The Dalek Factor, Page 2

  'Search and Destroy' had been underway for eight centuries. Now these Dalek sleeper pods were, as Captain Vay put it, 'Rarer than gold nuggets in a laundry basket.'

  But we remain vigilant.

  So, there I was, probation ranger Jomi, youthful, manly and eager, on my first semester on the training vessel N'Tal, part warship, part university, swinging from star to star in search of the Daleks. We never found any.

  Until today.

  THREE

  TODAY BEGAN WITH PUP HAMMERING ON THE SIDE OF MY BUNK.

  'We gotta trace! We gotta trace!'

  'Go back to sleep, Pup.'

  'Listen. We gotta trace. We're on secondary alert.'

  I groaned. 'You've been dreaming. Anyway, we can't be on alert: we've got an exam today…' I groaned louder and covered my head with the sheet. 'Uh. Sweet life. Weapon theory… Have I revised? Have I crud. I shouldn't have gone to the bar. I should…'

  'Jomi… Jomi.' He tugged down the sheet, and his broad face loomed up close until I could feel his breath on my face. 'Jomi. This time I'm not joking.'

  'It's for real?'

  'For real, kid.'

  'Hell.' Excitement jolted through me with the force of an electric shock. 'All this time… nothing! I thought we'd never get a smell of a Dalek, never mind engage a one-on-one.'

  From the bathroom cubicle I heard Rain sing out: 'Don't start planning where to display your Dalek trophies yet, Jomi. Stats are, it's a false alarm.'

  Captain Vay showed his head through the door. 'Assemble Gate 7 at zero six hundred.' Captain Vay vanished.

  Sweet life, it was really happening! I tore aside the bedding and began to pull on my protective suit. And all this time a buzz - an electric buzz! - shot through me. I'd never been so excited. It showed on the faces of my class, too. Their eyes blazed with sheer exhilaration. This was what we'd trained two years for. Now we'd been chosen out of more than ten thousand students on board of the ship to locate the source of the signature trace; one that was consistent with a Dalek sleeper pod. Of course, we weren't being dumped into a shuttle and sent out alone. By this stage in our training, we were embedded in the mentor programme. That meant we worked in squads of ten. This consisted of five probation rangers and five mentors in the form of experienced rangers with at least five years' registered service. In charge of the ten-strong platoon was Captain Vay. He was one of the rare servicemen - he'd actually seen a Dalek. A live one, that is. As opposed to one in a museum, or those sugar and fondant Dalek novelties they hand out to children on Freedom Day.

  Suited, armed, booted, helmeted - we filed into the shuttle. Captain Vay was speaking as we belted into the bench seats that ran along the two walls of the shuttle cabin. Five on each side. 'This isn't a stroll in the park. Take this on the heels of your boots; don't go rushing into areas that don't have clear sightliness.'

  All ten of the platoon listened seriously. But I guess it showed that five of us - the rookies - looked as if we were playing at this. There was me, of course, Kye, Pup, Rain and Amattan. All new to the excitement. The five experienced rangers had lived this and touched the face of danger many times. It was revealed in their body language. Pelt was the eldest, but Fellebe, Dissari, Golstar and Tar'ant were all old hands, and it showed. We probationary rangers tried to imitate their attitude and approach. Oh, how hard we tried…

  'Now; your locale details. This is an unnamed planet in the Quadrille, a system of four worlds. Your destination has no sentient life forms. It's a godawful place in truth. Eighty percent is ocean. The rest is swamp and jungle. Temperature: a high thirty; humidity: one hundred percent. You're going to enjoy plenty of rain and thunderstorms, plus a lively interest from the insect population. Take a few moments to acclimatise; it's going to be a sauna down there.' Airlocks whisper shut. 'Locate the target at the coordinates you've been given. I want visual confirmation, re-confirmation and six-point identification before anyone fires so much as a popgun. We don't want any more incidents of same-side hits. I don't need to remind you about the Varian shuttle incident.'

  No sir, he didn't need to remind us. The Varian shuttle incident had involved a platoon getting all trigger happy and wiping out a party of children on a field trip. A whole phalanx of generals and senators had been forced into early retirement over that one.

