The sun wasn’t really setting. The Titan Orbital was locked in a geo-stationary orbit around Erebus, which meant that to stay in the same place in relation to the planet, it actually had to orbit Erebus at the same speed the planet turned on its axis. Every forty-one hours, the Orbital vanished into the darkness of a solar eclipse. This is what they called the end of the day on the space-station, though it only really mattered to those whose shifts lasted the entire period - like Commandant Fletcher’s.

The last glimmer of the sun’s corona vanished behind the curve of the planet and the lights in Fletcher’s office brightened automatically. The digital thermostat read-out beside Fletcher’s desk told him the temperature had also crept up. He didn’t know why the Titan Orbital’s computer always did that at this time: Erebus was the sixth planet in the system, twice as far from its star as Earth was from Sol. This sun afforded the station little in the way of heat. This far out, space was always subzero.

The door double-chimed and Fletcher turned round.

“Come,” he called, but even that took a considerable effort.

The door opened and in stepped the lieutenant in the blue jacket-uniform that had told him the SS Reliant had arrived that morning. His slumping shoulders and flapped-open lapel suggested fatigue, but the look on his face was focused.

“Sir, we need you in Operations,” he said.

Fletcher rubbed his face. “Why?”

“One of our satellite buoys on the far-side of the planet has started to pick up an odd heat signature, sir. I really think you should take a look.”

Fletcher sighed and got up out of his chair.

The Operations Centre was on the level below. As Fletcher followed the young lieutenant through the automatic door of his office, he saw there were seven people crowded around the satellite relay console. There was a command crew of four on duty at all times, but the last shift - the lieutenant’s - obviously hadn’t left yet.

“Don’t you have homes to go to?” Fletcher said.

Some of them chuckled politely, but Fletcher wasn’t joking. They stepped out of his way and made room directly in front of the flashing screen.

Fletcher looked at the real-time digigram of the far-side of Erebus.

“This is the heat signature, sir,” someone said.

A large anonymous hand snaked across the screen and blocked Fletcher’s view of the planet. He brushed it away. There was a flashing red bloom on the screen, which the console was annotating around the edges with constant updates.

“Where is this precisely?” Fletcher asked.

“It’s just under six kilometres from where the re-entry vehicle was when it launched the distress beacon, sir,” the lieutenant explained.

Fletcher nodded. “I thought you said that exploded hours ago.”

“It did, sir. We don’t know what’s causing this.”

“Seismic activity.” Fletcher looked round for the young officer who had sent him a report on the increasing level of tectonic activity. She wasn’t there. “Volcanic eruption. I read in the report; there are extinct volcanoes all over the place.”

Suddenly, the console started beeping relentlessly.

Fletcher withdrew his hands. “What is it?”

One of the new shift - Fletcher could tell from the man’s eagerness, it was just curiosity that was keeping the last shift around - leaned in.

“It’s not a volcano, sir,” he said in a low voice.

“Why? What’s happening?”

“Sir, the heat signature’s moving.”

Gradually, the scrap metal in the geyser field began to shift. At first it was only the small, loose pieces of junk, the bits on top: coils of twisted copper wiring, oily black valves, broken circuit boards. Tiny components, like snapped-off LEDs or long-blown fuses, began to dance because of the rising vibrations. Soon the shaking was so strong that the tiny components danced right off the large pieces of scrap that had prevented them from falling, and trickled down through the gaps.

All the while the roaring sound was mounting, getting louder and louder until it wasn’t just a sound, but a physical sensation reverberating through the scrap metal that had accumulated in the valley. And when that happened, it wasn’t just the small pieces of junk that began to shift, but the larger pieces: the dissected combustion engines plundered for their spark plugs, the industrial power cells long since drained of every volt. The cacophonous creaking was almost as loud as the roaring; it sounded like some enormous strength was wringing sheet iron like a wet towel.

Had there been anyone there to see it, and had they been positioned directly over the valley, they would have seen the scrap begin to shift wholesale. First little pockets began to move in particular directions. The larger pieces sounded like they were being crushed in a compressor. The smaller pieces tumbled over each other like they were no heavier than pieces of card. Soon the little pockets of shifting junk had joined up into a giant circular rim, hundreds of yards across. It was happening so slowly that the circumference of the rising bulge was almost imperceptible behind the expanding wave of displaced scrap metal and machinery.

