From: Clive@cj4386.demon.co.uk (Clive May)
Subject: Desert Of Fear   part: 39.  1/2.
Date: Wed, 24 Sep 2003 21:15:56 +0000 (UTC)


DESERT OF FEAR

Part 39

by Clive May


The copyright of Dr Who is the property of the BBC.

The copyright of the characters Siharal and Rhanda belongs to BKWillis.

This is a work of fan fiction; no money has, or will, change hands with
regard to the story; and no infringement of the owners' copyrights is
intended.


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"Somebody in authority?" Siharal repeated.  He shot a significant look at
Vanir.  "That might be a little difficult to arrange."

The Doctor glanced over the woman, noting the sword and the hostile
expression.  "I do hope not," he said.  "This whole planetary system is in
immediate peril...Unless I can find my TARDIS."

"TARDIS?" Vanir asked, suspicion in her voice.  "What's that?"

"My ship," said the Doctor; "she's the only hope we have of containing the
Intrusion.  If I can get to her in time, it might be possible to use the
engines to block the inflow whilst I repair the time dams?"

"Where is your ship?" Siharal asked.

"It was carried off to the south by those desert raiders.  I'll need one of
your birds, a fast one."

A thought occurred to Siharal.  "Doctor, does your ship look like a blue box,
about seven feet tall, with a blue lamp on top?"

"Why, yes...You've seen it?"

Siharal nodded.  "It's here!"

"Here?  How?" the Doctor started to ask, before he recalled Gorthund's
boastful assertion.  "The Snatch Squad?  They managed to get it back?"

"Yes...It's right here in the City."

For the first time since fleeing the control room under the pyramid, with its
damaged Console, the Doctor felt a little hope.  In an excess of zeal, he
took a hold of Siharal's arm.  "You must get me to the TARDIS...NOW!" he
demanded.

Siharal shot a questioning glance at Vanir; but her attention was elsewhere.
She raised the sword, and pointed at the door through which the Doctor had
entered.  There was a livid green fire licking around the edges.  From under
the door, a viscous green pool was spreading across the floor.  It seemed
formed of a mosaic of a million overlapping faces screaming in terror.  The
door panel began to bulge outwards.  It was accompanied by a tortured screech
of rending metal, which echoed around the hanger, giving agonised voice to
those faces.

"Jeels!  What IS that?" Vanir gasped.

At the sound of her voice, the green fire hesitated, then sent out long
tentacles of luminescent green in their direction.  The blindly groping ropes
of writhing emerald light evoked a primal terror in Vanir's soul, sending
chill shivers down her spine.  She desperately wanted to flee; but her feet
seemed stuck to the floor.

"Come on!" the Doctor cried.  He snatched the arms of Vanir and Siharal, and
dragged the two paralysed Skyborn after him.  "It's followed me through the
Translocation Tunnel."

"But what is it," asked Siharal, twisting around in the Doctor's grip to
stare wide-eyed at the phenomenon.

"It's quite deadly," said the Doctor.  "There's no time to explain.  You must
get me to the TARDIS immediately.  It's the only chance we have of saving
Avis City from a horrible destruction."

The green fire flared suddenly, and flowed swiftly in the direction of their
voices.  Vanir made a high, wordless squeal of terror.  She tore her arm free
from the Doctor's grasp, and took off for the door at a dead run.  The
pregnant woman covered the distance with remarkable swiftness in her ungainly
gait.  She was half way to the exit before the Doctor and Siharal caught up
to her.  After they had dived through the hatch, Siharal turned to slam it
shut.

"Leave it!" commanded the Doctor.  "It's a waste of time.  The Intrusion can
filter through any crack.  Our only hope is to get to the TARDIS.  You must
show me where she is!"

"This way!" Vanir shouted, and set off up a broad ramp winding out of sight
into darkness.  She was quickly over taken by the Doctor and Siharal.  A
livid green light flowed into the corridor behind them.

