Part 26 (2/2)

Tegan looked just as everyone else did, dreading what she might see this time. But the thorns poking through her flesh were beginning to shrivel, to shrink. In less than a minute they had disappeared, the bloodless wounds they had made closing up, leaving not so much as a blemish on her skin.

'She's beaten it,' the woman who had pointed at her arms gasped in awe.

'I still think it's a trick,' the black man muttered.

The young man crouching beside her rounded on him. 'Of course it's not a trick, Max. Don't be so paranoid.' He holstered his gun, turned back to Tegan and took her hands.

Smiling, looking into her eyes, he said, 'No, I really think she's cured.'

Turlough's lungs were bursting. If his limbs were not being held in a vice-like grip he would have been thras.h.i.+ng with panic. The urge to breathe was almost overwhelming; he wouldn't be able to fight it for much longer, even though he knew that sucking in a breath would fill him with nothing but sea water. Sergeant Benton's hand on the back of his head was like a ma.s.sive weight bearing down on his skull.

Turlough didn't know whether the soldiers were trying to drown him or infect him, and at that moment he didn't much care. All he wanted was to be allowed to breathe.

As soon as the TARDIS had de-materialised the soldiers had moved in and grabbed him and carried him down to the sea. Turlough had protested, but they had been wordless, robotic. They had waded in almost to their waists before dunking him under. It seemed a long, long time ago now since he had last drawn breath, though it couldn't have been more than a minute or so.

I'm going to die! he thought, and the words were like screams in his head. he thought, and the words were like screams in his head. I'm going to die on this horrible planet in I'm going to die on this horrible planet in this horrible century and it's all the Doctor's fault! this horrible century and it's all the Doctor's fault! He had heard it said that drowning was a not unpleasant death, but this was worse than any nightmare he had ever had. All at once something clenched inside him, some instinctive muscular contraction caused him to inhale, and suddenly sea water was rus.h.i.+ng up his nose and down his throat. He had heard it said that drowning was a not unpleasant death, but this was worse than any nightmare he had ever had. All at once something clenched inside him, some instinctive muscular contraction caused him to inhale, and suddenly sea water was rus.h.i.+ng up his nose and down his throat.

This time panic surged through him so powerfully that his body jerked and spasmed in the soldiers' hands. Then he was floating, weightless, and he thought: This is it. This is death. This is it. This is death.

It took him a moment to realise that his limbs were free and that there was no longer a hand gripping the back of his skull, holding his head underwater. Turlough thrashed and flapped, kicking down with his legs, trying to find solid ground beneath him. He was disorientated, his lungs were as painful as open wounds, and his heart was a thick, heavy pulse that seemed to be squeezing his thoughts smaller and smaller. The sea felt stronger than he was, the inexorable suck of its tide upending him, dragging him along the sea bed. Just as the crus.h.i.+ng weight of unconsciousness threatened to engulf him completely, his head broke the surface of the water.

The sun was a hot, bright slap across his eyes. Turlough desperately wanted to suck in air, but he emerged coughing and retching, seawater rus.h.i.+ng back up out of his mouth and nose, tasting like blood. Finally the water stopped coming and Turlough took a deep, gulping breath, then immediately winced; his lungs felt bruised, as if he had been kicked repeatedly in the ribs. He was still floundering in the water, barely holding his head above the surface. Steadying himself, he planted his feet firmly on the ground and stood up.

He was surprised to find that the sea only came up to his thighs. He blinked, swiping water from his face, and saw that he was facing the sh.o.r.e. The Brigadier, Sergeant Benton and the four UNIT soldiers who had been holding him under were behaving very curiously indeed. They were convulsing, their faces twisted in anguish, as if a powerful electrical charge was being pa.s.sed through them. As Turlough watched, astounded, the six men collapsed one by one, the Brigadier on the beach, the others in the shallows as the froth of dying waves fizzed around them. Up on the promenade, Xaranti hybrids which Turlough had glimpsed patrolling to and fro like border guards, were convulsing and collapsing in a similar manner.

What was happening? Could it be something to do with the Doctor? As if thinking about his friend had willed him to return, Turlough heard the familiar grinding roar of the TARDIS's engines. Next moment, by the sea's edge, a faint blue outline s.h.i.+mmered into view and quickly solidified. The door opened just as an extra-large wave surged up the beach and slapped over the rim of the TARDIS, drenching the emerging Doctor's white cricket boots. He looked down at his soaked footwear ruefully. 'Slight miscalculation,' he said.

Then, as the wave receded, he leaped out of the TARDIS and ran across the wet sand towards the unconscious Brigadier.

'Help me get these men inside,' he shouted to Turlough, heaving the Brigadier expertly on to his shoulders in a fireman's lift and jogging with him towards the TARDIS.

Turlough, dripping wet, waded towards the sh.o.r.e. He had an entire skeleton of bones to pick with the Doctor. 'You abandoned me!' he exclaimed, hearing the wheedling quality in his voice that Tegan always commented upon, and hating it. 'I could have been drowned.'

'Yes, yes, we'll talk about that later,' the Doctor said briskly. 'Now come on, we haven't got much time.'

'Before what?' Turlough said.

The Doctor nodded up at the vast, drab bulk of the Morok s.h.i.+p towering above them. 'Before that thing takes off and gives us all a tan we'll never recover from.'

