09 - Love and War

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With thanks to:

Keith Topping – the creator of Johnny Chess.

Martin Day – much patience.

The MSCT – fraternity.

Jonathan Head – research.

Penny List – moral support.

And to all my friends, for their love and patience.

And thanks to Mum and Dad, for Bread and Butter and Honey.

For

Julia Houghton

Lisa Wardle

THE NEW

Doctor Who

ADVENTURES

LOVE AND WAR

PAUL CORNELL

First published in Great Britain in 1992 by Doctor Who Books

an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd

338 Ladbroke Grove

London W10 5AH

ISBN 0 426 20385 2

A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

Cover illustration by Lee Sullivan

Printed and bound in Great Britain by

Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks.

Typeset by Type Out, London SW 16

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent,

resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent and

without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Scanned by The Camel

Table of Contents

The Prologues: Deaths....................................................................................................................................................................................... 6

1: Heaven's Gate.............................................................................................................................................................................................. 11

2: Wild Horses.................................................................................................................................................................................................. 19

3: Twenty-Fifth-Century Boy............................................................................................................................................................................. 30

4: Twenties Kicks............................................................................................................................................................................................. 42

5: Ace Dreaming............................................................................................................................................................................................... 48

6: I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man................................................................................................................................................ 50

7: Necropolis.................................................................................................................................................................................................... 56

8: Burning Bridges............................................................................................................................................................................................ 66

9: The Armies Of The Night.............................................................................................................................................................................. 70

10: No More Mister Nice Guy........................................................................................................................................................................... 80

11: Continuity................................................................................................................................................................................................... 87

12: Three Manuscripts...................................................................................................................................................................................... 96

13: Something Terrible................................................................................................................................................................................... 100

14: Inside The Sphere.................................................................................................................................................................................... 105

15: Ace Falling................................................................................................................................................................................................ 108

16: No Escape From Heaven......................................................................................................................................................................... 111

17: The End.................................................................................................................................................................................................... 121

18: Afterwards................................................................................................................................................................................................ 126

Epilogues: Deaths and Other Lives................................................................................................................................................................ 131

The Prologues: Deaths

Two birds circled each other in the sky above the Lincolnshire marshes. They were owls in love, as

much as owls could love. They were two predators, spinning past each other through the night.

Their thoughts were animal concerns of nest and prey, and the moon shone bright on their

outstretched wings.

Owls in love notice little, but they know more than humans might think they do. Under the

full moon, in the wind that breathed over the midnight marshland, they heard a noise. To you

or I, it would be the noise of a car. The owls swept past each other again, and shared the

thought in their pass that the noise was a dark thing, darker than they were.

The noise was a memory-to-be, a little piece of tragedy. The owls looked down, and their eyes

fastened, in and in, searching out the heart of the noise.

They provided words for what they saw too, in the semi-language of owls. The words were a

kind of poem, a long song, and the poem began like this:

Long ago, when love was real, an orange Allegro screeched around a corner, throwing up

gravel on the single-track road. Its headlights caught a rabbit on the verge, and the animal

hopped back into cover.

In front of the car the road split into three, and there was no signpost. Wavering slightly,

the speeding car shot up the middle path.

'How did you know that was the right one?' shouted the woman.

'I didn't!' called Julian, laughing. 'What's on your map, Ace?'

'A load of nothing.'

'We're getting there then!'

There had been this road on the map that headed out towards the sea, and then stopped. Not

in a town or anything, just stopped dead. Julian had shown up outside the school gates that

morning, and thrown his L-plates at Ace. She was Ace by then, of course, developing that Ace

frown that was starting to push her friends into two groups: the ones who wanted to walk over

the line and the ones who wanted to walk away. She was fifteen.

Julian was a lot older. He'd been over quite a few lines and walked both ways. Ace liked

him loads, like he was an older brother. They'd shoved on a Bowie tape and driven north, eating

at a motorway service station, and wandering around Lincoln Cathedral, talking.

When Ace was on the point of wondering if they'd be calling the police at home, or if they'd notice

she'd gone, she'd spotted the road to nowhere. It stopped, out in the middle of a void on the

map.

Of course, she had to see what was out there.

The flatlands sped past the windows, September winds whipping into the car. Standing on

top of a bluff near Scrane End, Ace had smelt a terrible approaching cold in that wind and

shivered.

