The butterflies, shaken free by the trembling vines, flapped ponderously away down the corridor.
Ace heard a sound. It took her a moment to work out what it was: a familiar voice, moaning. The sound rose, was cut off. God. For a moment she didn't want to turn the corner.
186.
At first, all she could see was a great mound of vines, green stuff spun like thread from the corridor wall. It was trembling, alive. Then she saw a hand, and a hint of dull fabric underneath. She walked slowly around the heap on the floor, right arm curled to her right side, and squatted down beside it.
The Doctor was in there, deep inside the vines, eyes tightly closed. His hands were drawn up to his chest, curled into claws. One of them twitched hideously. Ace watched with road accident fascination as the green stuff around his wrist pushed itself a little further into him.
The Doctor had given it his best shot, and he'd failed. Ship was going to make him part of itself, and then it was going to harvest the universe.
He mustn't die alone.
She stood, soundlessly and sighted down the barrel of the flechette thrower, left-handed. Temple shot would be the easiest; he'd never know what hit him.
Her aim shook only very slightly.
Ace couldn't believe how calm, how cool she felt. Was this how the Doctor had felt when he'd blown up Skaro, when he'd trapped the Timewyrm, when he'd let Jan die?
With a tiny motion of her thumb, she flicked off the safety.
His eyes snapped open. They were bright green, the same colour as the vines that surrounded him. She started, but he couldn't see her, his blind eyes searching the corridor for the source of the sound.
Oh, God. Ace's aim wavered.
Think about it. Give yourself ten seconds, and fire.
Ten.
'But there are three rules. One. I'm in charge.'
'Whatever you say, Professor.'
Nine.
'Kill her.'
Eight.
'Ace. Come back. Come home.'
'What's happening to me, Doctor?'
'It's alright, Ace. We're going home.'
Seven.
'You're so clever, you little shit. I'm never gonna play your games again . . .
never get manipulated again.'
Six.
'Two. I'm not the Professor. I'm the Doctor.'
'Whatever you want.'
Five.
He saw the searing Blue in her eyes, the glitter of the obsidian blade in her hand. He threw his arms around her, as though she were the one who needed 187 protection, as though she were the sacrifice. And then she slammed the knife up and into his chest, and suddenly his knees buckled and she was the one holding him.
Four.
'And the third?'
Three.
'Scream, I'll save you later.'
Two.
'Well, I'll think up the third by the time we get back to Perivale.'
One.
No.
She wasn't going to sacrifice him.
That was the third rule. That was it. That was her rule. No one deserves to be sacrificed. Not her, not Jan.
'Not even you, you old bastard,' she said out loud, and put her gun away.
Astonishingly, he winked a chlorophyll-coloured eye at her.
Then he threw back his head and screamed.
Nicolas had stuffed a travelling bag with clothes, money, some food hidden in a cupboard in the shop. He ran to the cellar door, flung it open, hesitated at the odd green light and the thick, sour hothouse smell. Well!' he cried. 'Are you coming?'
The Englishwoman appeared at the bottom of the steps. 'You're leaving?'
' Bien sur! Bien sur! I don't fancy hanging around for the justice of the Versaillais.' I don't fancy hanging around for the justice of the Versaillais.'
'What time is it?'
Nicolas glanced back at a cuckoo clock on the wall. 'It's eight in the morning. It's already warm, going to be a scorcher.'
'I'll say. The Communards will set Paris alight to try and stop the advance of the troops. And the Versaillais are going to shoot everything that moves.'
'You're very well-informed.'
'Yes.'
'So let's go!'
Benny was coming up the steps. 'Do you know what's down here?'
Nicolas shook his head. 'I thought, perhaps a medical school, without a license. She needed the bodies for dissection.'
'How many bodies did you bring here?'
'Perhaps a dozen. Perhaps a score.'
'Why are you trying to save my life?'
' Comment? Comment? ' '
'How many people did you kill? For how much money?'
188.
Nicolas backed away from the cellar door. 'If you don't want a lift,' he growled, 'you can stay here and burn!'
'How many, Nicolas? As long as you got your money, it didn't matter how they died, did it?'
'You can stay here and burn.' He stomped out, bag slung over his shoulder.