  The Captain spoke above the rush of air as the shuttle atmosphere replaced that of the ship. We were on our way. 'You know the routine. We're looking for Dalek sleeper pods. Odds are we won't find one. We'll find some electrical anomaly in the planet's rock formations or what's left of someone else's robot probe with a little juice still left in its circuits. What we won't find, ladies and gentlemen, are Daleks.'

  FOUR

  NO DALEKS. HE SAID: NO DALEKS…

  I'm on my hands and knees in front of one right now. Arcing over it are those noxious trees. Dead men's arms reaching down to me. And all the time, lightning blazes flashes of blue on that shape that's hard-wired into every Thal brain. This is a Dalek. Statistically it shouldn't be here. It should be some electromagnetic anomaly that brought us to this world… or some junk hardware mimicking a Dalek signature trace by pure chance.

  Now. Here.

  Dalek.

  I'm on my hands and knees before it like it's one of the vengeful, blood-smeared gods of the old world. I'm helpless. My gun is lost to the vines. Storm winds blast through the copse, shrieking, in the branches. Thunder erupts with a roar. I'm looking into the barrel of the Dalek's weapon. Its single 'eye' glitters on me with cold ghost lights.

  Then there's screaming. For a moment I'm convinced it's me, begging for my life before this killing machine. Not that pleading will save me. In seconds I'll flare out into atoms as it does what its dark nature has programmed. Kill me. Kill you. Kill Thals. Kill everything that does not serve the purpose of the Dalek race.

  I twist sideward as a figure hurtles through the grove of trees. It's Kye. She's recovered her weapon from wherever she dropped it. Before me, the Dalek appears to grow in the flicker of lightning. Surely an optical illusion. But it seems to move from side to side in a series of twitches. There's a sense it is increasing in mass, until it exerts a gravity all of its own. Although I want to run from that engine of death, I sense an uncanny pull toward it. As if it wants - needs - to draw me into it… to fuse with that metal carapace. To entwine nerves and blend flesh and bone and mix blood with the monster. I hadn't expected this. No one at the academy warned me…

  Almost dreamily now, I see Kye run straight at the Dalek; she's gripping the weapon in both hands, pointing the hour-glass shaped gun barrel straight at the monster. Only she doesn't fire. Time swoops down into something like freeze frame. She stops. Then moves toward the Dalek. Stops.

  Why don't you fire? The thought wings through my head. Fire, before it kills you.

  Almost gently she leans toward the Dalek, extends the weapon in her outstretched arms, then lightly jabs the gun muzzle against a metal flank. By lightning flashes I see the muzzle enter easily. The carapace crumbles into thumbnail-sized fragments. One of the hemispheres fixed to the side of the Dalek detaches and drops into the mud.

  In something like awe I watch as, gushing from the hole in the Dalek's side, come a stream of wet, writhing worms. There are hundreds of them. Swollen, maggot-like things that had been suspended in some silvery mucous within the Dalek body.

  I climb to my feet and look at Kye. She looks back at me. Her expression of terror has yielded to one of relief. I know we're both striving for something to say. Only the words have jammed up inside. In fact we're probably wondering whether to laugh or cry when Dissari strides through the undergrowth.

  'You've found another one?' He sounds almost matter of fact. 'There are five more in a gully back there. Ugly bastards, aren't they?' With that he extends a muscular arm, puts the flat of his palm against the grille that forms the thorax of the Dalek and pushes. With a sucking sound, as the base lifts out of the mud, it topples over. Its fall breaks it open like a rot
ten egg, spilling decomposed biological matter with thousands of pale worms.

  'Sweet life, doesn't it stink?' He grimaces.

  Still in a state of shock, Kye glances from me to the Dalek, to Dissari.

  'And what a planet. It's just one enormous silage lake. I can even taste the place. Ugh.' Then he looks at us as if noticing our emotional state for the first time. 'Kye. Jomi. Hey, relax. It's cool. For centuries that thing's been nothing more than a keg full of worms.' He looks at the squirming mass in the wreckage of the Dalek. 'It's not even that now.'

  At last Kye speaks. 'Those other Daleks? They're all like this?'

  'This one's pretty compared with the others.' Smiling, he raises his helmet visor. 'The ones in the gully are corroded lumps of crud.'