She was too young to feel so bad, she thought. If you ran at that cold, if you ran and

ran at it, holding your arms wide like you were a leaf launching into autumn, then maybe

you could turn the horror into some kind of experience. You didn't have to be sad about the

seasons.

Lights were approaching in the distance. Julian glanced at Ace and scrunched up his face in

that way of his. 'Whatever's out here, it's very bright.'

'Maybe it's a spaceship!'

'You wish. Let's find out.'

'You always do that, don't you? Jump in and have a go.'

Julian shrugged. 'You have to live before you die.'

***

The first clump of earth dropped on to the coffin lid.

Ace blinked in the summer sunlight. She'd been thinking about that old Allegro. Julian had

had only one more car before he'd died. Ace had only seen him one more time. He hadn't

been ill, but he'd had that distracted expression that suggested he might have known.

Known that he only had two years of life left.

Ace looked up at the sky as the soil covered the name plaque. She wasn't listening to what

the vicar was saying. There was quite a crowd around the grave, mainly the young men that

Julian had known in London. While his relatives wept and shuddered, they stood with a sorrow

that was kind of fraternal, like what Julian had been would continue as part of them.

Ace thought that was good. She hadn't wanted to weep herself, because, dear as he'd

been, she hadn't seen Julian for years. Recent experiences had taught her about the pain of

nostalgia. Maybe she'd think about it a while later, shed a few tears when she'd got the

memories sorted out. You had to be careful with tears. Ace sometimes wished that that wasn't

true.

A boy glanced up at her, and their eyes met. He was very beautiful. After a second, he

nodded in greeting, and Ace felt a little parting of time. If it had gone another way, long ago,

she might have been with Julian. Loved him.

Parting two: then they might both be dead.

Ace gave the boy a gentle smile.

The sun was getting lower over Perivale, splitting through the trees as they trooped out of the

cemetery to the waiting cars. Autumn was rushing in hungrily, a cold breeze in every three a

warm ones.

'I thought you said you weren't coming back.' Shreela had taken Ace's arm. 'Are you

staying?'

'No. I can come back anytime I want. How're you doing, anyway?'

'Oh . . .' The Asian woman sighed, looking at her feet. 'Okay. We all are. Trying to make

sense of what happened to us.'

'Wouldn't bother if I were you. I haven't managed.'

'Come and have a pint at least.'

Ace squeezed her friend's arm. 'I wish I could. But I have a lift waiting . . .'

Shreela grinned as she saw the twinkle in Ace's eye.

They walked up Horsenden Hill, talking about the Christmas cards that Chad Boyle had

suddenly sent everybody last year, after years of silence, and about poor dead Midge and poor dead

Julian. Shreela had actually called Chad up and got a job on his newspaper, doing odd jobs in

the office, learning the trade.

Shreela was about to mention Mum, Ace could tell. She didn't know that Ace had actually walked up

to her old front door that morning, looked through the letterbox. She'd asked the gang not to

mention that they'd met her recently. Maybe Mum thought she was dead. After all, the time storm

that pulled her away from Earth had left things in a mess. If she'd mourned and got over it

all, Ace sometimes thought that there was no point in going back and opening all Mum's old

wounds.

But, and this was odd, as Ace got older she was thinking more and more of just popping in, having

a cuppa. Hugging her Mum and just saying, No, that was just a stupid childish daydream. That

couldn't happen, so there was no use thinking about it.

She put a finger over Shreela's lips. They hugged, made their goodbyes, and Ace was left alone

to climb the hill.

She was feeling sadder than at the funeral. Must be the cold, stinging her through her jacket's

fraying seams. Damn, maybe she was going to cry after all. Well, if that was gonna happen,

she'd stay here and get rid of it. Julian had been such a happy man, why do people like that

always have to go? What's the point in that? But the walk was hard, and that kept her emotions in

check.

Besides, in Ace's life, there was something that worked against sadness every time.

On top of Horsenden Hill stood a police box that was not a police box.

Outside it lay an odd little man, his hands behind his head. His eyes were closed, and the low

sunlight sparkled off the dark gem in his ring. He didn't seem cold at all.

Ace smiled. How could she be sad when the Doctor was in the world?

She'd been surprised when he'd woken her up that morning, looking rather uncomfortable.