"It's gaining on us," Vanir squealed in panic.  "Oh Jeels!  it's catching
up!" The pregnant woman was falling further behind, presenting Siharal with a
dilemma.  He wanted desperately to help her.  All the customs and traditions
of his race told him you did not abandon women and children; but at the same
time, it was vital that the Doctor be shown where his ship was.  What should
he do?

The next moment any action he decided to take became a moot point.

They ran from the ramp into a large ill-lit hallway.  Five men, dressed in
tattered clothes, were crouched about a bundle of red rags on the floor.  The
men were already rising and turning to face the entrance, alerted by the
shouting and running feet.

"The Aristo's free!" one of them shouted.  He was a squat, burly man.  He
moved to tackle Siharal.  Both men crashed to the filthy floor, rolling and
kicking.  From the corridor, the scintillating emerald light grew brighter,
accompanied by a fierce crackling sound.

We don't have time for this, the Doctor thought grimly as he negligently
tossed one attacker aside, and moved on to the next.  He could hear Vanir
shouting something about an equipment hoist; but the sense got lost in the
general commotion.

Then the Intrusion arrived in the chamber.

Everything stopped.  The sudden stillness was filled up with the eerie
crackling sound.  The flickering green luminescence sent sickly shadows
flowing over the decaying metal walls.  A tangle of coiling snakes of green
flame leapt up in the doorway.  A tentacle of fire flicked out, catching an
Under-Dweller by the ankle.  He screamed in agony.  A green glow illuminated
him from the inside.

The unfortunate man toppled over, hitting the floor with a crash, and
fracturing into a thousand crystalline shards.  Instantly, they melted
together into a glowing pool of emerald light which moulded itself into a
grotesque parody of the Under-Dweller's face, set in an endless, silent
scream of agony.

A tentacle wavered up from the mass, questing in the direction of the Doctor.
He backed hastily away.  Reacting to the movement, the tentacle struck out
like green lightening.  It was within an inch of claiming the Doctor, when
Siharal

grabbed the Doctor's arm, and yanked him towards a dark doorway.

"Come on!" cried Siharal.  Blood was running freely from a wound in his
scalp.

Once through the doorway, Siharal started up a ladder set on one wall, trying
to shut out the terrible screams echoing up the access well.  As he clambered
desperately up the rungs, he repeated Vanir's name over and over.

Amazingly, when Siharal and the Doctor hauled themselves out of the access
well into yet another dingy hallway, they found Vanir waiting for them.  She
was leaning against a wall, muttering to herself in agitation.  Her face was
pale and drawn.  For no reason she could name, the "thing" in the hanger had
awoken a bowel loosening fear.  She did not know what it was; but as the
Doctor appeared to know what was going on, and might even be able to stop it,
she had forced aside all other considerations.  So she'd waited here for
them, instead of trying to find somewhere to hide.  There probably wasn't
anywhere safe from the thing on Avis, anyway.  Why were they taking so long?
Had it got them?

"Vanie!"

At Siharal's shout of surprise, Vanir levered herself off from the wall.  "At
last!" she breathed with relief.

Blowing like a steam engine, Siharal scrambled to his feet.  He ran to his
former enamorata and embraced her.  Vanir permitted this a moment,
experiencing a sharp flash of the good feelings from before their
estrangement.  For a delicious moment, the powerful surge of emotion swept
aside the fear.  Then, as her bitterness re-surfaced, she fended him off
roughly.  Siharal released her, and stepped back.  The vehement rejection
took the edge off his joy at seeing her safe.

"How did you get up here so quickly?" he demanded.  He noticed that she
wasn't even breathing hard.

"One of the equipment lifts is still working...I tried to tell you; but you
grabbed the Doctor and ran off."

"Where to now?" asked the Doctor.  He was glancing up and down the hallway.
"There isn't much time, you know.  If the Intrusion gets into the cabling
conduits, and worms its way into the power converter, it'll be too late to do
anything."