  'But the signature trace…'

  'Even the molecules in the Daleks' body armour dance to the same rhythm as their electronic systems. Our sensors are so good these days we can even trace their junkyards.' He nods at the vines by my feet. 'You dropped something, ranger.'

  I see my gun nestling there in a tangle of greenery. Muttering a lame excuse about tripping, I retrieve it.

  'Don't forget to engage safety,' he warns.

  I shut down the weapon, feeling the vibrations fade, until it's an inert piece of carbon in my hands once more.

  'OK,' he tells us. 'Time we headed back to the shuttle. Captain says… Damn.'

  'What's wrong?' Kye asks.

  'My comm's packed in. How's yours?'

  I tell him: 'Mine went down about fifteen minutes ago.'

  'Same with mine,' Kye adds. 'I lost the visual and telemetry feed, too.'

  'I've still got telemetry.' The ranger taps a small screen pad on his forearm. 'At least, I had it a moment ago.' Lightning flashes run across the sky. 'Hell. It's the atmospherics on this stinking planet. They're saturating all our electronics with static.'

  The fallen Dalek doesn't interest the ranger now; he's talking about the shortest way back to the shuttle - one that doesn't involve us forging back through spine-bristling grasslands. Kye and I follow him through the grove of trees.

  As we step over loops of root growth, side-step mud pools and bat away intrusive insects, I whisper so that the mentor doesn't hear: 'Thanks for coming back to me.'

  She manages a weak smile. 'I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I hadn't. In fact, I'd already decided to kill myself. That's why I found the gun.'

  'Kill yourself?' I stare at her.

  'But then I thought I'd let the Dalek kill me, so I'd be added on the Martyr's Roll at the academy.'

  'But-' I shake my head in disbelief.

  'It's true what they say, Jomi. I've got a terrible sense of humour.' She slapped me on the arm. 'I'm joking, you idiot.'

  I laugh. More through relief than appreciating her joke. Because already I'm repeatedly glancing back through the trees, half expecting some dark phantom essence of the Dalek to come gliding after us. Coupled with that is a pressure in the back of my neck. The kind of sensation you get when someone is staring at you from behind… and staring so intently it feels like the stare has the power to press against your skin. The sensation of being watched doesn't begin to lift until we finally reach the shuttle, which squats on a swathe of marsh grass that is such a vivid green it has to be seen to be believed. In honour of the work we do, the vehicle is known (by us rookies) by the far from glorious name The Shampoo Bottle. As it lies flat against the ground, an unimposing black cylinder, the name's surprisingly apt. Now it's unstoppered. Waiting for us to file on board, buckle up for the journey back to the ship.

  Right now our humble shuttle is the loveliest view I've seen today. Already I'm thinking of hot showers, a change of clothes, a good meal. Above us, the sky is a drifting ceiling of dense cloud. Thunder still rumbles. Lightning flashes.

  'Good work, team.' The Captain tells us as he waves us into the shuttle. 'That's one more planet that we can certify Clean.'

  I glance at Kye. She's smiling. Not only relaxing but also pleased we've done the job we were sent here to do. Kye has a lovely smile. Maybe when we get off this tour, we'll spend more time together. I know she'd like to. I'm smiling too. I wave to Pup, Rain and Amattan, our fellow probationary rangers, who are already waiting for us. They grin and wave back. Along with Captain Vay I see the other five mentors. That's the full platoon. No reason for holdups. Sweet life, it's Kye and me who must be the stragglers.

  Within minutes we're back inside the shuttle, sighing with pleasure as we sink into cushioned seats. Then, as the airlock swings shut, Rain suddenly leans forward in her seat, peering out through the narrowing gap to the outside world.

  'Wait,' she calls. 'There's someone out there.'

  FIVE

  CAPTAIN VAY WAVES THE DOOR OPEN. NOW WE HAVE A CLEAR view of a small figure watching us from the edge of a line of bushes. 'Sweet life,' the Captain utters. 'It's a child.'

  'Looks like a Thal child, sir,' Pelt adds.

  One in distress, too. The boy of around eleven is standing there weeping. His clothes are dirty; threads hang down, so they catch on thorny plants as he begins to walk toward the shuttle.

