From: bradkwillis@aol.com (BKWillis)
Date: 24 Sep 2002 01:00:33 GMT
Subject: Desert of Fear (New Installment, part 1)


"...so I gave him the helmet in exchange for the information, and that was
the last I saw of Prak.  That was about four days ago." Cain polished off the
dregs of their liquor and looked somewhat morosely into the empty bottom of
his cup.

"Do you know what he was planning to do?" Pereska asked.  His sharp eyes
remained undimmed by the either the amount he'd had to drink or any sense of
trust in his 'guest'.

The big Time Lord shrugged.  "Something foolish, more than likely.  Knowing
old Snout-Face, he probably told Prak he'd trade him what's-her-name--"

"Soolisa," Pereska corrected icily.

"--for someone or something he valued more.  Maybe a Servii Priestess or one
of Shanneril's Handmaids, something along those lines.  Odds are that even if
he managed to work out an exchange, the Lord of the Vale found some way to
screw him over." Cain turned and spat into the fireplace.  "Shame about that.
The kid had a lot of talent."

"A useful tool for you, eh, Overworlder?" The North Rim leader's voice was
flat and glacially cold.

"Yeah, he was, actually." Cain's own voice was as flippant and careless as if
they were discussing last night's supper, both men using their words as
knives to see who could stand the bleeding longest.  "I've had a hard time
recruiting agents among you groundhogs." He noted with satisfaction the look
of brief paranoia on Pereska's face at that remark.  The backhanded
implication that Cain _had_ suborned some of the North Rim bravos would keep
him wondering and add a nice balance of uncertainty to their dealings.
"Still," he went on, "I expect there'll be others."

Pereska surprised him by turning the barb right back against him.  "So, this
is how you discard your tools when you've done with them?  I assume, then,
that you'll do the same with those two Overworld women after you've wrung all
the use from them you can?  Spend them like pistol balls that you fire off
and forget?"

Cain's eye narrowed and he stared through his host for a long, tense moment,
his face otherwise blank as stone, breathing deeply.  Across the table,
Pereska's gray whiskers twitched slightly, his expression cat-cruel.  For a
few seconds, it seemed as if the very air between the two would start to
smolder from the tension, but then the moment broke as a sharp crackling
sounded from the tabletop.

Both men looked down at the shards of the cup in Cain's clenched fist.  The
Time Lord opened his hand slowly, letting the pieces clatter down onto the
table, tiny droplets of blood from the cuts they'd inflicted dappling the
jagged pieces.

Cain pushed away from the table and rose, wiping his palm on his thigh.  "I
should go check on Bella," he muttered.  "Thanks for the cheap hooch,
Pereska."

The Rimmer shrugged.  "Bad liquor for bad company.  I'll be around later to
arrange your escort back into the High Desert."

Cain sneered wearily as he pushed open the door.  "Yeah, I'll--" He suddenly
bit back the sarcastic retort and sighed.  "I'll be headed into the Vale
soon," he said instead.  "If Prak is in there and alive, I'll do what I can
to get him out.  And if he's dead...  Well, you'll have your revenge for him,
either way."

----

"You wished to see me alone, Majesty?"

"Yes.  Shut the door behind you , Rhanda."

The young subaltern did as she was bid, gently latching the doors of the High
Priestess's private sanctum, then striding over to stand before her ruler's
workdesk.

Shanneril sat with her elbows on the desk, fingers steepled pensively at her
lips.  She regarded her subordinate with an unwavering gaze as sharp and dark
as an obsidian blade, a look of inflexible judgment.  Rhanda fought the urge
to fidget and shuffle under that stare, forcing herself to remain at full
martial attention.

"Tell me, young Rhanda," Shanneril purred, "do you think it was a wise move
for me to appoint the Overworlder Kali to command of our forces?"

"It is not my place to question the wisdom of your decisions, Majesty." The
words came out a bit too quickly, the girl's eyes flicking away guiltily as
she spoke.

"That's not what I asked you."

Rhanda gnawed at her lip slightly, but jerked her gaze back to the High
Priestess.  "The Lady Kali has considerable tactical skill and a quick and
decisive mind.  She should make a very capable commander."