He disappeared into the TARDIS with the Brigadier and emerged again almost immediately. Turlough sighed. He could see now why Tegan always got so frustrated. She simply never had time to sit down with the Doctor and properly air her many grievances; there was always something more urgent to do. He splashed through the shallows and lifted Sergeant Benton's legs while the Doctor grabbed him under the armpits. 'Where's Tegan?' Turlough asked as they carried Benton's solid bulk, made even heavier by his wet clothes, into the TARDIS.

'Safe,' the Doctor said, lowering Benton's dripping, unconscious form to the floor of the console room, beside the Brigadier.

As they carried the third soldier into the TARDIS, Turlough exclaimed, 'Doctor!'

'What is it?'

'The Xaranti infection. It's vanished.'

It was true. With everything that had happened in the last few minutes it was only now that Turlough had noticed the spines on the men's skin and the growing humps on each of their backs had disappeared.

'Yes,' said the Doctor, grinning. 'Miraculous, isn't it?' He laid the man next to his colleagues and ran out for the next one, leaving any further explanations still-born.

Less than a minute later, the Doctor and Turlough were hurrying towards the TARDIS with the last soldier. A few steps from the open door, Turlough heard a dry, scuttling sound and looked up. 'Doctor!' he called.

The incoming tide had perhaps another hundred yards of sand to cover before it came up against the sea wall.

Swarming over that wall now, and dropping down on to the beach thirty feet below, were dozens, perhaps hundreds of mature Xaranti. They were moving strangely, lop-sidedly, like injured crabs, scuttling and scrambling over one another in their cluttering, high-pitched panic. They were moving in one direction only, towards their mother-s.h.i.+p, which meant that in another ten or fifteen seconds they would be swarming over and around the TARDIS.

'Inside, quickly!' the Doctor said. He and Turlough covered the gap to the TARDIS at a run, carrying the soldier between them. They laid the man down, then the Doctor leaped across to the console and yanked back the lever that closed the TARDIS doors. Turlough, meanwhile, switched on the scanner and watched as the bristling ma.s.s of Xaranti rushed past them. Their purloined s.h.i.+p had extended ramps like lolling tongues, which lapped up the Xaranti and gulped them into the craft's interior.

'Time to go,' the Doctor said from the console where he had been setting coordinates. Turlough was unsure whether he was referring to themselves or the Xaranti. The Doctor pulled the lever that would propel the TARDIS into the s.p.a.ce/Time vortex and then frowned.

'Turlough,' he said sternly, 'you're dripping on my floor.'

For two minutes after the TARDIS had de-materialised, the Xaranti continued to pour into the Morok s.h.i.+p. At last they were all aboard and the ramps that had extended to admit them were retracted before the doors slid closed. Immediately six portals, evenly-s.p.a.ced around the body of the s.h.i.+p, opened like eyes, and a cannon-like tube extended smoothly from each one. These tubes extended so far, then bent downwards in the middle at a forty-five degree angle, quickly becoming jointed, telescopic supporting struts. As soon as their tips had embedded themselves in the sand, there was a deep rumbling sound and two large cavities opened at the base of the Morok craft, one on each side. The gigantic caterpillar tracks that had been used to trundle across the sea-bed and up on to the beach lifted up from the sand, tipped slowly sideways with a growling of powerful machinery and folded themselves neatly into the belly of the s.h.i.+p.

Once the cavities had rumbled closed, sealing the caterpillar tracks inside, the Morok s.h.i.+p looked less like the kind of tank that could flatten houses and more like a conventional s.p.a.ce craft. There was a pause, then the s.h.i.+p began to growl and shake as if building itself into a rage.

Slowly the growling increased in volume and pitch and the shaking grew more intense until suddenly four columns of fire - pink and orange threads twisting like agonised spirits in the blinding whiteness - gouted from the ma.s.sive thrusters at the base of the s.h.i.+p, accompanied by black, boiling plumes of smoke which sullied the pristine blue of the sky.

The supporting struts snapped back into the s.h.i.+p's interior as the columns of flame struggled to lift the Morok craft from the expanding pool of boiling clinker it was bequeathing the Earth. The s.h.i.+p seemed to groan, its engines screamed - and then it was free, and lumbering skywards. It rose and rose until it was nothing but a black speck trailing fire, and then finally less than that - the merest glint of flame.

The tide rushed over the glowing pool of molten rock that the s.h.i.+p's departure had created, turning instantly to a furiously hissing cloud of steam.

Mike and Charlotte had just finished filling Tegan in on the events of the past two days when the materialising TARDIS swept panic through the R and D unit. Charlotte scrambled clear of the howling roar of the engines and ducked behind the nearest bed. Max Butler took several steps backwards before tripping over his own feet and plumping unceremoniously on to his backside.

'What the h.e.l.l is that?' that?' Max cried, clearly at the end of his tether. Max cried, clearly at the end of his tether.

'The TARDIS, of course,' Tegan said as if it was obvious.

Mike jumped up, raising his hands placatingly, as the craft solidified and the roar of its engines faded. 'There's no need to panic,' he shouted, feeling like Corporal Jones in Dad's Dad's Army. Army. 'This is a friend. He's come to help us.' 'This is a friend. He's come to help us.'

I hope, he thought, crossing his fingers, remembering that the last time he had seen the Doctor he had been infected by the virus. He tensed, his hand moving instinctively to the b.u.t.t of his holstered gun, as the TARDIS doors opened. he thought, crossing his fingers, remembering that the last time he had seen the Doctor he had been infected by the virus. He tensed, his hand moving instinctively to the b.u.t.t of his holstered gun, as the TARDIS doors opened.

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