From: Clive@cj4386.demon.co.uk (Clive May) Subject: Desert of Fear next instalment 1/2. Date: Mon, 03 Jun 02 18:40:39 GMT ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ----- In desperate haste, the Doctor and Prak groped their way through a humid darkness, slipping and slithering down steps treacherous with slime. The stairway was leading them through a series of right angle turns, into the very heart of the pyramid. As an escape route, it held little promise; but they had no choice. The enraged bellowing of the Lord and a troop of armed apes pursued them, hastening their flight. The Doctor ran suddenly into a rough stone wall. He cried out a warning; but Prak cannoned into him, and sat down heavily. The North Rimmer dropped the sword, and heard it clatter down another flight of steps. "This way!" urged the Doctor, following the sound. He began to feel his way down the next flight. As Prak pushed himself up, a powerful animal musk tainted the air. Fluttering yellow light sent his shadow dancing over the stonework. A spear slashed past his head to clang off the wall in a shower of sparks. Prak looked up to see an ape at the top of the flight, clutching a flaring torch. The creature let out a feral snarl. It drew a long knife, and came scuttling down the steps. Prak grabbed up the spear, and readied himself to meet the charge. The creature closed with him, three eyes afire with a green light. It aimed a savage thrust at his chest. At that very instant, a grey fog shrouded Prak's brain. He tried to raise the spear to deflect the blow; but an invisible hand gripped his arm. As the controlling will of the Lord was switched to Prak, the ape hesitated, puzzled. In its sudden confusion, the creature lost its footing on the slimy stones. It crashed down, impaling itself on Prak's spear. The ape's momentum bore them both to the ground. The Will of the Lord switched back to the dying ape, which lunged for Prak's unprotected face. In the nick of time, he got a forearm across its throat, and held it off with a strength borne of mortal terror. Fangs gnashed inches from his eyes. Blood flecked spittle wetted his cheeks, and claws gouged his arm. The strength of the creature far surpassed Prak's; inexorably the slavering jaws drew closer to his throat. Just when he knew he could hold it off no longer, the green fire died from its eyes. The creature convulsed; blood bubbled between the fangs; and it went limp. Prak squirmed out from under the bundle of rank fur. Another ape thrust a spear at him; but Prak slithered sideways on the bloody flags, and went tumbling down the next flight. He skidded off another landing, and bumped painfully down more steps. At the bottom, the Doctor waited, sword in hand. Prak rolled out of the alcove at the base of the steps, into a large chamber lit by a dim, greenish glow. By the time he was on his feet, the Doctor was energetically engaged with a spear wielding ape. The creature was trying to force its way past his guard. Prak saw in an instant that if the creature got clear of the confining narrowness of the alcove, any practical defence would be impossible. As Prak bounded to his aid, the Doctor trembled, as though contesting against overwhelming force. The sword dropped from a suddenly lax hand. His movements slowed and became jerky. The Ape hesitated; then it sprang forward into the chamber, aiming a disembowelling thrust at the Doctor. Prak yelled a warning; but the Doctor seemed not to hear. Prak lunged at the stricken Time lord, bundling him aside at the last moment. Missing its target, the Ape overbalanced. Prak grabbed the shaft of the spear, wrenched it free, and reversed it. "SOOLISSA!" he screamed, before driving the blade into the creature's side. The ape howled in pain. It lashed out at Prak. Talons raked down his thigh. Prak yanked the spear free. "SOOLISSA!" he screamed, and hammered the long, leaf-shaped blade across the creatures neck, partially severing the head. A gout of blood flooded over the golden fur. The ape collapsed, face down on the floor. Prak straightened, readying himself for the next attack. He cut a terrible figure in the gloom, standing in a spreading pool of gore, his clothes drenched in blood. His eyes blazed with hatred; and his face was contorted into a feral mask. Had he not held a weapon, he would have flown at the next attacker with his bare hands. Another ape, too eager to get at them, stumbled over its fallen comrade. It pitched onto all-fours. Prak speared it savagely in the spine between the shoulders. Yet another ape appeared in the alcove. This one held a sword. Prak hauled on the spear; but it was stuck fast. The ape in the alcove snarled, and struck at the struggling man's unprotected back. In the shadows beside the recess, the Doctor was working a lever set in the wall. There came a low grating sound from overhead; and a large slab of stone dropped suddenly into the alcove. The ape screeched in sudden panic. Its cry of fear was cut short as the block slammed down, crushing the ape into a bloody ruin. The sword