Night Of The Humans Read online

  The controls were so archaic he was vaguely surprised to find an autopilot. Still, he was pretty sure he had it all figured out. Now if he could only bring himself to call Dr Heeva to the ship and take off, make that final move. Leave the Gyre.

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  But it wasn't just a case of leaving the Gyre. If that was all it came down to, he'd have activated the bomb and left right away. No, something else was keeping him here, stopping him from leaving. His anger had subsided now, and in its place he felt something strange and unsettling. An emotion that was different to anything he had felt before. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought it was a human emotion. Fear.

  'Captain Jamal!'

  The voice of Dr Heeva spoke to him from the cockpit's intercom.

  'Yes, Dr Heeva. What is it?'

  He looked up from the windscreen of the Golden Bough towards the deck of the Beagle XXI. Dr Heeva was standing in its windows, holding the microphone to her mouth.

  "There's a signal, Captain. It's coming from the human city.'

  'What kind of a signal?'

  'It looks like Morse code, sir.'

  'Morse code? Who uses Morse code these days?'

  'I don't know. I can barely make it out. There's a flashing light... Looks like it's coming from the tower; from the old wreck. But I can't read Morse code.'

  'OK, Heeva. Read it out to me. Tell me what it says.'

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  One by one Dr Heeva read out the dots and dashes of the signal, and one by one Captain Jamal translated them into letters.

  'H... u... m... a... n... s... a... t... t... a... c...k…i…’

  That was when he was stopped. At the other end of the line, Dr Heeva was silent. He looked up at her once more.

  'It's the humans...' gasped Captain Jamal. "The humans are coming.'

  Dr Heeva nodded, closing her eyes. 'Then I'll do it,' she said.

  'Do what?'

  I’ll activate the bomb.'

  They were surrounded by Sollogs on all sides. The monstrous slimy creatures slithered through the stagnant green waters of the swamp and scuttled from pipe to pipe, drawing around them in an ever-tightening circle. Some of their vehicles had proven useless crossing the swamp, and had been left on the salt flat. Others, such as the contraption carrying Django on his throne, were more robust.

  Django looked around, at the swarming Sollogs, and he bared his teeth and snarled at them. Around him, his men fought with the creatures, lunging at them and skewering them with spears, or shooting them with arrows, but they were outnumbered.

  As all hope seemed lost, there came from the 151

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  sky a series of loud crashing sounds, each one more deafening than the last.

  Django looked up from his throne and saw, high above, what looked like falling stars, tearing through the dark blue sky - so bright it looked as if the night itself had been ripped into shreds. The falling stars passed over the swamp, heading east, and then there was a sound like thunder, and the ground beneath them shook. The plastic tubes that shot up from the surface of the swamp clanked and rattled, and the waters sloshed around their legs.

  The Sollogs were startled, their attack on the humans forgotten in an instant. They scurried in all directions, breaking from their packs.

  Django began to laugh.

  'A miracle!' he roared, then pointed east to the far side of the swamp. 'We move on!'

  They marched on through the swamp, hacking away at the plastic tubes with their swords and spears, until at last they reached the edge of the canyon. Half of the metal pipe that had been a makeshift bridge was still hanging from their side of the gorge, but over on the other side they saw the point where the fallen stars had crashed.

  The high cliffs to either side of the distant gully were beginning to collapse: mountains of refuse hundreds of metres tall now crumbling, sending countless tons of metal plummeting down into the canyon.

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  Django stood up from his throne, holding his hands towards the sky. His army could only look on, as the canyon before them began to disappear, its dark void filled with the falling wreckage. Great clouds of dust and smoke billowed up from the chaos and the noise below them, and Django was laughing.

  When it had stopped, and the dust had settled, they saw before them not an impassable gulf, but a shallow trench.

  'Witness!' shouted Django. 'Witness the might of Gobo! We move on!'