"You'd better tell me where this ship of his is?" said Vanir.  "So I can work
out the quickest way to it from the Under-City."

"It's being held in the Tower Seven, Security Holding Area," Siharal told
her.

Vanir grimaced.  "It would be," she commented sourly.

"Is that far?" demanded the Doctor.

Vanir shook her head.  "It could be worse.  But I don't know that we can
break in there.  Tower Seven is Security Headquarters, after all."

"We have to try," urged the Doctor.  "Which way?"

"This way," Vanir said, and set off down the dim lit hallway.

The trip through the tunnels, hallways, and up the ramps and stairs was a
nightmare.  They were frustrated at every turn.  Pursued by the green fire,
their way was continually being blocked by locked doors and armed guards
closing the exits to the Under-City, due to the current emergency.  Vanir
despaired of even getting clear of the Under-City, let alone into the heart
of Security Headquarters.

As they approached the exit from yet another corridor, Siharal motioned for
quiet.  "This is where it gets tricky - there'll be guards," he cautioned.

There were guards; but they were slumped unconscious just inside the door to
the chamber.  A slender, boyish figure with short dark hair wearing a Temple
Guard uniform stood impatiently by the tall blue box.  As they emerged, she
stepped forward and raised a blaster.  At sight of her, the Doctor's eyes
went wide in recognition.  He glanced at the bodies slumped by the doorway.
His face twisted into an expression of dislike.

"Still having trouble picking sides young lady, I see?" he observed.

Rhanda grinned at him.  "I was wondering how long it would take for you to
come back for this," she said, and tapped the side of the box.

"I thought we got in here too easily," Vanir said.  She shot an accusing
glance at Rhanda.  "You arranged for us to get in here - didn't you?"

Rhanda nodded.

"It's a trap," Vanir declared.  "The traitorous little bitch's betrayed us to
the Overworlder." She turned to flee.

Rhanda moved forward quickly, and reached out to grab her.  "Wait!" It's not
a trap...At least not for you!"

Vanir shrank away from the slim hand, moving to place Siharal between herself
and the woman.  "Don't touch me.  You disgusting little queer," she snarled.

Rhanda did a double-take, then looked irritated.  "You watched the recording,
didn't you?"

"Of course.  I was curious."

Rhanda smirked nastily.  She prodded Vanir's rounded belly with the business
end of the blaster.  "At least I won't have the worry about having to suffer
somebody's bastard growing inside me, will I?" She gave Siharal an unpleasant
leer.

"You nasty common little tramp!" Vanir screamed, and went for her with the
sword.

Unnoticed by all, a faint green luminescence began to brighten in the
corridor.

In the chamber, Rhanda brought the developing confrontation to an abrupt
conclusion by stepping inside the weapon, lunging at the pregnant woman, and
shoving her off balance.  Vanir sat down with spine jarring force.  Her
scream of outrage turned into a groan of pain.  Vanir clutched at her
abdomen, her face screwed up.

Rhanda caught on to the implications in a flash.  She knelt by the woman.
"Oh Jeel!" she cursed, shaking her head.  "This we do not need."

Drowned out by Vanir's groaning, faint crackling sounds echoed down the
corridor.  They were distant, but drew swiftly closer.  No one noticed the
danger, until there came a yell of surprise from outside, followed by a
scream of the purest agony as some poor unfortunate was taken unawares by the
Intrusion.

"It's found us!" warned Siharal.  "We've got to get out of here right now!"
He moved to slip hands under Vanir's arms.  "Rhanda!  Help me!" he ordered.


Rhanda was staring in shock at the monstrosity filling up the doorway.  By
trained reflex, she aimed the blaster.

"Don't!" the Doctor warned; "you'll only make it stronger;" but it was too
late.  Rhanda fired.

The cloud of faces absorbed the bolt of blue energy.  It blazed brighter.
Dozens of tentacles writhed out of the mass, reaching into the chamber.