it had been clutching slithered away across the stones, into a shadowed corner. Prak gave up on trying to free the spear. He went down on one knee as his savaged leg gave out. The Doctor was at his side in an instant, urging him gently onto his back. The Doctor knelt and examined the leg. The tough flying suit was ripped to tatters; but it had given some protection to the flesh. Still, the muscles had been badly mauled; and blood ran freely from the wounds. Prak struggled to sit up. The Doctor pushed him down. "Lay still, Old Chap," he commanded. "We'll have to get that leg bandaged, or you'll bleed to death." "But we've got to find a way out of here before they can get that block up again!" Prak protested, sobered from his insane rage by the pain. "That slab will hold them for a while, I think." the Doctor said. "With any luck, that poor creature's body will have jammed the mechanism." He dragged off his shirt. "There's a more immediate danger than them getting in," he added as he began to wrap the shirt about Prak's thigh. "There is?" Prak grated out between clenched teeth. The Doctor nodded. He said: "Mind control. You must have felt that fellow's attacks earlier? He must have been distracted by something; or we'd both be dead by now." He tied off the sleeves about the makeshift bandage. "There - that should hold it for a bit." The Doctor stood up, and helped Prak to his feet. He peered around the shadowed chamber. "We've got to find some way out of this death trap, and quick," he said, "before he can bring his full power to bear on us again...Or find some way of blocking it." "I had a helmet..." Prak began. The Doctor was not listening. He had noticed a figure behind some wooden bars. It was hunched in a stone chair, bathed in a green glow. The shock of recognition sent him hurrying over to pull the rickety gate aside. He moved to the side of the stone throne, and bent over the figure, which was draped in a feather cloak, and wearing a strange headdress. "Jo?" he called urgently. "Jo? Can you hear me?" Jo stirred feebly. Her face, which had been set in an expression of terror, grew calm at the sound of his voice. A tiny, wistful smile tugged at her lips; but the girl's eyes remained firmly closed. The Doctor reached out to remove the headdress. Suddenly cautious, he hesitated. The green gems in the band were pulsating to a rhythm in time with the green crystal in the ceiling. He had a nasty suspicion he knew what that gem was, and what was being done to his assistant with it. By the stairway, Prak finally managed to work the spear free. Using it as a crutch, he hobbled over to the Doctor's side. The girl in the throne, he recognised instantly as the one delivered so shamefully to the Lord. A surge of contrition washed through him, diluting his murderous despair over Soolissa's death. He had brought this upon the girl, and all for nothing - it had not saved his Princess. Prak felt suddenly wretched. "Doctor?" he asked. "Hmmm?" the Doctor acknowledged absently. He was moving slowly around the throne, inspecting it from all sides. Draped over a projection at the back was his coat. Automatically, he slipped it back on over his bare torso. "Doctor? Will she be alright?" Prak asked in a shame-faced whisper, while watching the play of green shadows over the girl's face. The guilty tone in his voice caused the Doctor to look at him sharply. He said: "I don't know. If it's what I suspect..." "She's being converted to be a slave of the Lord of the Vale," Prak informed him. "I see," said the Doctor. "Well if that's the only thing that's being done to her? then there's a good chance she can be brought back. A little deep hypnosis should do the trick...But I fear there's a little more going on here than just a simple mind control procedure." He pointed at the pulsing green gem in the ceiling. "Jo could well lose her mind entirely, and be subsumed in the under-stratum...If that is what I think it is?" Prak squinted at the pulsing light. "What is it?" he asked. Neither man noticed the flicker of movement in a shadowed corner. The hem of a red robe, cast into a sickly purple by the green dim, rustled unheard in the sudden silence. A pale hand reach down to curl worm like fingers about the hilt of the ape's long knife. As it was lifted, the blade gave off a dull gleam. Across the chamber, the Doctor answered Prak. "A splinter from a planetary mind." "A what?" "A planatary mind." "Planets have minds?" Prak asked in astonishment. "You mean to say that a planet can think? Like us?" "No, no, my dear chap, not like us at all," the Doctor answered. "Planetary intelligences exist on a different time frame. By our standards, they are so slow we can barely perceive their thought processes; and they certainly aren't able to perceive us. Their Pace-Rate is in tune with geological time." "Which means what?" Prak asked, totally mystified by the Doctor's explanation. "Which means that their perception threshold is millions of time slower than mobile organic life. It's extremely difficult for us to interact with