A smirky half-smile curled Shanneril's lip.  "That isn't really what I asked
you, either, but I suppose that's the closest I'll get." She sighed deeply
and turned her chair around to gaze out the tower window, her eyes following
a patrolling wing of Temple Guards as they glided past.  "Personally, I don't
think it was all that smart of a choice."

"Majesty?" Rhanda asked, confused.

Shanneril's grimace reflected in the glare off the window.  "No, it wasn't
that great of a choice, but it was the only one to make.  Someone has to lead
the Guard, after all, and with Siharal a broken reed..." Her tone laid a
patina of scorn to the former commander's name.  "...the Overworlder is the
only one qualified." She turned back to face Rhanda again.  "Do you know why
I appointed you to be my liaison with Lady Kali, girl?"

"Um, not specifically, Majesty..."

Shanneril smiled coldly at her.  "_Specifically_, it's because I don't trust
that woman any further than I could sling her.  She knows her business, all
right, but she also has an agenda of her own and you can rest assured that
she'll use us to further it, no matter what.  So long as our goals are
compatible, I don't mind that.  But I need a set of trustworthy eyes and ears
close by her.  Someone who can make sure that our new commander's ambitions
do not cross the bounds of what is acceptable to Avis City."

"You wish me to observe Lady Kali's actions and inform you if they contravene
your desires?"

"More than that." Shanneril leaned forward, one finger outthrust like an
accusation.  "What I am about to say to you must not go outside these walls,
Rhanda." She waited for the girl to nod, then went on, "The fact is that I
fear that the Overworlders of both factions may have already spread their
influence throughout our great city, compromising our security on many
levels.  The civilian sectors are rife with treason and I hear rumors of
subversion even among the Temple Guard.  We can trust no one." Without taking
her gaze from Rhanda's eyes, she laid a seal-embossed piece of paper on her
desk and slid it across.

Blinking, the subaltern took it up and began to read it, the color slowly
draining from her face.  "Majesty, this is..."

"A death warrant," Shanneril finished.  "You are to keep a close watch on the
activities of our new commander.  If her actions seem to you as being to the
detriment of Avis City, you have my official sanction to execute her on the
spot."

----

Cain had only gone a little ways from Pereska's cottage, the sentries'
hostile glares on his back as they fingered their weapons, when he was
stopped by a low voice calling to him.

"Overworlder!  I would have words with you."

From the long shadows beside an herbalist's stall stepped a small, wiry man
of late middle age, dressed in the rough white homespun of a farmer.  A
half-dozen small knives hung from his belt, but he kept his hands well away
from them, palms out.  He stood looking up at the tall Time Lord, his
expression wary but not hostile, in the middle of the path.

"I am Yegen, father of Yerik," the man said, putting his fist over his heart
and bowing slightly in the North Rim custom.

It took a moment for Cain to connect a face to the name.  "Yerik...  the kid
with the knives?" he asked warily.  "How's he doing?"

"He will live, Overworlder.  Our healers stopped his bleeding and applied
their poultices.  He may limp, but he will live.  And now it falls upon me to
repay his debt to you."

Cain tensed, shifting his weight for a kick even as he put a note of friendly
nervousness into his voice.  "Hey, now, that was a fair fight, you know--"

"I do know this," said Yegen, still keeping his hands away from his weapons.
"But it was to be a fight to the death and yet..." The old man swallowed, his
voice breaking a little.  "...and yet you spared him, my only son.  Even
though he'd have slain you if he could, you spared his life.  It was I that
taught Yerik the ways of the blade and I watched your duel.  You could have
put your dagger in his face or throat instead of his leg, had you been minded
to.  Instead, you chose to show mercy when you need not have.  And for that,
I owe you-- my _family_ owes you a great debt."

A little embarrassed, Cain dropped out of his ready posture and rubbed
awkwardly at the back of his neck.  "Er, thanks Yegen, but you don't owe me
anything."

"A life-debt is owed," the farmer repeated firmly.  "And I shall repay it,
Overworlder.  All that I have, my farm, my birds, my weapons, and my life are
at your disposal." He bowed again, deeper this time.

Cain was about to thank the man again and send him on his way, when something
he'd said started tugging at his brain.  "You've got some riding birds?"