A giant whirlpool began to develop, as the mechanical morass found a new vacuum somewhere deep beneath the surface of the metal sea, and any piece of scrap small enough to fill the gap fell into it. Soon the vacuum was large enough that even the biggest abandoned motor crashed out of sight.

As the junk in the valley sunk in on itself, the size and shape of the rising bulge that had caused the displacement became more pronounced. It was disc shaped, taller in the centre than at the rim. As it rose out of the geyser field, scrap caught on top of it began to cascade over the edges like water over a falls.

Gradually, the Cyberman ship was revealed. It was a patchwork spacecraft, almost indistinguishable from the junk it displaced except for its regular shape.

When it was thirty feet in the air, it stopped.

The roaring instantly died down, but did not disappear completely. The craft, which had caused so much violent reverberation, was itself very still. It hung in the air for a few moments, as the last of the scrap metal dribbled over the sides.

And then the Cyberman ship began to spin.

Slowly at first, but increasingly faster as it climbed into the sky, the disc turned effortlessly, as if inertia did not exist in the science of the Cybermen.

Had anyone been there to see its launch, they might have said it was graceful, they might even have said it was beautiful, in an alien way.

But nobody saw it. The only living souls were trapped inside.

“By the Face of Boe; they actually did it!” the Doctor said under his breath.

“Did what?” Sergeant Cameron asked anxiously.

“Sergeant, I do believe we’re airborne.”

Rose thought he sounded quite in awe of the Cyberman spaceship.

“How can you tell?” asked Private Wells.

The Doctor shook his head. “It’s a different kind of vibration, see? This is air resistance, not the kind of resistance you get being buried under all that junk.”

Wells blinked. “It feels exactly the same to me, Doctor.”

The Doctor just chuckled. He looked in awe of the spaceship as well.

“Then just trust me,” he said with a wink.

Rose looked at the War Brain. It had been mysteriously quiet for the last few minutes and that unsettled Rose. It never usually shut up.

The grey lights above their heads flickered. It was the first time the lights hadn’t been shining consistently since the airlock had sealed shut.

“We should get moving,” said the Doctor.

“And go where?” Private Ellison scoffed.

“We’ve got to get to the other airlock, the one we came in by. If we’re not the first ones off this spaceship as soon as it docks, then we’ve wasted our time trying.”

“This ship’s not going to the station, Doctor,” the War Brain said.

“What did it just say?” Cameron said.

Rose glared at the glowing box. Outside of its echoing whitewashed chamber, the War Brain didn’t look quite so majestic, and actually sounded quite tinny.

“I said this ship’s not going to the space-station,” it said.

“Don’t listen to it,” the Doctor warned.

“But Doctor, can’t it see the future?” Cameron said.

“Yes.” He scowled. “But that doesn’t mean it’s always honest about it.”

Rose laughed. “Busted!”

Then she gave the War Brain the finger.

“Watch your step, Rose,” the War Brain muttered.

“Huh?” She was still sitting down.

“Okay, guys; let’s get moving,” Cameron decided.

The Doctor got to his feet, then helped Rose to hers. The shaking was intense, but the three marines seemed to be able to stay upright by leaning into the walls. Rose got behind the Doctor, and put one hand on his back for extra support.

“Doctor, do you know the way?” Cameron asked.

“Yes.” He pointed. “Up.”

“I always make clever dicks take point, Doctor.”

“I wouldn’t know how to take point, Sergeant.”

“Look, I thought we were in a hurry.”

The Doctor chuckled.

Suddenly the ship lurched sharply. Rose let out an embarrassing yelp, and the War Brain slid across the deck and banged into the wall in front of the Doctor.

“You okay?” the Doctor asked, mock-concerned.

“I will be shortly,” said the War Brain.

The Doctor snorted. “I don’t find portentousness scary. Come on, you.”

Then he scooped the War Brain up into his arms.

Walking along the shuddering passages was hard, but at least it was easier than stumbling through them in the dark, Rose thought. She almost slipped several times, but always had the Doctor and the wall next to her to catch herself on.

“Doctor, are we going to run into any Cybermen?” she asked.

“No. We’re okay. They’ll all be on the top deck.”

“Wait. Aren’t we going to the top deck, Doctor?”

“Oh. Yes. Hmm.”

They reached a junction and stopped.

“Which way?” the Doctor murmured to himself.

“Take the right,” said the War Brain.

“I wasn't talking to you.”

The Doctor took the left-hand turning instead, and sure enough when they reached the next junction there was a ladder around the next corner.

“Hold this,” the Doctor said.

He thrust the War Brain into Rose’s hands.

“Doctor!” she cried. She wanted to drop it, and not just because it felt about four times as heavy as it looked, like it was made of lead or something.

“I’ll climb up; you hand it to me,” he told her.

Then he started climbing up the ladder. When he reached the top rung, he looped his arm around it, and held his other hand out to Rose.

“See if you can reach me standing on your toes,” he suggested.

“Let me do it,” Cameron muttered in her ear.

She looked him in the face, and matched his condescending look with one of her own. “I think I’ve got it. Thank you.”

Cameron held his palms up and backed off.

“Quickly, Rose,” said the Doctor.

“All right, Doctor.” With a quiet sigh, she heaved the War Brain above her head. It was a bit like lifting one of those Cyberman guns the marines were carrying in that she felt the strain in her forearms immediately.

Suddenly, the ship lurched again.

“Gah!” went Rose as she stumbled off tiptoes. If it hadn’t been for Wells’s proffered arm, she would have gone flying.

The War Brain slipped out of her grasp and smashed into the deck, but the yellow glow emanating from within didn’t even flicker.

“I did warn you,” it said.

Wells helped Rose back to her feet. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She smiled.

But when she let go of his arm, her palm felt sticky. She held it up in the light and frowned. It was covered in strange black ooze, like oil, but less viscous.

And then she saw Wells’s arm.

She thought she had grabbed his wrist, just above his hand, but Wells didn’t have a hand on that arm anymore. Where his hand should have been there was a charred metal stump, dripping with black fluid.

Wells realised she was staring before Rose realised herself. He put that arm behind his back, as if feigning an itch he couldn’t scratch anyway.

“I’ve got this,” Cameron said.

Rose looked round. He had picked up the War Brain.

“Okay. Great. Thanks,” she replied.

Then she scurried up the ladder as quickly as she could.

“You all right?” the Doctor asked, kneeling on the deck by the opening.

“Doctor, they’re not human, are they?” she whispered.

“More so than I am,” he said, eyebrow arched.

She didn’t get a chance to respond.

Suddenly, in the space of a fraction of a second, the ship was still. Gone was the shaking, the lurching, the chattering vibrations. In its place was silence, broken only by a quiet resonating hum that was almost soothing in comparison.

“Doctor, what’s happening?” Cameron called from the bottom of the ladder.

The Doctor stuck his head back through the opening. “I think we’ve just broken out of the planet’s gravity field, Sergeant. We’re in orbit!”

“Yeah, and so is the space-station.”

“Then you better stop dilly-dallying down there and get climbing!”

Nine people stood transfixed in the Operations Centre of the Titan Orbital.

“Where the hell did that come from?” said Commandant Fletcher.

The view on the main screen was of Erebus, and the saucer-shaped craft that was emerging from the other side of the planet. It appeared a millimetre at a time on the screen, but Fletcher didn’t have to do his sums to realise the spaceship must have been travelling at several thousand miles an hour to manage that.

A klaxon began to blare. Everyone jumped.

“What’s that noise?” Fletcher had never heard it before, not in eight years as the commandant of the space-station. “Talk to me, people.”

An officer checked his console. “It’s an unauthorised proximity warning, sir.”

Fletcher spun round to face the man, his eyes wide.

“That thing’s on an intercept course, sir.”

There was a first time for everything, Fletcher thought.

Like saying the two words: “Battle stations!”

NOTES:
Is it plausible that Rose hasn't noticed that the soldiers, or at least Wells, are robots until now? I think so, despite Wells lacking a hand for the last few chapters (an injury I gave him deliberately, anticipating this encounter). When Rose is reunited with the soldiers they're busy fighting the Cybermen, then they're busy escaping the Cybermen, then they're in a dark tunnel with only one light (from the end of a gun, no less), and then Rose is sobbing as they go back to a similarly dark spaceship. Arguably she could have gone the entire story without finding out they were really machines, but it was good for the recurring theme of humanity just being a mindset that the Rose be offput by their non-humanity (inhumanity seeming the wrong word in this context), before being reminded that the hero of the piece is similarly non-human. It also helped lift the sequence with the Doctor in this chapter from being just another trek through the corridors of the Cyberman spaceship. On a similar note, I won't miss writing about the surface of Erebus. It was getting increasingly hard to describe the place in new ways, and increasingly tedious to keep a check on my strictly alternating use of "scrap" and "junk".