The Doctor held up his sonic screwdriver.  The tiny rod emitted a
high-pitched squeal.  The thing's advance was checked momentarily; but the
cloud glowed brighter; and it began to flow closer once more.  The Doctor
turned up the power; but the Intrusion's progress was only slowed a little.

With an effort, Rhanda mastered her fright, and took Vanir's ankles.
Together with Siharal, she began to move the woman towards the TARDIS.
"Doctor!  Get the doors open.  We've got to get inside right now!" she
yelled.

"The door's locked; and I haven't got the key.  It's out in the desert
somewhere."

Rhanda stopped, and stared at him in dismay.  Then she recalled something.
"But the renegade came out of there.  The door must be open."

An expression of anger flashed over the Doctor's face.  He set down the sonic
screwdriver, and shoved at the door.  It swung in.  He plunged inside.

Dragging Vanir, Siharal backed into the open doorway...And was repelled by
some unseen force.

The writhing tentacles coiled closer.  One made a lung for Rhanda's foot.

"Watch out!" Siharal warned.  "Don't let it touch you.  It's deadly."

Rhanda danced away from the questing tentacle.  "Come on!  Come on!" she
urged Siharal, as she shuffled sideways to move further away from the horror.

Siharal tried again to enter the TARDIS; but once more he was repulsed.
"Doctor!" he yelled.  "I can't get in.  There's something blocking me."

"Just a moment," the Doctor's voice came from inside the TARDIS.

More tentacles lashed out at the trio.  One grazed Rhanda's boot.  Searing
pain lanced up her leg.  She screamed.

"Doctor!  Hurry up!" Siharal shouted.

"Try it now."

Siharal again backed hastily into the doorway.  This time, he went inside
without resistance.  Rhanda was half way through the doors, when a tentacle
coiled around her ankle.  She screamed in agony, her body convulsing, as
green fire lanced up her leg.  Her mind filled up with sleeting impressions
of emerald horror.

With a last despairing effort, Rhanda lunged, shoving the bulk of Vanir with
all her might.  She fell through the doors and landed across the form of
Vanir on the floor of the console room.  Behind her, the doors swished shut.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: Clive@cj4386.demon.co.uk (Clive May)
Subject: Desert Of Fear:  part 39.  2/2.
Date: Fri, 26 Sep 2003 21:00:56 +0000 (UTC)

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	In one of the growing number of war camps which were sprouting like
forests of mushrooms under the walls of the World's Edge, Great Mother
Khazaan was standing amid the organised chaos, supervising her Priestesses.
The fighting had been ferocious; and many brave Servii warriors had fallen.
The Priestesses moved among them, doing what crude doctoring was possible
under the conditions, giving succour where they could, and intoning the
prayers of departing over the dead.

Suddenly, Khazaan jerked as though shot.  Her third eye closed for long
seconds; then it snapped open; and the old woman hunkered round on her Gurvuk
bone staff to stare into the north west.

Through a ragged wind-torn rent in the haze of battle smoke obscuring the
sky, Avis City could be seen hanging low over the horizon.  Cold and distant,
it glittered like a silver jewel in the sun.

"The fools!  The thrice damned utter fools!" she cried, making her copper
talismans jangle in her agitation.  "They have set it loose!  Surely now
shalt they cause to come to pass the thrice damned Silver Sun of terrible
legend!"

For several seconds, she stood there gnashing her fangs in impotent fury.
Then she shrugged.  There was nothing now she herself could do to alter or
influence events - and anyway, she had for a long time now, suspected that
she might be living in the final phase of the ancient prophecy of "The Last
Days".

