Part 25 (1/2)

That's right,' said the Doctor gently as if speaking to a nervous but potentially dangerous animal. 'I'm the Doctor and I'm one of you now. We are all Xaranti.'

Though he could feel the infection making inroads into his system, for the moment the Doctor was able to control it, to use it. He made his eyes go black simply by letting go, giving in to it for a moment. 'We are all Xaranti,' he repeated softly, 'and I'm on a very important mission. I'm going to see the queen.'

The four hybrids looked mesmerised for a moment, then the denim-s.h.i.+rted one shook his head like a dog with a flea in its ear.

'No,' he growled, the effort of talking apparently difficult for him. 'You... come... with... us...'

'I can't do that,' said the Doctor firmly. 'I'm going to see the queen. I've been told told to see the queen. If you try to stop me, it will be bad for you.' to see the queen. If you try to stop me, it will be bad for you.'

The Doctor could sense the hybrids' confusion. They understood that he was indeed Xaranti, and that the Xaranti were all one. However they were unaware of the orders he claimed to be following, knew only that their their instructions were to find and capture him. The Doctor knew he was fortunate that he had run into this group and not into one which was more fully integrated into the Xaranti communal mind. Not only would those in a more advanced metamorphic state have been aware that he was lying, but they would also have been able to send a telepathic message to every other hybrid and fully-fledged Xaranti in the vicinity, detailing his whereabouts. instructions were to find and capture him. The Doctor knew he was fortunate that he had run into this group and not into one which was more fully integrated into the Xaranti communal mind. Not only would those in a more advanced metamorphic state have been aware that he was lying, but they would also have been able to send a telepathic message to every other hybrid and fully-fledged Xaranti in the vicinity, detailing his whereabouts.

'You're confused,' the Doctor said gently, allowing a soothing telepathic pulse to accompany his words. 'Your minds are still clouded. You are not yet fully Xaranti. You still speak in a human voice.'

The Doctor was taking a gamble that the scintilla of human reason that remained in the hybrid's mind was still active enough to enable the creatures to understand his words, but no longer a.n.a.lytical enough to think them through. If it was, it would show the hybrids the loopholes in his argument - the fact that he himself was still in the very early stages of infection, for example, and thus presumably even more p.r.o.ne to confusion and misinterpretation than they were. He needn't have worried. Almost immediately he sensed the hybrids struggling with his arguments. He stepped forward and spread his arms, pressing home his advantage. 'The queen wants to see me. I'm going to her now. The only way you'll stop me is to kill me. So if you're not sure, kill me now, and face the consequences later.'

The female drew herself in and glanced nervously at her companions, her pink - still very human - tongue darting out to lick her lips. The other hybrids hung back, their minds a stew of conflicting thoughts and emotions. The Doctor looked at the leader, keeping his face impa.s.sive, trying to project an air of authority not only with his demeanour and his unblinking stare, but also with the steady, uncluttered thought-waves he projected towards them.

The leader groaned and rose from all fours to his feet; it no longer seemed his natural state. He stretched out an arm, the hand blackening, gnarling, and he pointed towards the sea.

'You... go...' he said.

Hybrids, both military and civilian, spread out into the streets around the Lombard Hotel, looking for Turlough. The Brigadier, scratching his chest, feeling the Xaranti spines rasp against his clothing, walked beside Benton. Benton had taken a long time to succ.u.mb, but now that the infection had taken hold it was rampaging through his system. His face was red and mottled where the spines were lurking beneath the surface of his skin, preparing to break through, and even his back was a little more hunched than the Brigadier's, who himself had begun to feel a pleasurable tingling between his shoulder blades.

The Brigadier could not now understand why he had resisted the call of the Xaranti for so long. Trying to hang on to the disparate mess of his human thoughts had led only to fatigue and confusion. Finally allowing the Xaranti access had been like seeing the light, admitting a new and astonis.h.i.+ng clarity into his life. He was born anew, felt a fresh and glorious future rising from the ashes of his past.

He was Xaranti. They were all Xaranti. They were all one.

Despite their failure to apprehend the boy, and the fact that the Doctor was still at large, the Brigadier felt that their plans were moving inexorably forward, coming to fruition.

The boy would be apprehended soon enough and he would lead them to the Doctor, or at least to the Doctor's TARDIS.

With that in their possession it would only be a matter of time before the Doctor succ.u.mbed. And when that happened the Xaranti would be invincible. They would spread out across the stars, engulfing planets and populations. They would a.s.similate the Zygons into their number and any other species that dared to oppose them. And those races impervious to a.s.similation - the Daleks, the Cybermen, the Movellans - would be wiped out by the awesome, devastating forces at their disposal, forces that the Doctor would give them knowledge of and access to.