He'd told her that there was a sad event she ought to attend. Of course, he hadn't told her what it

was, but that was because he had real trouble with spiky feelings sometimes.

Getting here at all must have been difficult. The TARDIS, the Doctor's multidimensional

police-box craft, had been behaving erratically lately. One time, Ace had been wandering along a

corridor for what seemed ages, only to realise that she was never going to get to the other

end. She'd turned around and sprinted in the other direction, and actually watched as a door

sped away from her, the corridor becoming an endless loop. Finally, she'd slammed the wall in

frustration, and a new door had appeared.

When she'd told the Doctor, he'd just raised an eyebrow, and put it down to the age of the

ship. But then, the Doctor was getting strange these days too, a bit distant, like he was plotting

again. Another big game hunt, another war against the monsters. Hadn't that attitude got him into

enough trouble already?

Ace crept forward across the grass, her fake leather gloves just above the surface. She

hadn't know what to wear to a funeral, but at least it was all black. Should have been orange,

like Julian's hair.

She reached out a hand to flick the Doctor's chin, but one eye opened, and he grinned.

'How did it go?'

Ace rolled on to the grass and nestled her head next to his. 'Mate of mine died, they put him

in a hole, end of story. Wish I'd known he was going. I'd really like to have been there for

him.'

'If I'd have been able to get you there –'

'I know.' Ace put a hand under her chin and looked into the Doctor's eyes. The Doctor wasn't

a man, although he looked like one. Shreela had joked about Ace looking for a father figure, and

Ace had replied that it was more like an ancestor figure, since the Doctor was 783 years old,

give or take a year. He was a Time Lord, more than a Time Lord, from the ancient world of

Gallifrey. He navigated time-space in a police box. He fought evil and did good. And he was

Ace's best friend.

'I've nothing to do . . .' the Doctor frowned. 'Nowhere to go.'

'No monsters to finish off?'

'All the dragons are dead. Little Jimmy Piper isn't pleased. Do you fancy going to do

something trivial?'

'Fine. I'm still a bit shook up by the funeral. Hasn't really hurt yet.'

'It will. When it does, I'll slip away into a library, to find a book that I've been thinking

about . . .' The Doctor raised a finger, and bounced it up and down, watching Ace's gaze

follow it. 'Shall we go?'

'Let's go,' said Ace.

Silently, the insectlike forms of three Peggcorp swift-response fighters streaked through the

cometary debris on the fringe of a binary star system.

'The edge of human space . . .' Captain Mark Diski wandered between stations on the bridge

of his ship, stroking his beard. 'Here be Daleks . . .'

Brewer looked up from the sensor desk nervously. She knew that Diski had the ear of the

Managing Director, and was hoping for a full Sword and Colours if he could find the missing Dalek

fleet. The War was still blazing away in other quadrants, but Earth wasn't itself under threat at

the moment. So, an individual captain with an urge to travel . . . well, he could go far.

Rumours persisted that during the battle of Alpha Centauri, when a small squadron of

Silurian – Brewer checked herself, they liked to be called Earth Reptiles now – vessels had seen

off the main Dalek force, a whole fleet of the tin monsters had vanished into hyperspace. They

were almost a legend now. It was a mark of Diski's reputation that he had been given such

resources to locate them. Personally, Brewer hoped that he wouldn't.

'Full sweep reveals nothing, sir. May I point out that at this range we are in danger of

Sontaran interest.'

'Nonsense, Kate! They're busy in the Magellanic Cloud. I just hope the Daleks have fallen

foul of them. We'll do a reconnaissance on the solid worlds here, then . . . Benson, we'll warp

out two more systems, so have a course ready.' Diski settled back at his command post; and

flipped open the heavily bound leather volume that was his log. Pulling the quill from his belt,

he made a note. Half those notes, thought Brewer, were just dashes, a nervous habit made into an

official pose. The book had been a gift from the MD, of course. Diski thumped the book closed, and

stood again, his eyes gazing wildly into the darkness.

His eyes found that suddenly something was there.

'Massive body emerging from hyperspace!' Brewer was shouting, suddenly. 'Weapons

systems reacting –'

'Stop them,' Diski cut in. 'That's not a Dalek design.'