With her characteristic stoicism, Khazaan put the fate of worlds from her
mind, to get on with succoring the injured.  Under the circumstances, she
considered it was probably the most useful task she could be about.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A silver humming sang in Rhanda's ears; and she felt herself suffused in a
cosy glow.  The howling mental images filling her mind faded.  The green fire
in her bones withdrew...but reluctantly.  It formed a small pool on the floor
by her ankle.  The soft silver humming sound which filled the air swelled;
and the pool of emerald fire shrank into a tiny glittering jewel, which the
Doctor scooped up with a pair of sugar tongs.  He fitted a jeweller's lens to
his eye, and began studying the solidified green fire.

Feeling suddenly calm, Rhanda clambered unsteadily to her feet.  She peered
at the tiny glittering jewel.  "What in Jeel's name IS that?" she asked.  She
crossed arms over her chest, and rubbed absently at her upper arms, fancying
she could still feel a phantom of that vicious fire burning in her bones.

"A small piece of the Maker of the Silver Sun," said the Doctor.  "It's quite
inimical to human life, I'm afraid; but the TARDIS has it contained for the
moment."

"Silver Sun!" Siharal and Rhanda exclaimed in unison.  They moved in for a
closer look.  As Rhanda did so, she caught sight of a pinkish liquid
spreading from under Vanir's kilt.  Rhanda knelt, and lifted the kilt.
Pulling down the undergarment, she ran a hand over the woman's lower abdomen.
The muscles were rigid.  Vanir was gasping for breath.

Siharal leaned over and asked: "What's up with her?  Is she alright?"

"She's going to have a baby," Rhanda said simply.  "And soon.  All the
jolting around must have shaken it loose."

She rose and moved over to the Doctor, who was now busy with the console.
She watched him with an avid interest, her bright eyes following his flying
fingers, taking in everything.  It was several seconds before the urgency of
Vanir's predicament broke in upon her fascination.  She asked: "Do you have
medical facilities in these things?"

The Doctor nodded, still busy.  At last, he seemed satisfied with the
settings.  He glanced at Vanir lying on the floor with Siharal crouching at
her side.  Siharal was holding her hand between his own.  He was murmuring
words of encouragement, in what seemed to the Doctor to be an intimate
private language.

In answer to Rhanda's question, the Doctor said: "Yes.  Wait here." He strode
to the inner door and went out.  In a moment, he was back, pushing a wheeled
trolley.  With Rhanda and Siharal's help, he got Vanir loaded.  Then he
wheeled it from the room.  "Follow me," he called back.

The two Skyborn trailed the Time Lord down roundelled corridors.  Siharal
peered around in wide-eyed amazement.  Rhanda was less obviously awed, but
was still looking round with an avid attentivness.  "I've always wanted to
get a really good look inside one of these things," she commented, not
noticing the sudden scowl on the Doctor's face at her words.

The Doctor turned into a large, well equipped medical facility.  He quickly
wheeled the trolley beside a raised platform with a bulk of shiny equipment
suspended over it.  He clicked a small lever on the side of the trolley; and
Vanir was floated across onto the padded platform.

She had stopped groaning, but still clutched her abdomen, and was very pale.
Sweat was dappling her brow.  Straggles of her fine, brown hair stuck to her
skin.  Her breathing was shallow, coming in short gasps.

The Doctor shoved the trolley aside and began to set controls on a console
set into the side of the waist high platform.  The equipment overhead hummed
into life.  The Doctor spent a moment studying the life signs monitor set in
the wall.  Then he turned and spoke to Rhanda.

"She's in no immediate danger.  Look after her.  I have something more urgent
needing my attention.  Do what you can for her." He fell silent a moment,
regarding Rhanda without friendliness.  Then he added, a deal of accusation
in his tone, "I am fully aware that you will have no difficulty operating the
equipment," He glanced once at Siharal before striding from the room.

Siharal stared around, mightily impressed by the shining high-tech equipment.
To him, it seemed like fabulous stories out of ancient legend brought to
shining life.  Once, he knew, Avis must have been like this; but he could not
quite bring himself to believe in it all.

With Rhanda, familiarity had bred a little contempt.  After her initial
shock, she was far less awed by it.  She moved to the treatment unit.  She
made to loosen the belt holding the kilt around Vanir's waist; but Vanir
slapped her hands away forcefully.