them in any meaningful way on a conscious level. But on an unconscious level...Now that's a different matter altogether. Prak? Do you have trouble with ghosts on this world?" "Ghosts?" Prak echoed, even more nonplussed by the sudden change of direction. "Yes. You know? The spirits of those who have died. Is there a tradition of ancestors coming back to warn of danger and such like on this world? Or of kindly disposed ancestors who give wise counsel to their descendents? Any thing like that?" "Umm? No," Prak answered bemusedly. Then a thought struck him. "Although, the Servii believe in a 'Spirit of the Sacred Land' from which they are born and to which they return when they die...But it's just superstitious mumbo jumbo." He shook his head emphatically. "No, Doctor - there are no ghosts." The Doctor favoured him with a long look. "A common misconception of technocratic civilisations," he said. "But you're right - there are no ghosts in the classic sense. However, planetary minds can give rise to the belief in the ghosts of ancestors or a 'Spirit of the Land' such as you say the Servii have. Your people even had a name for it once, back on your home world - they called it Gaya." He paused to indicate the gem in the ceiling; "but that can't have anything to do with the Sacred Land of these Servii." "Why not?" "Because this is a splinter of the great mind of the planet Tantavirain. It shouldn't be here at all." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and considered the gem, then Prak before adding. "If there is a native over-mind on this planet, and it's sentient, then I should imagine things have been a bit fraught here in recent times. They are specific to their home worlds and can be very protective of their 'turf', seeing as, strictly speaking, they are composed of that 'turf." "I'm sorry, Doctor; but you can't seriously expect me to believe in something like that...It's just too far-fetched!" "It's not that incredible, my dear fellow," the Doctor said a little huffily at Prak's skepticism. "Believe me, Prak, there are many more stranger forms of life in the universe than old Tantavirain here. Of course, this particular kind of life is very rare, because conditions have to be exactly right for a planetary mind to form. But where the rock formation is of the right mix, and the organic life that invests the intestacies is of the right quality, they can form a creature hundreds of cubic miles in extent. Mostly they are not self-aware, but a few, a very few become sentient. My people are on quite good terms with this particular fellow. But if our friend upstairs has been foolish enough to meddle in the affairs of Tantavirain?...He's probably well aware by now that he's bitten off more than he can chew. Tantavirain can be a surly old curmudgeon..." The doctor broke off, aware that Prak had stopped listening. The North Rimmer was swaying, and clutching one hand to his head. With the other, he brought up the spear, and aimed its point at the Doctor's chest. His eyes were shining with a pale, green glow. The Doctor had been anticipating this attack on Prak. It had been Soolissa's drugged drink that had opened his own mind for the Lord to invade. Since then, to protect himself, he had been working out the value of pi to infinity. The mental exertion afforded him some protection against the Lord, and made him much harder to control than Prak. The only trouble was that he'd not yet had the time to formulate a plan to deal with an attack from that quarter. "Prak! Fight it man!" he urged. "You must fight it!" The possessed man was beyond hearing. He lunged. The Doctor dodged behind the throne, and cast about for some weapon. He caught sight of a battered, brass helmet on a ledge along the back wall. He snatched it up, intending to shy it at Prak's head. The moment his fingers touched the metal, however, the Doctor knew providence had furnished him with a powerful weapon against the mind control. He recognised it as a psionic masking field. The design was Gallifreyan; and he wondered how such a thing might have come here. A desperate plan suggested itself to him; if only he could get a moment to make some necessary adaptations? Still on the move, he fumbled for his sonic screwdriver. In a moment, the brass cover was off, exposing the circuits. He rolled the metal dome at Prak's feet to keep him off balance, whilst he began trying to make adjustments to the mechanism. Prak dodged clumsily over the cover. Instead of pursuing the Doctor, he raised the spear and aimed it at Jo's heart. His lips twisted; and the growling voice of the Lord rattled in his throat. "Surrender!" it demanded; "Surrender, Time Lord! Or I kill the woman!" The Doctor quickly considered his options. He didn't fancy his chances of getting the helmet over Prak's head, and the necessary changes needed to the circuits could not be done in time to save Jo from the Lord's wrath. The choice was stark - sacrifice Jo and save himself or, give in to the threat and leave the entire world at the mercy of the Lord of the Vale. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ----- The din of clashing steel and howling Servii war cries was terrific as they celebrated their victory at the gate of the World's Edge Fortress. At the centre of the melee, Xel stood proudly upon the shoulders of Ghorlok's Gurvuk. Her black hair and crimson spattered white robe fluttered as Ghorlok paraded the beast around amid the throng of warriors. On her forehead, the painted eye blazed with colour in the harsh light. Peering down from the walls above, the Trinnian mercenaries manning the gate section felt the first stirrings of fear at the spectacle. Xel suddenly raised her blood spattered arms. A silence fell that was more terrible than the bedlam. She looked slowly around at the eager faces of her people, for they were most assuredly now ''her people', before turning that dreadful painted eye upon the fortress. "DIE!" she screamed, and stabbed a finger at the massive iron valves closing off the tunnel. With renewed gusto, the yelling and clashing of steel broke out. Like a tide of green flesh, the warriors surged towards the fortress. They broke over the walls, in a wave crested with a spray of glittering steel. Atop those walls, the defenders made hasty preparations to repel the impulsive onset. Across the valley, on the crest of the rise, Kazaan grunted with alarm as the Servii attacked. Sudden misgivings flooded her mind. For the first time, she began to fear that she might have made a fatal mistake. "What have you done, Old Fool?" A woman's voice, laden with accusation, spoke at her elbow. Kazaan glanced round to see Reed, standing naked at her side. The crooked mouth was drawn into a thin line of suppressed fury. Her long black hair hung down, un-stirred by the wind. Nor did her feet quite rest on the sand. She spoke again. "Old Fool! What have you done? You will destroy us all with this madness!" Dismissively, Khazaan returned her gaze to the action across the valley. "There is no welcome here for thy kind, Slave of the Outland Spirit," She said sharply. "Begone, Reed. Thy trespass upon the Sacred Land is an abomination not to be borne. Thou hath no right to manifest thy presence here." "No right!" Reed exclaimed in outrage. "You have abused and compromised my Kin in furtherance of your mad ambition to set free the Servii. And you claim that Reed has no right! By the Purpose, such high-handed ill-use of my Kin cannot be endured!" "It must be endured, for it cannot be changed." Khazaan said. Reed shook her head in dismay. "That you are obsessed in the rightness of your cause, I have known always. But that you dare to stoop to such folly as opening the way for the Spirit of the Sacred Land to infuse my Kin? Truly have you failed to take the measure of the savagery nestling in the bosom of my Kin. Else surely should you have endured a thousand generations of slavery in exchange for not loosing such a monstrous thing upon the world. Ay, and counted it a bargain well made. You think your own kind fierce and terrible in war; but us out of old Terra can match you atrocity for atrocity...and all untrammelled by the honour which restrains the savage heart of your kind. Do you truly understand the nature of this monstrous chimera you have made with this folly?" Reed broke off to scowl at the Great Mother Kazaan. "I ask again, Old Fool! What have you done?" Kazaan rounded on the woman; anger flared in her red eyes. "I might ask thou the same question, Slave of the Outland Spirit. What hast thou done? but skulk in the jungle and fawn upon that green rock? Well. I, Kazaan, Sacred Mother to my Kin, hath lost patience with thine inactivity and craven cowardice. I hath done what needs be done. For good or ill, the matter is set on. How so ever it falls out, it cannot now be stopped." "You think not?" asked Reed. "The defenders are stout hearted kin of mine from the western continent. If this impulsive onset is repulsed, there will be a slaughter of your idiotic bravos such as the Servii kind shall not recover from in a hundred generations. What then, Old Fool? What then?" Kazaan shrugged. "'Tis an idiotic folly to storm such a stronghold thus ill prepared, that I grant thee. Yet, verily, 'tis the Servii way. The Gods will decide." "Ay," Reed agreed. "But whose, yours or mine?" "It matters not," stated Kazaan. Resignedly, Reed shook her head. "Folly and madness. All is folly and madness," she muttered. "You will surely doom us all with your..." She broke off suddenly, and gave vent to a shriek of panic. Then she vanished. There remained only a misty ghost upon the dry air, to mark where Reed had been. Khazaan glanced at the fading image a moment, and frowned. Reed's abrupt departure troubled her. In previous encounters, the woman had proved a vexatious disputant, and driven Khazaan to distraction with her endless worrying at things done in haste in the long ago and which Khazaan was powerless to affect. Then she shrugged, and turned her attention back to the battle at the wall. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ -----