From: bradkwillis@aol.com (BKWillis)
Date: 18 Nov 2001 05:19:19 GMT
Subject: Re: A story we can all create..

"Come to me, Josephine Grant.  I can help, but you must come to me."

The words seemed to echo from everywhere and nowhere at once, a whisper in
the back of her mind and a low crooning in her ears.  Jo felt about blindly
in the pitch-dark, but all she could feel in any direction was empty air.
Even the floor beneath her feet had no true feel to it.  Solid, but unreal
beyond that.  She whimpered a little in confusion and slowly mounting fear.

"Who are you?" she asked, wincing as her voice cracked the all- around
stillness in a way that the stranger's call had not.  "Where am I?"

"You are lost, little Josephine Grant," the voice/not-voice replied.  "I can
help you, if you will come to me."

Jo shivered, having a sudden impression of a dark stranger in a car,
promising candy if only she'd get inside and go for a ride.  Screwing up her
courage, she gave her head a vigorous shake.  "Why don't _you_ come out here,
where I can see you?" she demanded.

She had a vague impression of red flashes, like distant lightning, but only
in her mind.  Somehow, the darkness became more oppressive and cloying, an
almost tangible weight to it.  "I cannot come to you," the unvoice answered,
just as placid as before, but with a vague sense of something unclean to it:
slime on a stagnant pond.  "You must come to me, Josephine Grant, and soon,
if I am to help you." There was a pause, and then, "There are monsters."

Jo shivered as she became slowly conscious of something breathing softly in
the darkness behind her.  She spun about, hands raised to ward off whatever
it was, but the sound had ceased.  A moment later it started again, behind
her once more, louder.  Closer.  She turned wildly about, the noise stopping
once more.

"You're trying to psych me out!" she declared.  "That's all!  This is just
some weird mind-game you're doing to me!"

"I do nothing to you," the nonvoice replied, mild amusement in its tone.
"The monsters are not mine, but I can help you.  Come to me, Josephine Grant.
Come to me, before they get you."

"No!"

The darkness seemed to close in more tightly as a sense of something
_looming_ around her made her heart race and her legs begin to tremble.
Soft, rapid footsteps seemed to circle to her right and a vague scraping as
of claws on stone came from her left.

"This isn't happening.  This isn't happening," Jo repeated.  "I'm dreaming,
is all.  Any second, I'll wake up..." She hugged herself tightly, breathing
deep.

Something growled just over her shoulder, a deep, bloodthirsty sound that
turned Jo's blood to water.

"They grow hungry, Josephine Grant," the whisperer hissed.

"I'm-- I'm dreaming...  Just d-dreaming..." Jo gasped, tears rolling down her
cheeks as the darkness seemed to press in upon her.

Hot breath panted on her bare shoulder.  Something slimy and cold and
_pulsing_ brushed against her leg.

Jo's thin self-control burst like a soap bubble and she gave voice to a long,
piercing shriek of absolute terror.  Screaming, crying, with no thought but
to get _away_, Jo fled blindly into the dark.

----

On his ancient throne, the Lord of the Vale chuckled hideously to himself and
began the next phase of Josephine Grant's nightmare.

----

"Doctor, duck your head and hold on tight!" Gorthund cried, tucking his own
down into his chest.

The Doctor, on the other side of the plummetting PNPG saddle, cast a single
glance over his shoulder and then did as he was told, his knuckles white on
the saddle straps.

They were only about fifty feet up when the whirring roar of Kepla's mount's
wings slashed the air above their lowered heads.  There was a shudder of
impact and the two men suddenly found themselves hauled sideways through the
air.  A single scaly, tree-limb-sized claw was gripped around the saddle,
hauling them into a long, steadily slowing glide earthwards.  After a moment,
the monstrous bird slowed and fluttered to a stop, dropping the two
unceremoniously to the ground before landing a few yards away.

The Doctor rose and dusted himself off, then assisted the grinning Gorthund
to his feet.  "Thanks for the save, old chap," the Time Lord said.  "All the
same, let's not do that again anytime soon."

Kepla, meanwhile, sat astride her bird, glaring at the two.  "Gorthund!" she
snapped as they walked over to her.  "What in name of the Night Sky did you
think you were doing, jumping like that?!"

The male bird warrior's grin faded.  "I was saving his life, that's what," he
shot back.  "I mean, I couldn't rescue him from the Servii just to let him
die in an accident here, could I?"

"He's an _outsider_, Gorthund," she snapped back.  "Do try to have some sense
of priorities." She nudged her mount, urging the huge bird into its takeoff
run.  "I'll fly up and have some mounts sent down," she called over her
shoulder.  "You two just stay put!" This last was nearly drowned out by the
thunderous wing-beats as the bird hurled itself and its rider into the
glaring sky.

"Friendly type," the Doctor remarked as they watched her soar upwards toward
the majestically drifting city.

"Oh, just excuse Kepla," replied Gorthund, sitting down comfortably on the
saddle.  "Most of our people are like that these days.  High Priestess
Shanneril says it's because all these centuries of war with those
green-skinned apes has led to something called a 'siege mentality', which
causes something she calls 'xenophobia'." The bird rider shrugged.  "Whatever
that means.  Me, I just try not to worry about things and do what feels
right."

----

Things were either slightly bad, very bad, or very bloody extremely bad
indeed, Cain reflected as he watched the sky slip past through the TARDIS
viewscreen.  The image was criss- crossed with woven strands of Skyborn cargo
netting and every once in a while the edge of a great wing would be
momentarily visible.  The one-eyed Time Lord considered his options as he
sorted through the pockets of his battered old black trenchcoat.

First possibility: He'd been captured by warriors from Avis City who had
seized this TARDIS without knowing what it was.  This would be slightly bad.
He had certain contacts among the Skyborn and should be able to finagle his
way out of Avis City, but that could mean exposing certain aspects of his
operation on this planet.  And even if he couldn't negotiate his way out,
he'd escaped from plenty of captors more competent than a bunch of decadent
bird-riders.  All-in-all, the worst aspect of this scenario was the effect
his captivity would have on his carefully-built prestige among the Servii.
And the possible repercussions to Bella and Babydoll, which was something he
didn't want to think about just now.

Second possibility: This TARDIS was a trap by the Regulators, who had leagued
themselves with some faction of Skyborn as part of a plot to finally capture
him and end his interference in their schemes once and for all.  This would
be very bad.  He'd parted ways with the Regulators and the Time Lord society
they claimed to uphold and the parting had not been a pleasant one.  He
brushed a hand across his face, feeling the scar and eyepatch that were his
souvenirs of that parting, remembering the names of those Regulators, his
former comrades, who'd died under his guns that day.

The more he considered that possibility, though the more unlikely he thought
it.  No one knew the Regulators' methods as well as he did, and this just
didn't fit their style.  The Regulator tactical doctrine was based on
simplicity.  Pinpoint the target, land as close as possible, strike
immediately with all force, then withdraw.  Minimum exposure time and maximum
effect.  In the six centuries he'd served with them and in the two he'd been
fighting them, they'd never deviated from those basic principles, nor was
their leadership of the sort to alter the established doctrines of millennia
of tradition.  Kali might have done so, but she had died spitting blood and
cursing the name of Cain all those years ago.

Third possibility: He'd been taken by renegade Skyborn who were taking him to
hand over to the Lord of the Vale.  This would be very bloody extremely bad
indeed.  He'd planned on eventually meeting the Lord of the Vale, of course,
but that plan had also entailed his having certain devices on his person at
the time and a largish army of battle-crazed Servii warriors at his back.  He
was pretty sure that the Lord would be happy to see him.  See him profoundly
tortured, flayed, and impaled on a stick, that is.

Cain eyed the collection of junk he'd taken out of his pockets and pondered
his choices.  He had a staser pistol, a broken wristwatch, a book of matches,
a lockpick, and an old German 'potato-masher' hand grenade.  He'd already
seen that trying to pilot this TARDIS was right out.  The way the console'd
been cobbled back together -- another sign that it wasn't a Regulator TARDIS
-- showed him that it would be all but impossible for anyone not intimately
familiar with its workings to operate it with any sort of precision.  Of
course, he could always open the doors, lean out, and gun down the bird
warriors, which would be a handy-dandy way of committing suicide.  He'd
already seen that this old Type-Forty didn't have any internal inertial
dampers, which would mean that he'd be nicely smeared all over the console
room when it hit the ground.  That option would be viable if he were being
taken to the Vale, but not otherwise.

The last possibility abruptly became moot as the shattered grandeur of Avis
City lurched into view.  He let out a small whistle of relief, cheered a bit
that execution would be the worst peril he'd have to face.  And he was
largely sure he could get around that.  Again.

"I wonder if ol' Shanneril's still running the show up there?  Be a spot of
luck if I can deal with a familiar face..."

----

As the door came apart under the hammering from outside, training so deep it
was practically instinct took over in Babydoll's mind.  She'd wait for the
attackers to come through the door before firing, catching them with nowhere
to dodge to and letting the bodies of the first casualties impede the advance
of their comrades.  She'd hose bullets into them until she ran out of ammo,
then charge them.  The primary rule of indoor hand-to-hand combat was to
always force the enemy toward walls and obstacles and to keep them as
tightly-compressed as possible, hindering their freedom of action.  Not that
Babydoll had any illusions about her ability to fight her way out of a city
full of hostile, blood-crazed barbarians, but the indoctrination that was
embedded so deeply in her wouldn't allow her to admit defeat.  Ever.

She cast a quick look at her companion.  Bella's face bore a sober, intense
look, her eyes wholly clear and human but with her fangs bared in an
unconscious rictus of defiance.  She held Murgonj's dagger a bit awkwardly,
unused to using weapons, but without a tremble.  Babydoll's mind analyzed the
girl's chances even as she pulled back the slide on her machine pistol and
aimed at the door.  Bella was usually weak and a bit...  well...  _anemic_ in
the daytime, even when not in the open sunshine.  But now she'd just fed and
would be at the peak of her powers, sunlight or no sunlight.  Get some blood
in her, and the girl was Hell-on-Heels; fast, slick, strong as a bull.
Unless she got decapitated or someone staked her in the heart, she'd last a
long time...