"My own and my son's, two fliers of strong wing and good color."

Cain draped an arm companionably around the smaller man's shoulders and
offered him a crooked smile.  "Well, I'll tell you what, Yegen.  I'd call our
debt fully settled if you could, say, loan me one of those birds for a couple
of days..."

----

The assassin slipped silently around the last corner into the TARDIS console
room, his back to the wall, the staser pistol in his left hand coming down to
bear on the dark-coated figure hunched over the Vortex Trace Analyzer.
Oblivious to his peril, the target muttered under his breath and adjusted the
Scan Reception, engrossed in the stream of data crawling across the screen.
With quick, soundless steps, the assassin shifted to a clearer firing arc for
a shot at his victim's head.  The staser levelled in a two-handed grip, he
smiled and pressed the firing stud.

The shot went wild as a swift, fluid form barrelled into the assassin,
throwing his aim off.  He grunted and staggered under the blow, trying to
right himself, when a pale, long-nailed hand swept around and dug into his
throat.  The would-be killer dropped his weapon and tore madly at the hand at
his neck, but to no avail.  The white fingers clenched, ripping through flesh
and severing arteries as they tore out the entire front of the man's neck.  A
scream started, only to vanish into a gurgling hiss as the man's body
crumpled into a sopping heap.

Bella stepped over the corpse, shaking droplets of blood from her hand.
"Cain," she said to the dark-coated man's back, "are you all right?"

The only answer was the continued muttering as the Time Lord worked the
Analyzer.

"What a disgusting animal you are."

Bella turned to see Babydoll standing behind her, a look of utter revulsion
twisting her pretty features as she flicked her gaze back and forth between
Bella and the dead man, her long braids swishing as she shook her head.

"Wh-what did you say, Pigtails?" Bella asked.

Babydoll's machine pistol swivelled to point at her.  "Don't call me that,
you soulless _thing_," she snapped.  "In fact, don't talk to me at all.  The
less I have to do with a _thing_ like you, the better."

"But-but--" Eyes huge and wounded, Bella stumbled back from the infuriated
blonde, her hands up in a gesture of peace.  "I thought-- We-- You and I--"

There was a long sigh from behind her and she spun about again.  Standing
before her was a stocky black man with a shaven head and a close-cut beard
and mustache, clad in a dark green Star Marshal's uniform.

"Jubal!"

The man just sighed again and shook his head.  "Bella, Bella.  You still
haven't changed.  Look at you, standing there over a dead man with your hands
covered with blood.  A killer you were and a killer you remain."

"But I...  He was going to kill Cain!"

The black man shrugged.  "And so you did what you've always done and ripped
someone apart for _his_ sake.  As I said, you've never changed, girl.  You're
still his attack dog..."

"Aren't you going to eat that?" demanded a scornful voice at her back.  The
vampire whirled about again to see that a slender Asian-looking woman was now
standing beside Babydoll, her hands on her hips.  She wore a short,
sleeveless tunic which exposed the polished steel of a cybernetic right arm.
"Not going to let all that hot blood go to waste, are you?" she spat,
sneering.

"Dakota Chang?!  What are you doing here?"

Now other voices were sounding off around her as more and more figures
stepped into view: a teenaged boy with thick glasses and a backpack; a
foppish aristocrat with a rapier on his hip; a blue- skinned woman in black
body armor; a wild-eyed, bearded hippy; a girl with double-pupilled eyes; a
plump matron in a fur coat; and dozens more.

"Just a _beast_, really."

"Not fit to live..."

"...like some sort of vulture..."

"_Filthy_ thing!"

"Nothing but a cannibal."

"...doesn't deserve to live..."

"Typical.  Leaving corpses everywhere she goes."

Bella looked frantically from face to face, her eyes full of unshed tears.
"Please!  I'm not that way!  Babydoll!  Dakota!  Jubal!  Dej!  Meqaara!  All
of you!  You know I'm not that way!" She sank to her knees under the force of
their accusations, pleading for them to listen.  She started to wipe the
moisture from her eyes, but saw to her horror that _both_ hands were now
covered in blood, blood that refused to wipe off and that dripped down her
forearms in reeking streams.