"Don't touch me, you common little queer!" she snarled.

Rhanda bridled at the rebuff.  For a moment it seemed like she was going to
go ahead anyway.  Then she stepped back, and said dismissively: "It's your
funeral...  But you really shouldn't believe everything you see...And
especially not things recorded in secret by disgraced Guard Commanders." She
shot a withering glare at Siharal.

Vanir just scowled at her, before turning her head away.

Rhanda shrugged.  If the cow didn't want her help, there were others who did.
She called Siharal over, seated him in a chair, and examined the wound in his
scalp.  It was only a shallow cut; but it had bled profusely, and looked much
worse than it was.

The expertise of Rhanda's ministrations gave Siharal pause for thought.  He
took out the recording disk and turned it over in his fingers, wondering at
the depths in this slender young woman which he had never even suspected.  He
had fancied himself a good judge of people; but this damned chit of a girl
was undermining his belief in himself.

"You shouldn't let it get to you, Citizen Siharal," Rhanda said, noticing his
preoccupation, and guessing aright it's cause.  "It is all only play-acting,
you know."

"Playacting?  Really?" he asked, not convinced.

"Of course.  Kali was my target.  Security was desperate for something to
hold over her.  When we received information suggesting that she might be
susceptible to advances from another woman, I was given the task of seducing
her - with the result you saw." She nodded at the silver disk in his hand.

Siharal raised a skeptical eyebrow.  "You'll have to forgive me if I find it
hard to believe that you were just playacting."

"I didn't say it wasn't a pleasurable experience," she admitted a little
archly.

At Siharal's inchoate smirk, she went on a little defensively.  "It wasn't
anything more than physical gratification.  I do not naturally incline that
way."

"Really?" Siharal raised a skeptical eyebrow.  "Then you've missed your
vocation in life, Rhanda.  That was a very convincing performance.  You
should have been on the stage."

"I was," Rhanda stated evenly, ignoring the mild sarcasm.  At his inquiring
scrutiny, she added: "I played the lead in Ballentaro's classic tragedy,
Flight From The Night.  I played Necra, the cruelly betrayed and foredoomed
Queen of Avis.  You will have seen my performance.  It was the acclaimed
Royal Command Performance staged by Varro for her Highness's Jubilee.  So
you'll have been there.  It would have been mandatory for someone of your
position in Shanneril's court."

The look on his face told Rhanda that he had, indeed, seen it.  She could
almost see his mind working as he tried, without success, to fit the actress
who had produced the stunning portrayal of the tragic Necra into the skin of
this unremarkable seeming young woman, who was tending to the wound in his
scalp.

Rhanda smiled inwardly at his mental floundering around, which showed so
plainly on his face.  Then a puzzled frown crossed her features as an old
worry, stirred by all this talk of performances, came back to haunt her.

"You know?  I can't shake the feeling that it's me whose been had somewhere
along the line?" she mused.  Siharal could not quite contain a smirk.  Rhanda
sighed in exasperation.  "Can't you leave that alone for a moment?"

"What then?"

"If I'd been asked, I'd have said she was not naturally inclined that way
either," Rhanda explained; "but she took to it like a bird to the air,
though.  That worried me...still does.  There's something not right there."

"The Abomination's an Overworlder.  How do you expect to know what would be
normal for someone like that?"

"Security has some very...interesting...sources of information on
Overworlders," Rhanda said.  She sprayed a cold liquid over the cut, which
solidified into a protective pad on contact.  She eyed the result critically
before stepping back.  "There.  All done."

Siharal fingered the patch of spray-on bandage gingerly before getting up.
Rhanda had cleaned the blood from his face and neck with an antiseptic wipe;
but the tattered coverall was stained with it.  He touched the bloody marks
on the ragged coverall with distaste.  His fingers came away sticky.  He
wiped them on his trousers.