Benny listened until she heard his horses' hooves on the cobblestones. 'I wasn't going anywhere anyway,' she said, and went back into the cellar.
Ace was screaming too, now, because the Doctor was thrashing in the vines, his tenor howl skittering up into a surprisingly high shriek. She tried to reach him, but there was too much vegetable matter in the way, looping and snaking, trying to grab her hands.
Suddenly his cries were cut off. His chest heaved, a tiny trickle of blood made its way out of his mouth. Ace's ears rang, but the only noise was the desperate sound of his breathing.
With a crunching sound, the flower exploded out of his shoulder. She screamed again as she was sprayed with alien blood. The blossom uncurled itself just below the Doctor's left collarbone.
Ace frantically wiped sticky hair out of her eyes. The flower's roots were thrust deep into his chest, wrapped around the ganglion. Don't throw up, Don't throw up, don't throw up, you've seen worse stuff than this, haven't you? Haven't you? don't throw up, you've seen worse stuff than this, haven't you? Haven't you? The blossom pulsed redly into life, its petals rushing with the double rhythm of his hearts. It was a communications relay, connecting his central nervous system directly with Ship's. The blossom pulsed redly into life, its petals rushing with the double rhythm of his hearts. It was a communications relay, connecting his central nervous system directly with Ship's.
And then Ship died.
The corridor trembled once, its light flickering like a sick fluorescent tube. The sounds of the living vessel whispered away into nothing. The air hung thick as treacle.
The Doctor's body hung limply in the mass of tendrils. Blood was pooling beneath him. The flower's pulse was still beating, but erratically, as irregularly as the slow sound of his breathing. As Ship slid into death, it was taking its newest component with it.
Ace got out her Draconian army knife, grabbed a handful of vines, and started sawing at them.
He shouted with pain, making her jump backwards. 'No,' he wheezed, 'Cut the root . . . closest . . . the wall!'
Ace scrambled behind the mass of vines, found a single thick cord where they converged, leading back into the stuff of the wall. It was already starting to wilt. She sliced through it.
189.
Now it was easy to cut through the vines. She knelt and heaved the Doctor out, with more force than was needed. He leaned heavily on her. 'Are you alright?' he said.
Ace would have laughed if she hadn't been so nauseated. His shoulder was a bloody mess. She took hold of the wet, warm flower to cut its stem, but he raised a hand between the blade and the blossom. 'Leave it,' he begged. 'Just leave it.'
His eyes were still green, still blind, the optic nerve jammed with plant tissue. 'You're injured,' he gasped. 'We have to . . . get out of here!'
'Kadiatu barbequed my hopper.'
'Then we'll use the rift.'
'How?' There was a great creaking noise, and the floor lurched underneath them. 'Doctor,' said Ace. 'Are we going to die together?'
'You shouldn't have followed me,' he murmured.
' Bien de rien, Bien de rien, ' she said. 'I think I'll enjoy being dead. I could use the rest.' ' she said. 'I think I'll enjoy being dead. I could use the rest.'
190.
Chapter 16.
Set, Game, and Match
Getting a Purple Heart proves that you were smart enough to think of a plan, dumb enough to try it out, and lucky enough to survive.
(US Army tradition) Ship rocked, as though something had exploded distantly. Ace and the Doctor were thrown against a wall, tumbling to the heaving floor. They lay there for a few seconds, waiting to see if another quake would slam through the dying vessel.
The Doctor's blood was soaking into Ace's clothes. Her own pain was distant, like the sound of a phone left off the hook, like the big grey ringing in the back of her head, trying to suck her down. She hoped she didn't die suddenly, that could be awkward.
They dragged one another to their feet. Ace stumbled, started to laugh.
'I've sprained my ankle,' she said.
Cold storage. Repair butterflies crunched under their feet. The rift's light jumped and seared. One of the glass walls had collapsed, letting the unfiltered radiance into the chamber.
'Can we go through it without force shields?' said Ace.
The Doctor's blind eyes were half-closed. 'Where . . . controls?'
She guided him over to a panel in the wall, limping. The controls were a mass of tubes and knobs, pulsing coldly. He reached out and ran his fingertips over them.