  'Could be a wreck survivor, Captain?' hazards Pelt.

  'But we've had no notification of any wreck anywhere in this sector. Besides, we're a way off the commercial shipping lanes.'

  The child is weeping into the palms of his hands. The image of a tragic figure. There's an uneasy stir around the shuttle cabin.

  Captain Vay unbuckles his seat restraint. 'Pelt. Rain. Check out the child.'

  'Yes sir.'

  'Take your weapons; it might be a trap.'

  'It's just a kid,' Tar'ant protests.

  'We're taking no chances. We know Daleks have been here. You'd be surprised where they're capable of hiding a booby trap.' The Captain steps out through the hatch onto marsh grass. He's carrying a handgun. Pelt and Rain follow, weapons at the ready. Not aiming at the child, they can, however, fire the second danger flares. Of course, the Varian incident replays in my mind. There, rangers blasted a group of Thal children. It was accidental, naturally. They were suspected of being booby-trapped simulacra - replicants intended to fool our security forces. They weren't. And the repercussions of the tragedy still plague security operations today.

  We watch through the airlock as Pelt and Rain walk toward the crying child. Both rangers are relaxed yet cautious. I stare at the child. It has unkempt hair. Its hands are covered with mud as if it's been scrambling around on all fours. I run scenarios through my head. A wreck survivor? A misfit child deliberately abandoned by parents? (It happens.) Or a descendent of some long forgotten Thal colony?

  Maybe the child's nerve breaks at the sight of the two helmeted rangers; I don't know, but he suddenly throws up his arms - a gesture of terror? - then runs back into the bushes. Soon he's lost from sight, but I see fronds swaying as he forges his way through.

  Pelt and Rain follow at a run.

  'Wait!' shouts the Captain, but at that moment thunder rips through the sky, drowning his voice. 'They shouldn't follow,' he hisses. Then he hits the comm pad on his sleeve. 'Ranger Pelt… Ranger Pelt. Cease pursuit… I repeat. Cease… Damn!' He glances at us. 'Comm link's out.' He looks at my mentor, Fellebe. 'Go with Jomi to the edge of the bush-line. Wait for Pelt and Rain there.'

  We move fast. Within seconds I'm running across the soft, sucking earth toward the bushes where the two rangers pursued the weeping child.

  Fellebe glances at me. 'Lock down visor,' she orders. 'Knock off safety.'

  'Yes, ma'am.'

  'Don't fire unless I fire. Got that?'

  'Yes, ma'am.'

  'Now where have they got to?' She runs sharp eyes over the mass of bushes that extend as far as I can see. 'Let this be a lesson to you, Jomi. Don't go chasing after anything that runs from you.' She gives a grim nod. 'This has got the word "trap" written all over it.'

  Thunder rumbles; more lightning sends zigzagging lines of electric blue through the sky. If
anything, the cloud has become darker; even more menacing. A big drop of water bursts in the mud near my feet. Another strikes the back of my glove. Once more, the heat of this place drives the smell of rotting vegetation deep into my nose. I gulp at the intensity of the stench. My life! You could almost cut it with a blade, it is so thick in the air.

  'Where are they?' Fellebe hisses.

  Her question gets an answer we don't anticipate. A sudden yell comes from the bushes. One driven by both shock and pain.

  'Come on!' Fellebe springs forward into the vegetation. I follow, heart pounding. Instantly the greenery closes round us, reducing visibility to no more than three or four paces.

  Almost instantly, a figure explodes through the branches to crash into me.

  'Rain?' I see her frightened face through the visor. 'Are you hurt?'

  'It's Pelt. You've got to help him.'

  Fellebe surges through the bushes to my right. Shoving branches aside with a free hand, she shouts: 'Rain. Show me where he is!'

  Rain doesn't hesitate; she retraces her way through the tunnel of green that she's created by pushing through the bushes. When we reach Pelt in a clearing I think for a second he has been burnt, maybe seared by lightning. His face is encrusted with black - a glistening black. He lies beside a pool of noxious water. Bubbles blister its surface; when they break, a dull yellow vapour escapes into the atmosphere. The smell is so bad it's almost overpowering. I flip up the visor to wipe my mouth as the disgusting odour seems to settle there on my lips.