Part 11 (2/2)

'Well,' said Chris, 'Zatopek has kind of given himself away as well.'

'Not what I mean either. Watch out.'

Chris stood up. 'Is the Doctor in danger?'

Son of My Father just shrugged.

Four hours. Chris couldn't settle. The Ogrons had gone back into their quarters, but he kept wandering around the s.h.i.+p. He tried jogging for a while, but it just made him feel lightheaded.

He ran a dozen diagnostics on the Hopper's systems, checking for sabotage, then irregularities, then anything out of the ordinary. He found a few modifications in the drive system, and remembered with a surprisingly guilty start that they'd pinched the s.h.i.+p.

Four and a half hours. He cooked some chicken soup in the galley, but didn't want it. He tried to grab a nap, but couldn't, lying in his quarters waiting for the bridge computer to tell him the Doctor was back in radio range.

Eventually he tried so hard to go to sleep that he dropped off from exhaustion.

He felt the dream come down like a terrible weight on his chest, like a tornado blowing through the tiny cabin. He tried to open his eyes, grabbing at the lids with his fingers, and somehow opened them, but the dream didn't stop, slithering out from under the bed.

Slithering. Green eyes, watching.

96.Chris stumbled across the cabin and smacked into the opposite wall. 'Go away!' he yelled. 'I'm awake awake!'

A voice came hissing out of the dream's scaly face. 'Can't you feel it?' it insisted. 'It's all changing. Changing all around you.'

There wasn't much stuff in the cabin, but it was blowing around as though the hull had been punctured. 's.h.i.+t!' shouted Chris. 'What's happening?'

'Don't you feel it?' said the dream.

'Yeah,' said Chris. 'The Doctor.'

He stumbled across the room, the wind trying to knock him over, the dream trying to curl itself around his legs.

There was no sign of the Ogrons. Chris thought of hammering on their door, but the wind pushed him away, down the narrow corridor, down to the airlock.

Somewhere out there, he knew, the Doctor was at the green eye of the storm. Oh G.o.d, this wasn't a dream: something real was happening. Somewhere out there, deep in Artemis's belly.

They'd gone under her skin, seen what they shouldn't have seen, and now they were being chased across the mountain by ravening dreams like dogs let off the leash.

Chris bent over, hands pressed against his knees, gasping for breath. The images were just blowing through him, on their way to nowhere.

He pulled on the s.p.a.cesuit, his pale hands appearing like insects from the ends of the fat sleeves. He shook as he tugged on and locked the gloves. He had to get out there, push into the storm, find the Doctor and pull him free.

Did he need to? He watched his hand disappear into the glove.

Wouldn't the Doctor just shed his skin again? Wouldn't he just let the storm burn him, burn his skin away, and crawl out of the mountain laughing?

All those skins, torn loose and blown away in the wind, all those different faces, sailing past him, glimpses of faces smiling or serious, but all of them the Doctor. Shedding his skin, his skins, shattered like a dropped cup.

One of the skins blew right up to Chris, flapping against him like an escaped newspaper. He beat it away before it could wrap itself around him, and it went blowing away, one of hundreds.

97.Chris pulled on the helmet, snapped it in place and turned on the internal environment. Instantly he was gasping, sparkles exploding in front of his eyes. The terrible weight pushed against his chest as he struggled with the helmet.

The dream crawled out of its resting place in the suit, looming in his helmet, its lethal eyes an inch from his. He shrieked, his own voice shrilling in his ears.

The sound changed, suddenly, and he realized the helmet was off and he could breathe again. Son of My Father was looking at him.

'Bad air,' said the Ogron. 'You must be careful and check the air.'

'Yes,' Chris wheezed. He was sitting on the floor of the airlock, leaning against the wall at an awkward angle, the oxygen pack propping him up. He rolled, face down on the floor.

Son of My Father looked at the indicators. 'No air,' he said.

'Not even bad air. Someone forgot to get this suit ready.'

Chris shook his head. His hair was plastered to his face. He pushed at it, clumsy in his gloves. 'Someone must have disabled the safeties. I'll bet you anything the other suits are the same.'

Son of My Father crouched beside him. 'Good Ogron,' he said, 'good Chris. You stay here in the s.h.i.+p.'

'Jeez,' said Chris. 'If they wanted me to stay, they only had to ask ask.'

An hour later the control board lit up with vital signs. Two sets of signs, one of them rapid with panic, the other wildly erratic.

Chris took a deep breath and said, 'Can you hear me? What's your condition?' Nothing. 'Do you require a.s.sistance?' Nothing.

Not like he could give any. He'd tried repairing one of the sabotaged suits, working from the manual, but it was going to take hours.

' G.o.d's sake say something! Can't you hear me?' yelled Martinique.

'Relax, Professor, I can hear you fine.' He'd probably only just remembered which b.u.t.ton to press. 'What's your status?'

'Dead!' gasped Martinique. 'Zatopek's dead. Send the Ogrons.

I'm carrying the Doctor. I'm exhausted.'

98.Chris glanced at the second set of wavering vital signs. 'Slow down, Professor. What happened to the Doctor? Where's Iaomnet?'

'I don't know. I don't know what the h.e.l.l happened to us. It all just blew up in our faces. We have to get out of here. Send the Ogrons.'

'I can't, Professor. All of the spare HE suits have been sabotaged.'

'You're lying.' The academic was breathing hard as he dragged the Doctor along. 'You just don't want to help us, and your friend friend is is dying dying!'

Chris made himself speak slowly and clearly. 'What happened to him?'

'The same thing that happened to Zatopek on the s.h.i.+p,' said Martinique. 'But a thousand times worse. A million times worse.'

'Ca.s.sandra,' breathed the Doctor.

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