  At his order, the humans marched on, down into the shallow ravine and ever closer to the Sittuun's hiding place.

  Several storeys below the bridge of the Beagle XXI, the Nanobomb sat in its chamber. The room was silent and still, and would have been completely dark had it not been illuminated by the light from the bomb's counter. The digits counted down, second by second.

  00:59:23...

  00:59:22...

  00:59:21...

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  16

  The cargo hold of the GFS Herald of Nanking was vast. No, the Doctor decided. Vast was too small a word. Four letters, one syllable. Vast was far too small. Humungous was getting there, but still didn't do it justice. As they entered the cavernous space, with Tuco now carrying the flaming torch, their voices echoed out into the gloom, bouncing through deep gullies of crates and containers.

  'Crikey! said the Doctor. 'It'll be like finding a needle in a haystack. Or rather, it'll be like finding one specific needle in a pile of near-identical needles.'

  With the ship having crashed at such an angle - its front half buried in the Gyre and the whole ship turned slightly on its side

  - the cargo hold was

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  like the inside of a cube balanced perfectly on one corner. Most of its contents had been sent tumbling down to one end of the room, where the containers lay in a disorganised mound.

  'Not necessarily, Doctor! said Slipstream, producing a small hardbound book from his pocket. He flipped it open, licked his thumb, and began flicking through the pages.

  'This book lists all of the passengers, crew and contents for the Herald of Nanking on the day she went missing. Only thing it doesn't have is schematics. Seems the Herald of Nanking was quite the mystery, back in the day. A small army of obsessive enthusiasts would pore over her every last detail and concoct all manner of outlandish theories to explain her disappearance. And this book lists not only the contents of the ship, but also their location.'

  Slipstream craned his head back, looking up into the far corner of the room.

  'I say... Tuco, old chap, could you lift the torch a little higher?

  You're hogging all the light.'

  With a derisive grunt, Tuco lifted the torch. The feeble light spread itself a little further into the room, pushing back the shadows.

  'Up there! said Slipstream. 'Row F. Level 3. Let's get climbing.'

  Like mountaineers in the foothills of a mountain range, the four of them set about climbing up

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  over the rugged landscape of shattered crates and debris, past stacks and shelves that had buckled and sagged after millennia of neglect. From somewhere, out beyond the ship's hull, they heard another thunderous boom. The room shook violently, flakes of orange rust raining down from the ceiling.

  The Doctor felt both of his hearts beating faster than before.

  'So, Slipstream...' he said.

  'Yes, Doctor?'

  'When we're done here, when you've got what you want, we're leaving, yes?'

  Slipstream shrugged. 'Wish it was up to me, old chap,' he said. 'I only arranged for you to be spared today. Didn't quite have the clout to get you off all charges, I'm afraid. What say you, Tuco? When we're finished, can the Doctor leave?'

  'No! Tuco snapped. 'He is a heretic and a prisoner of Django. He will be thrown into Lake Mono.'

  'Ah, see?' s
aid Slipstream. 'Sorry, Doctor. Them's the breaks, as they say. Damned nuisance. Can't say I envy you.'

  The Doctor turned to Tuco. 'Tuco... Listen to me. In another hour or two, there won't be a Lake Mono. You hear those noises outside?'

  Tuco shrugged; a gesture almost of denial.

  'But you can hear them. Can't you?'

  'Maybe.'

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  "That noise is the sound of little bits of comet slamming into this place, tearing it apart. I'm talking little bits of comet.

  About this big?' He held his finger and thumb no more than three inches apart. 'The comet... I mean the actual comet... Is hundreds of metres across. Bigger than this room. When it hits us, this world will be destroyed. Everyone will die. Do you understand that?'

  Tuco looked at him coldly, narrowing his eyes. "Then it is the way of Gobo,' he growled with a sinister smile.

  As they climbed further up towards the high corner of the cargo hold, Manco walked beside the Doctor.

  'It's no use,' he said. 'They won't listen. They never listen.'