Without so much as a qualm, the Brigadier and Benton walked past the smashed remains of the soldier who had fallen from the ledge above. When they had entered the boy's room and discovered his escape across the roof, the man had gone after him, but the human detritus that still cluttered his mind had resulted in a lack of concentration and he had plunged to his death. It didn't matter. Individuals were of little importance; the man was simply a tiny part of the Xaranti, the equivalent of a human cell, thousands of which died and were constantly renewed. The Brigadier, who at this juncture was still exercising the human convention of individual hierarchy, decided that their efforts would be best served searching for the boy at ground level, that if he hadn't already made his way down on to the streets, he would have to do so eventually.

Suddenly the Brigadier and his fellow hybrids within the immediate vicinity stopped dead, their faces blanking over.

As one they turned slowly to face an adjacent street before blinking and swaying as though roused from a trance. There was no need for speech, no need for confirmation; the message each of them had received was clear and unequivocal. Without hesitation, the Brigadier, Benton and their motley crew of infected soldiers and civilian hybrids converged to swarm towards their target.

Sweat rolled down Turlough's face and dripped on the tarmac beneath the car. He was shaking as if with fever. The two Xaranti were motionless, their spiny legs so close that Turlough could have reached out from his hiding place and jabbed the meat skewer in to one of them. Surely the creatures knew he was here. Why else would they have stopped?

But if they did did know, why hadn't they attempted to root him out? In some ways he wished they would just get it over with. Maybe they wanted him to make a break for it so they could pursue him, hunt him down. He heard movement at the end of the street and twisted his head to look. know, why hadn't they attempted to root him out? In some ways he wished they would just get it over with. Maybe they wanted him to make a break for it so they could pursue him, hunt him down. He heard movement at the end of the street and twisted his head to look.

Dozens of feet, many of them wearing black boots into which were tucked green army fatigues, were approaching his hiding place. They did not hurry, had no need to do so.

Turlough knew that all was lost, but still he couldn't bring himself to crawl out from under the car and give himself up.

He wished he could sink into the ground. His stomach cramped with dread. A pair of boots broke off from the rest and approached the car. They stopped in front of the vehicle.

The owner of the boots dropped down on to one knee and peered under the car. Turlough found himself face to face with the Doctor's friend, Sergeant Benton. Benton's face looked red and blotchy as if he had been out in the sun too long. There was a cloudy darkness, like the reflection of storm clouds, swimming in his eyes.

Benton grinned and saliva gleamed on his blocky white teeth.

'Boo,' he said in a rasping voice.

Since entering the R and D unit Tegan had barely said a word. Mike, keeping a surrept.i.tious eye on her, had noticed her clenched, troubled expression. He had noticed the way she moved too, slowly and tentatively, like someone in pain who was determined not to show it. Several times he had asked her if she was OK, and had received a brief nod and a preoccupied, 'Fine.' Now she was sitting against the wall in the dormitory area, staring into s.p.a.ce and taking deep breaths as though resting after an exhausting journey.

'Is your friend all right?' Charlotte asked, glancing across the room. 'She looks very pale.'

Mike had been helping the medical staff tend to those patients most in need of care and attention. He started to nod, then glanced around and drew Charlotte aside.

Speaking quietly, he said, 'Well, actually, no she's not. She's been infected by this... this virus or whatever it is.'

Charlotte looked alarmed. You mean she's changing into one of those things? Like my Dad did?'

Mike pulled a face. 'Keep your voice down. We don't want to start a panic.'

'Sorry,' whispered Charlotte. 'But what's going to happen when she becomes... uncontrollable?'

'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,' said Mike. 'For the moment she's harmless enough.'

Tegan chose that precise moment to give a loud groan and slump sideways in a dead faint. Mike rushed to her, Charlotte close behind him. Placing his hand gently beneath Tegan's head he lifted her back up into a sitting position.

'Tegan,' he said, quietly but urgently, 'Tegan, can you hear me?'

Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment, then in a thick, clotted voice, she said, 'We are Xaranti.' Her eyelids fluttered, then parted. The eyes beneath were completely black.

Mike didn't realise they had drawn an audience until he heard the collective gasp from behind him. He turned to see the doctor and nurse who had tended the Doctor's wounds, plus several curious patients, stepping back, shocked expressions on their faces. Next moment Max Butler barged through the crowd, looking hara.s.sed. 'What's going on here?'

he demanded - then he caught a glimpse of Tegan's eyes a split-second before she closed them again.

'Oh my G.o.d,' he breathed.