!"
The CyberLeader stared sightlessly back at Phen. "YOUR WANTS AND DESIRES ARE MEANINGLESS. THE CYBER RACE MUST EXPAND. YOUR MINDS AND BODIES WILL BE ADAPTED TO SERVE US."
The others were all backing away. Even Antola. She was nowhere near the keyboard.
"BE WARNED," the CyberLeader continued. "YOUR DEFENSES ARE INCAPABLE OF WITHSTANDING US. RESIST AND YOU WILL BE PUNISHED."
The CyberLeader was in control of its own actions once more.
That realization drained the blood from Antola's perfect face.
The shaft echoed with the savage infant movements as the Cybermen burst out of the chrysalids and took their first uncertain steps, a sickening parody of the beginnings of life. More and more tombs were bursting open, adding wave upon wave of gleaming cyborgs as they advanced up towards the surface, as if they somehow knew that their Leader had been taken from them and were intent on rescuing it. The Cybermen's deceptively blank eyes scanned their surroundings restlessly as they dispersed through the hundreds of corridors and passageways leading off the shaft.
Their march became more steady and powerful as more and more of them moved relentlessly up through the levels. Not one of them so much as paused as they passed the side passage where Hols had been cornered by a phalanx of her own.
The newborn Cybermen converged, herding her up against a freshly-opened tomb which – now it was fully illuminated – Hols now realized was stuffed full of wires, tubing and electronic probes. Hemmed in all sides, dwarfed by the silver giants, Hols had the choice of standing her ground or retreating to the last remaining sanctuary: inside the tomb behind her. Perhaps, she thought, with the remnants of her armor, she could convince them that she too was a Cyberman, and they could leave her alone...
No sooner had she done so then Hols realized she had made her last and most dreadful mistake.
Steel clamps encircled her wrists, ankles and waist, suspending her inside the cabinet. A shiny, silver skullcap emerged from the top of the unit and descended towards her head, connected to the probes in the ceiling by a myriad of tiny wires fanning out from its crown. Hols realized suddenly she couldn't move at all, merely stare ahead at the watching Cybermen. As the skullcap pressed down hard on her head, she felt her armor suddenly buckle and split, her protective clothing being torn away until there was nothing between her bare skin and cold metal.
Hols wanted to scream and protest, but no words came. She could only watch as a drill swung from the top of the sepulchre and positioned itself before her eyes. It moved up, then down slightly as if repositioning itself. Hols realized she was feeling strangely calm now. Had she been drugged? It wasn't so cold and drafty in this cubicle any more. Somehow, she knew what the Cybermen were going to do to her. It was what they did to everyone. They made you become like them.
In Hols fuddled mind, she knew there was a reason this was not a good thing. She couldn't let this happen. And then, suddenly, she realized that the drill was plunging straight into her forehead, that another piece of technology was unfolding from the edge of the tomb and pierced the optic nerve her left eye, that her arms were being sawn off by machinery, that the flesh of her face was being cut away, metal shields were being clamped over what was left of her body and being soldered into place by lasers.
The Cybermen did not react as Hols' screams stopped, or when the wires and circuits lining the conversion unit embedded themselves under her skin, which was soon lost under layers of what – at first glance – looked like aluminium foil. They waited until the transformation was complete and a new Cyberman lay in the unit before them. The woman they had forced into the tomb unit had effectively ceased to exist.
The new Cyberman, stuffed with the organic material that was the last remnants of Hols, turned its brand new helmet and its blank eye sockets examined the inside of the tomb and then it emerged to join its fellows. For a long moment the new recruit stared at its brethren who returned the dispassionate gaze, and then they all turned and joined the migration to the surface.
Identical to the others in every detail, the Cyberman that had once been Holt was lost in the silver army.
"WE NEED YOUR BODIES," the CyberLeader concluded.
The Doctor rubbed his neck. He could still feel the cold metal talons around his throat. "He means every word he says," he told the others, not taking his eyes from the CyberLeader. Although it seemed to have gained its free will, it was still frozen in place, connected to the console by wires.
"If the Cybermen awake en masse then everyone and anyone they capture will be subject to the conversion process, and added to the ranks. Their bodies will be cannibalized and used to get more victims to swell the Cybermen's numbers. All they care about is raw materials to consume and humanity is one of those raw materials. Do you understand what you stupid, stubborn idiots are trying to unleash now?"
Antola, Julreth, Tharby and Phen stared at him, too stunned to reply.
The CyberLeader turned its head to face the Doctor. "WHO ARE YOU?" it demanded. "YOU KNOW OUR WAYS. SUCH KNOWLEDGE MAY BE A THREAT. HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS?"
The Doctor considered his options. "I'm the Doctor, pleased to meet you."
The blank mask stared at him. "THE NAME IS MEANINGLESS," it said at last.
"Can't you shut this thing up, Antola?" Tharby demanded. "Blow its head off or something?"
"YOUR THREATS ARE UNIMPORTANT. WE ALREADY HAVE CONVERTED ONE OF YOU FLESHMEN," the CyberLeader boomed.
"What?" Tharby gasped. "You can't have!"
"Hols is still down there," whimpered Julreth.
"HOLS IS IRRELEVANT."
"You murdering..." Tharby began, face white as he realized he would never see his friend again.
"CYBERMEN DO NOT MURDER. WE DO NOT DESTROY WHEN UNNECESSARY, UNLIKE FLESHMEN. YOU KILL EACH OTHER. YOU ARE IMPERFECT. WE ARE SUPERIOR AND THAT IS WHY YOU WILL BECOME LIKE US. THE FLESHMAN IS NOW LIKE US. YOU HAVE NO WEAPONRY CAPABLE OF HARMING ANY CYBERMAN," the CyberLeader continued remorselessly. "YOU HAVE NO OPTIONS. ALL FLESHMEN IN THIS SPACECRAFT WILL BECOME LIKE US. EVENTUALLY, SO WILL YOUR CIVILIZATIONS. ALL FLESHKIND AND ITS TECHNOLOGIES WILL BE CONSUMED BY THE CYBERMEN. WE WILL SURVIVE!"
The Cybermen milling around outside the living quarters turned and began to advance on the open doorway. They marched through the doorway, across the cramped quarters and straight through the outer door and up the shaft, a parade of living nightmares.
The Guardian was pressed into a corner facing the tombs, and the malevolent giants strode right past her on their way to the ground level. First one Cyberman, then another, then another walked past her hiding spot. But the fourth Cyberman paused swung its mask-like face around, as if suddenly suspicious. To the Guardian's dazed brain the gaping blank eyes gleamed with evil, as its mouth slit formed a sinister smile of triumph. It turned its body to face her, reaching out with its thick, stubby fingers...
Adrenaline surged through her and she sprung from the corner and dived past the outstretched arms, but her course lead her to the doorway to the tombs – a doorway already filled with another shiny Cyberman, ready and waiting. Caught between the two advancing giants, the Guardian ducked, dived and ran, managing to escape from between them and race past them through the outer door before both of them could react.
The delay of trying to capture her meant that no more Cybermen had got past her living quarters, and there were only three ahead of her and by now they were probably on the surface. She could avoid three of them in such a wide open space, couldn't she? Yes. And there was somewhere on the surface that was safe, she remembered. Someone had told her that. Something about a box...
As the Guardian ran into the night, one by one the Cybermen inexorably followed her.