  They were halfway up the mountain of upturned crates when they heard something fluttering around their heads. It sounded to the Doctor like moths on a summer's night, hovering towards the nearest source of light. They halted abruptly, none of them daring to move. Tuco's face was frozen with alarm, the hand in which he carried the torch shaking.

  Something small passed between the Doctor and the flickering light; something tiny and dark and silhouetted against the flame.

  Tuco jumped, losing his footing and falling onto his back.

  The torch landed beside him, but the

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  flame carried on burning.

  Now the Doctor could see more of the flying creatures, none of them any bigger than his thumb. He crouched down beside where Tuco had fallen, squinting at them in the dim light. Lifting it from the ground the Doctor moved the flame through the stygian gloom, and saw dozens, perhaps hundreds, of tiny airborne forms.

  One of them came right up to his face, hovering before him with its wings flapping into a blur. The creature was limbless, but for its wings; its scaly body was a golden shade of orange, its eyes like tiny silver pennies. Its mouth tapered away into what looked like a beak.

  'Hello!' said the Doctor, holding up his hand and offering it a gentle wave.

  'What the devil is that?' Slipstream gasped, looking at the creature with an expression of disgust.

  'I think it's a fish,' said the Doctor. 'A flying fish. Literally.'

  From his side he heard the sound of Slipstream's blaster powering up - a thin whining sound that rose in pitch.

  Slipstream lifted the gun, and aimed it straight for the tiny flying fish.

  'Blasted pests!' he barked. 'Planet's infested with 'em. If it's not the savages it's eight-legged slugs, and if it's not them it's a flying piranha!'

  Before Slipstream could fire, the Doctor reached 159

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  out, grabbed the gun by its barrel, and gently steered his aim away from the fish.

  'Does it look like a piranha to you?' he asked. 'Look around you. Do you spot much in the way of meat? And look at Tuco. He's never seen one of these things before. They must only live in here, inside the ship.'

  Tuco was on his feet again, brushing the dust and flakes of brown rust from his clothes. All at once the flying fish swarmed around him, nibbling at the air like goldfish taking their food from the surface of a fish tank.

  'What are they doing?' Tuco growled, squirming with displeasure.

  'The rust! said the Doctor. "They're eating the rust.'

  'I still say we should kill 'em,' Slipstream snapped. 'Just in case.'

  'Yes, well you would. But not everything here is as mean-spirited as you.'

  Slipstream scowled at him and, for the first time since they had become reacquainted, the Doctor could sense the simmering resentment beneath Slipstream's cool, suave exterior. However cordial he might be playing this, Slipstream clearly wasn't here to let 'bygones be bygones', as he had put it. When all this was over, when they had found the Mymon Key, Slipstream would no doubt look for his revenge.

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  They heard another crash from outside the ship. This one sounded closer than any they had heard before.

  'Come on! said the Doctor, holding up the torch and leading the way. 'Let's find your key.'

  As the light around them grew dimmer, Slipstream, Manco and Tuco followed him. Up and up they climbed, the incline of spilt containers getting steeper, until at last they reached the upper corner of the room.

  'Here it is,' announced Slipstream. 'Row F. Level 3.'

  He seized the torch from the Doctor's hand, and began to navigate his way around the buckled shelves and fallen crates.

  'It must be here somewhere...'

  The others could only stand there and watch him.

  Somewhere beyond the cargo hold and the ship there was another thunderous boom. The Doctor looked at Manco and then at Tuco, who was still watching him with simmering malevolence. With Slipstream distracted by his search for the casket, maybe this was his opportunity. Maybe he and Manco could make a run for it. With Sancho gone, they could get past Tuco easily enough. They could leave the cargo hold and the ship, and escape from the human city. Maybe they could find their way to the Sittuun, and Amy, before it was all too late.

