Read Online Doctor Who: Engines of War by George Mann - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: George Mann
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form into a long line, standing shoulder to shoulder. Cinder could hear nothing from this distance, but she could imagine the threats being issued by the metal monsters in order to force the humans to comply.
The Doctor put his hand on the sill, peering out, watching with interest.
Why were they forming a line?
‘Oh, no!’ said Cinder, with sudden realisation. ‘They’re going to execute them!’
‘Perhaps,’ said the Doctor, his voice a low growl. ‘But again, why do it like this? Why go to all the trouble of taking them prisoner, leading them here half-starved, only to line them up in the courtyard to shoot them down. There has to be more to it.’
Cinder didn’t really want to watch, fearful of what she might see, but nevertheless she was transfixed, unable to tear her gaze away. As she watched, the three Daleks backed away, two of them disappearing from view, while another moved forward into focus.
This one had a slightly different, yet familiar outline. ‘That’s like the one I saw during the ambush,’ said Cinder. ‘The one you decapitated when you crashed. It’s one of the mutants, a Degradation.’
It was precisely like the monstrous thing she had encountered earlier that day, the size and shape of a standard Dalek, save for the fact its midsection had been replaced by a fat, black cannon.
‘That’s no Degradation,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s different. That’s something new.’
The Dalek swivelled to face the sorry-looking line of human prisoners. One of the other Daleks hove into view, and Cinder could tell it was speaking by virtue of the flashing lights on its domed head.
In response, the cannon-wielding Dalek powered up its weapon. An aura of intense, ruby-coloured light flickered to life at the end of the barrel. There was a sudden, massive discharge as the weapon spat a stream of pink light, which engulfed four of the people, warping around them as they screamed and tried to back away.
The remaining prisoners staggered out of the way, clearly terrified as they looked on upon their own likely fate.
The four victims writhed in obvious agony, as the pink light appeared to seep into their bodies, pouring into their open mouths, their eyes, permeating through their skin. Then, as if their flesh were simply unable to contain so much raw energy, they blossomed, their forms dissolving, the pink light flickering brightly before dispersing and fading away, like wisps of trailing smoke.
Cinder staggered back from the window feeling nauseous. She put her hand to her brow. She could tell that something was badly wrong, put she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She stared at the Doctor, put her hand on his arm as if to steady herself. ‘What just happened?’ she said. ‘I know something awful has just happened, but what was it?’
She glanced back at the courtyard, where the Daleks were surveying the six prisoners they had brought out into the courtyard a few minutes earlier.
The Doctor stepped away from the window and, taking hold of Cinder’s forearm, led her away too. ‘It’s a temporal weapon,’ he said. ‘A dematerialisation gun. The Daleks have developed a new template, a new paradigm, which has the power to eradicate a person from history.’
‘How can you tell?’ said Cinder. ‘How do you know just by looking at it?’
The Doctor narrowed his eyes. ‘Didn’t you see it? Didn’t you see what it just did to those four people?’
Cinder shook herself free from his grip. She went back to the window. No, there were six people there, just as there had been before. ‘Four people?’ she said. ‘There are six of them down there.’ Even as she said it, though, she knew something was awry. She could feel it, nagging away at her. She was missing something. Couldn’t she even trust her own mind any more?
‘It’s the weapon, Cinder. That’s what’s doing it,’ said the Doctor. ‘That cannon – it can erase a person’s timeline from history, removing every
The Doctor put his hand on the sill, peering out, watching with interest.
Why were they forming a line?
‘Oh, no!’ said Cinder, with sudden realisation. ‘They’re going to execute them!’
‘Perhaps,’ said the Doctor, his voice a low growl. ‘But again, why do it like this? Why go to all the trouble of taking them prisoner, leading them here half-starved, only to line them up in the courtyard to shoot them down. There has to be more to it.’
Cinder didn’t really want to watch, fearful of what she might see, but nevertheless she was transfixed, unable to tear her gaze away. As she watched, the three Daleks backed away, two of them disappearing from view, while another moved forward into focus.
This one had a slightly different, yet familiar outline. ‘That’s like the one I saw during the ambush,’ said Cinder. ‘The one you decapitated when you crashed. It’s one of the mutants, a Degradation.’
It was precisely like the monstrous thing she had encountered earlier that day, the size and shape of a standard Dalek, save for the fact its midsection had been replaced by a fat, black cannon.
‘That’s no Degradation,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s different. That’s something new.’
The Dalek swivelled to face the sorry-looking line of human prisoners. One of the other Daleks hove into view, and Cinder could tell it was speaking by virtue of the flashing lights on its domed head.
In response, the cannon-wielding Dalek powered up its weapon. An aura of intense, ruby-coloured light flickered to life at the end of the barrel. There was a sudden, massive discharge as the weapon spat a stream of pink light, which engulfed four of the people, warping around them as they screamed and tried to back away.
The remaining prisoners staggered out of the way, clearly terrified as they looked on upon their own likely fate.
The four victims writhed in obvious agony, as the pink light appeared to seep into their bodies, pouring into their open mouths, their eyes, permeating through their skin. Then, as if their flesh were simply unable to contain so much raw energy, they blossomed, their forms dissolving, the pink light flickering brightly before dispersing and fading away, like wisps of trailing smoke.
Cinder staggered back from the window feeling nauseous. She put her hand to her brow. She could tell that something was badly wrong, put she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She stared at the Doctor, put her hand on his arm as if to steady herself. ‘What just happened?’ she said. ‘I know something awful has just happened, but what was it?’
She glanced back at the courtyard, where the Daleks were surveying the six prisoners they had brought out into the courtyard a few minutes earlier.
The Doctor stepped away from the window and, taking hold of Cinder’s forearm, led her away too. ‘It’s a temporal weapon,’ he said. ‘A dematerialisation gun. The Daleks have developed a new template, a new paradigm, which has the power to eradicate a person from history.’
‘How can you tell?’ said Cinder. ‘How do you know just by looking at it?’
The Doctor narrowed his eyes. ‘Didn’t you see it? Didn’t you see what it just did to those four people?’
Cinder shook herself free from his grip. She went back to the window. No, there were six people there, just as there had been before. ‘Four people?’ she said. ‘There are six of them down there.’ Even as she said it, though, she knew something was awry. She could feel it, nagging away at her. She was missing something. Couldn’t she even trust her own mind any more?
‘It’s the weapon, Cinder. That’s what’s doing it,’ said the Doctor. ‘That cannon – it can erase a person’s timeline from history, removing every
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