It was a vast sphere, almost the size of a small moon. Its surface shone a glossy brown,

and any features on it were tiny. A thin tracery of mottled lines ran over the body of the sphere.

It was rolling through space, the glistening exterior reflecting the orange hue of the twin suns,

and it was right in front of the patrol.

Something about the sphere made Diski feel nauseous. 'Battle stations anyhow . . .' he

murmured. 'Give me a run-down on what that thing's made of.'

'Not responding to our messages,' the coin officer called. 'It's not emitting at all.'

'It's made of . . . organic material!' Brewer glanced up at Diski.

'Alive?' The Captain frowned. 'Not possible.'

'Not alive, sir. There are standard life processes going on inside, but the surface . . .'

Brewer bit her lip. 'That's dead skin.'

Diski spun to ask the science station if anything like this had ever been encountered by

humans before. The answer would have been in the negative, but before the question could

be asked, a shout came from the navigator. 'Sir! Look at this!'

The woman had punched up the display on the main screen. Billions of pixels were

approaching the dots that represented the three patrol ships. 'It's small, sir, but there's lots

of it.'

'Visual.'

A great white spume was billowing across space from the sphere, towards the patrol

ships.

'Evasive action!' barked Diski, but it was too late. They were inside the cloud. The vision screens

blazed and gave out as the external sensor pods failed.

'We're covered sir, there's –'

A low concussion sounded from deep in the ship. For a moment, a silent horror swept the

faces of the bridge crew. Then they grabbed for emergency oxygen lines. Clasping his to his face,

Diski shouted, 'Which lock?'

'Science pod lock . . .' A helmsman was frantically running a systems check. 'Vital signs down

for . . . od's blood, six engineers! The whole lower deck is out!'

'Any leakage here?'

'Wait . . . no. No.' The crew dropped the masks, and started running through emergency

routines.

'All sensors dead,' Brewer reported.

'Full reverse, we'll run away. Tell the other ships if you can, Hussain . . .'

At the rear of the bridge, the airlock panel bleeped. Diski spun round. The sound meant that

someone was coming through to the bridge. 'Shug, we've got this wrong! Small arms, we're

being boarded!'

The crew snatched up their hand weapons, Diski himself jumped behind the com to take up a

position aiming at the door. Brewer glanced at her panel. 'Sir, this isn't possible, the hull has

contact monitors and they're still working. We're swamped with the stuff, but –'

'Hush!'

The lock slid open. A spacesuited figure entered, staggering. The nameplate on the suit said

'Carter'. The bridge crew relaxed, some giving out laughs of relief. Carter was the chief

engineer. The helmsman shouted that he was supposed to be dead.

Diski stood up, feeling rather foolish, and tucked his blaster back in his sash.

Carter grabbed his own pistol and blew Diski's head off.

The corpse was catapulted into the com, and the crewmen dived aside, small explosions

spurting on their desks.

Brewer fired twice, heart and abdomen. So did the rest of the armed crew. Carter's body

stumbled backwards as bursts of high-energy light sliced through it, flesh blasting off it in

clumps. An arm spiralled off in a burst of ash and heat.

And then he fired back.

The weapon was set to automatic. An arc of blue fire danced along the control boards, slicing

officers where it touched them, severing limbs and heads, boiling away blood and muscle. Shots still

hitting him, Carter carefully mowed down the opposition. Clouds of steam and body fluid filled

the cabin.

Brewer was the last, huddling behind her post. She believed in Allah, and cared about her

species, and she was proud that she felt no fear at her approaching death. As Carter's blasts

reduced her instruments to molten slag, she shot away his joints, his face plate, his genitals, his

chest . . .

The fatal shot took her straight between the eyes, and for a tiny second she was glad. Then

her corpse slapped backwards into the panel and lay still.

The thing that had been Carter paused for a moment, inhaling the slaughter. Then it staggered

to the weapons post, its body's synapses failing. Jerkily, it reached out for a control.

The missiles struck the second ship in the fleet, blind as it was, without warning. The explosion

bloomed for a moment in the silence, and the ship was gone.

Diski's ship turned slowly, and faced the remaining craft. Its engines flared, for an instant, and

then the two vessels touched.

The second explosion lasted an instant longer than the first had.

The sphere, alone once more, paused to consider the situation.

Then, with a sense of pleasure, it began to roll slowly through space again.

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