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  But something was keeping him there. A feeling he didn't want to acknowledge. It was curiosity. The Doctor wanted to see the casket and its contents. He needed to see it. Mercutio 14 was now no more than a burnt and barren rock, devoid of life. The Hexion Geldmongers had been extinct for millennia. The Mymon Key, their greatest and most terrible creation, was the stuff of legends. He had to see it. That was what was keeping him there.

  'I've found it! Slipstream gasped, his voice trembling with emotion. 'I've found it.'

  The Doctor ran to his side and looked over his shoulder.

  Then he saw it: the gleaming cobalt box, its lustre only slightly tarnished by the thin film of dust on its surface.

  Slipstream swept over it with his hand, and now the Doctor saw the markings on its surface -an ancient language that hadn't been written down or spoken in hundreds of thousands of years.

  'Give it to me,' said the Doctor.

  Slipstream lifted the casket, which was no bigger than a shoebox, free of the cluttered mound of fallen crates, and looked back at the Doctor, smiling awkwardly.

  'What did you say?'

  'I said give it to me.'

  Slipstream frowned quizzically, as if taken aback by the Doctor's tone, and then the Doctor reached forward and seized the box from his grasp.

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  The Doctor ran his hands around the casket, his fingers tracing their way through the intricate markings. He held the casket up to his ear as if listening out for something the others simply couldn't hear. He shook the box, and listened to it once more.

  'It's broken,' he said.

  'Well, I'm not surprised, old bean,' snapped Slipstream.

  'What with you shaking it about like that.'

  'No... It's always been broken. The whole time it's been here.'

  'What do you mean, broken? The key?'

  'No... Not the key. The casket. The anti-gravitational field isn't working. The key... the key has been working the whole time.'

  Slipstream stood at his side and pointed at the markings.

  'And this?' he said. 'Can you read this?'

  The Doctor nodded reluctantly. 'You know I can.'

  'And what does it say?'

  'They're instructions,' the Doctor replied. 'But you knew that already.'

  'Perhaps I did. Then I'd suggest you follow them, Doctor.

  Follow the instructions and open the casket.'

  The Doctor shook his head. 'I can't,'
he whispered. 'I can't let you have the Mymon Key. It's too powerful.'

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  Slipstream lifted his blaster and placed its barrel squarely against the Doctor's head.

  'Open the damned casket! he snarled. 'I won't ask you a second time.'

  He could see them now, blazing towards them in a shimmering cloud of dust; the dark mass of humans tearing their way across the desert of glass.

  The engines of the Golden Bough roared into life with a terrific whoosh and the whole ship shuddered.

  'Dr Heeva! said Captain Jamal, speaking into the intercom. 'What is your location?'

  'I'm on Deck 3.'

  'Then hurry. They're almost here. We have to get out of here!'

  He looked back across the glistening desert, and saw the black haze separating out, the individual forms of the humans and their ancient, makeshift vehicles becoming visible.

  Somewhere in amongst the mob he saw a single figure riding on an arachnoid, eight-legged vehicle - a figure dressed in flowing white robes - and he knew instantly it must be their leader.

  'Please, Dr Heeva... Hurry!'

  Heeva came running from the loading bay door, but stopped at its control panel and began hitting the keys.

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  the intercom.

  'I'm closing the doors! said Dr Heeva. 'If we leave them open, the humans will get to the bomb. They might be able to deactivate it. We have to close the doors.'

  There isn't time.'

  'Then go.'

  'I can't. I won't leave without you.'

  Dr Heeva turned from the control panel and looked up at him. There were tears streaming from her small black eyes and rolling down her pallid, grey cheeks.

  'Please! she said. 'Just go.'

  Captain Jamal closed his eyes. From beyond the hull of the Golden Bough, he could hear the sound of Schuler-Khan's fragments slamming into the Gyre. And he could hear the humans, their machines clanking and hissing, and their heavy feet stomping as they ran. They bellowed and they hollered, their animal cries echoing out into the perpetual night.