"I'm not a thing, I'm a person!" she cried into the sea of stern faces that
swirled around her.  She turned to Cain, who still sat hunched over his
readings, and tugged at his raggedy trenchcoat.  "Tell them!" she begged.
"Tell them I'm not what they say I am!" Still, the Time Lord gave no sign
that he'd heard her, but persisted in his work.

"Murderer," chanted the milling throng.  "Wild beast.  Creature of Hell."

"Tell them!" she sobbed into Cain's trenchcoat.  "For God's sake, please tell
them!  Please!  Please..."

----

"Do you understand the gravity of the duty I'm charging you with?"

"I do, Majesty.  Rest assured that you may count on me to do what is best for
Avis City."

Rhanda replayed the conversation in her mind as she made her way down the
corridor.  Some of the High Priestess's revelations had disturbed her quite
profoundly and it was obvious that a time of great change lay ahead of the
Skyborn and their great city.  To have such an integral role as an agent of
that change was a heavy weight for such a low-ranking officer to bear and
Rhanda hoped that she'd be up to the challenge.  Still, though she might be
young and relatively inexperienced, she was confident that she knew her
duties and could perform them without fail when the time came.

Stopping before a door in the residential section of the Central Palace, she
cast a quick look around to see who might be observing.  Seeing no one, she
quickly slid a keycard into the lock and slipped inside the apartment, only
to find herself staring down the muzzle of a blaster.

"You should watch sneaking into people's rooms like that," purred Kali.  "You
could get yourself shot."

Rhanda smiled a little shakily and ran a hand through her short black hair.
"Heh.  Well, that's one of the risks of being a Temple Guard, I suppose."

Kali smirked.  "You've got nerve, at least." She put the blaster back on the
table and sank down onto the bed.  Her hair hung in a damp coppery mass and
she had a light robe tied loosely around her, the scents of soap and hot
water still wafting through the room.  "So, you're my 'liaison' now, eh?  I
assume that means you're supposed to spy on me and make sure I don't do
anything Her Majesty wouldn't approve of, is that about it?"

Rhanda fished the paper Shanneril had given her out of her pocket and passed
it over, then settled into the chair opposite the bed.

Kali took in the page at a glance, then handed it back with a short laugh.
"A death warrant, is it?  My, my.  It seems Shanneril's a bit paranoid these
days."

Rhanda took the warrant back with a questioning look.

"Keep it, keep it," Kali insisted.  "That's not the sort of thing that should
come up missing, after all." Her eyes glittered with evil mischief.  "So,
just how much does Her Majesty know at this point?"

The subaltern paused for a moment, thinking, while Kali poured two glasses
full from a wine bottle beside the bed.  Gratefully taking a glass, Rhanda at
last answered, "I got the impression that it's less what she actually _knows_
than what she suspects.  She never mentioned specifics, just vague statements
about treason and subversion and you Overworlders being behind it.  Her
Majesty is, I think, the sort of person who would name names if she knew
them, especially as angry as she is.  My feeling is that most of our
activities are still unknown to her and that any evidence that may come to
light can be safely blamed on either the renegade Overworlder or a conspiracy
of groundhog sympathizers, at least for the short term.  At this time, I
would say that the only clear and present danger is to yourself, which does
worry me, but not so much as if Her Majesty had given the warrant for your
death to someone else."

Kali smiled admiringly and arched a single delicate brow at her companion.
"What a devious girl you are!  Who would ever think that so much guile could
be behind such an innocent face?"

Rhanda smiled coolly back, raising her glass in a toast.  "From _you_, I take
that as a compliment, though I'm just doing my duty.  Avis City needs a
leader like you if we're to survive and reclaim our heritage, and I'm proud
to do my part to make it so." She inclined her head in a slight bow, then
took a long sip from her wine glass.

On the bed, Kali regarded her through narrowed eyes.  "You know," she said,
"I can never be sure when you're talking straight and when you're feeding me
a line of shit."

"That's why I'm such an effective agent, Lady Kali.  But you _know_ the
strength of my loyalty to you."

"Do I?  I wonder."

Glass clinked as Rhanda set her drink aside and stood, her fingers already
working at her tunic fastenings as she moved toward the bed.  "Then it seems
I must remind you of the depth of my devotion, milady..."