The door fell away in a clatter of wooden fragments as a pair of huge Servii,
faces locked in the berserk joy of battle-lust, beat it in with their axes.
Babydoll's finger tightened on the trigger as they began to force their way
over the remains of her barricade, then froze as something loomed behind the
two warriors.

Catching the look in her eyes, the two Servii whirled about, too late.  A
whistling broadsword drove down on the left-hand warrior's helm, splitting it
and the skull beneath all the way to the teeth.  As the body fell away, it
wrenched the sword from the killer's hand.  Lightning-like, the hand shot out
and grabbed the second Servii by the throat as he sought to bring up his axe.
The killer's other hand checked the stroke and his knee drove up viciously
into the axe-man's groin.  The wounded man sagged away, sped on by a brutal
kick in the face.

Babydoll lowered her weapon as War Captain Rahaaz, looking much the worse for
wear, stepped over his vanquished foes and leaned on the splintered
doorframe.  Blood from a gash in his scalp was trickling into his center eye
and part of an ear had been hacked away, while more blood, not apparently his
own, was spattered across his breastplate and up both arms.  As the sounds of
battle in the courtyard died away entirely, he turned and gave a kick to an
injured warrior who crawled past him.

"Fatherless vermin!" he spat, shaking a fist at those outside.  "Didst forget
that Rahaaz is War Captain for a _reason_!?  Try thy blades again when thy
manhood be grown!" There were some cheers in response to this, apparently
from Rahaaz's supporters, and when the War Captain turned again to the two
women, his voice was almost back to a normal level.

"Thou'rt uninjured, Overworlders?" he grunted.  "'Tis well," he went on at
their nods, "for methinks there be a long day ahead."

----

War Captain Rahaaz was the most amazing Servii Babydoll had yet met, and for
one reason: he could almost be a rational person at times.  In fact, when not
actively engaged in frenzied mayhem, the big bastard had something
approximating good sense and an almost likeable personality.  As he sat on
Cain's work table, one of his serving-women bandaging his head, he ticked off
points for Bella and Babydoll to consider.

"Between battling the Skyborn, the challenge fight, and defections to other
War Captains, I've about thirty warriors remaining.  I'll not call 'pon my
War Chief Ghorlok's aid, for with thy master away, it be best that he remain
here as leader.  With Murgonj dead, War Chief Ghorlok should be able to keep
the warbands to the furtherance of the Cause of the Sacred Land until thy
master's return.  Thus, I'd say 'twere best that we strike the Skyborn with
all haste, ere those of Murgonj's camp find new voice.  To that end, I and
those of War Chief Ghorlok's men who still follow me shall do as thou bid'st,
wherever thou lead'st, 'til thy master be saved.  War Captain Rahaaz has
spoken." His bandaging and his advice both completed, Rahaaz turned his
attention to reloading the two old Webley percussion revolvers that his
servants had reurned to him.

"Well," sid Babydoll, a bit taken aback by such a direct deferral of
authority from the Servii, "you can't say fairer than that." She turned to
the vampire girl, who was glumly watching as the slaves and servants dragged
out the Servii dead and piled them in a heap.  "What do you think, Fangs?"
she asked, giving Bella a nudge.  "Does that one-eyed old bastard even need
rescuing, or should we wait a bit and see if he turns up?  He's in a TARDIS,
after all."

Bella shook her head, her dark curls bouncing.  "No, he's in trouble, all
right.  A TARDIS is a timeship, remember?  If he were able to return, he'd
have backtracked and shown up right after he was taken.  We'll have to go and
get him...  Pigtails."

"Hmph." Babydoll took a sip of the vile orange Servii brew to cover the fact
that she'd completely forgotten that angle.  "So, since neither of us can
operate the TARDIS, we'll just have to waltz our way into a flying city full
of people who hate our crukking guts, just me, you, and a double-handful of
Servii cavalrymen, snatch him out from under their noses, and make a clean
getaway before they can shoot us down like dogs from bird-back.  Is that what
you're saying?"

"Precisely," the vampire replied, totally ignoring the sarcasm.

"Smeg," spat Babydoll, eyes turned ceilingward.  Musingly, she went on, "Of
course, that really just begs the question of why we should put our butts on
the line for that callous old prick at all..."

"Because he'd do the same for us," Bella answered quietly.  "Because he _has_
done the same for us."

That stopped Babydoll's complaints cold.  "Yeah," she agreed, remembering.
"He has, hasn't he?" She barked a humorless, self-mocking laugh and kicked
back in Cain's chair.  "Smeg.  Smeg smeg smeg." She brooded for a moment,
then blew out a long sigh and grinned at her companions.  "What the Hell?
Better to die while we're still young and beautiful, right?"

Rahaaz looked up from his reloading and nodded his approval.  "Thou think'st
like a Servii, Overworlder."

"She does, doesn't she?" Bella asked with merrily malicious innocence.

Babydoll glared at her.  "I'd say 'bite me'," she muttered, "but you'd bloody
well _do_ it..."