Watching him, Rhanda commented: "Scalp wounds always bleed a lot."

"I wonder if I can get a change of clothes?" Siharal said.

Rhanda, who was putting away the bottles and bandages said: "From what I know
of these Overworlders and their travel machines, it wouldn't surprise me if
there wasn't an entire clothing store in here somewhere."

Vanir groaned again and clutched at her abdomen.  Siharal hurried over to
her.  He took a hand.  "Are you alright?" he asked, concern in his voice.

"Of course I'm not bloody alright, you stupid man!" she snapped.  "This is
all your fault.  I wish..." She broke off as another muscular spasm wracked
her body.  "Oh Jeels!...Do something!"

"Rhanda," Siharal cried in rising alarm.  "She needs help.  I don't know
anything about this sort of thing."

Rhanda closed the cabinet and turned to look into Siharal's face.  She
shrugged.  "What do you expect me to do about it, Citizen Siharal?  Her
Ladyship doesn't want to be touched by a common little queer."

"That's unworthy," Siharal snapped.  He turned back to Vanir.  "Vanie, Vanie,
you've got to let her help you.  I don't know anything about this sort of
thing."

Vanir shook her head.  "You keep that filthy little trollop away from me."

Siharal looked helplessly at Rhanda.

The girl shrugged.  "Give it a while and she'll come round," she offered; but
her tone of voice said plainly that if she didn't, Rhanda wasn't going to
lose any sleep over it.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rhanda had shooed Siharal firmly from the medical facility.  Despite his
concern for Vanir's welfare, he had been only too glad to go.  Having no
experience with such matters, he was more than willing to leave it in the
obviously capable hands of the young Temple Guard Officer.

Now, he stood in the doorway to the Console Room, looking ill at ease in a
ruffled shirt and dark blue pinstripes scrounged from a wardrobe.  He was
watching the Doctor circling the mushroom shaped control panel, setting
controls.  Siharal waited until the Doctor noticed him, then he stepped into
the room.  He was acutely conscious of the simple action because of the
difficulty experienced the last time he tried to enter here; and the peril it
had put them all in.

"Doctor?"

"Hmmmm?" the Doctor responded absently, his attention still on the console.

"Doctor.  Why couldn't I get in here before?"

The Doctor gave Siharal a cold look.  "Because that wretched Renegade has
violated my TARDIS," he said.  A hand stroked over the console as though to
give comfort.  "He used a forbidden device, a Matrixial Key Box, to break his
way in.  A forced entry like that can be very traumatic for a TARDIS.  After
such a savage violation of her integrity, she will only permit her Time Lord
entry."

Siharal was not too certain he understood that.

The Doctor pressed a button.  With a slight humming, the column in the centre
of the console began a steady rising and falling.  The Doctor scanned a few
read-outs, and then straightened.  He picked up the tiny green jewel from the
console, still gripped in the sugar tongs.  He held it up, peering at it
critically.  With his other hand, he adjusted a control.  The green jewel
flashed silver for an instant, before settling back to its brilliant emerald
glow.  The Doctor looked pleased, and set it back down.

"There!  That's got its attention."

"What is that thing?" Siharal asked.  "You said something about the Silver
Sun?  We have a legend about a Silver Sunrise that will bring the material
world to a close, ushering in the Age Of The Risen Spirit.  I've always
thought it was just a fanciful utopian myth myself; but there is also the
connected legend of a magical being called the Spell-Caster who will somehow
prevent the catastrophe, or precipitate the new golden age - it's not too
clear which...." Siharal's voice took on a tone of reverence.  "Doctor, are,
are you the Spell-Caster?"

The Doctor regarded Siharal thoughtfully for a long time.  He was wondering
just how much he could realistically explain about what was going on -
especially as his own understanding was somewhat imperfect, being based
mostly on conjecture and speculation.  Of the Spell-Caster, he knew only
rumour and vague memories from a previous incarnation, which had not survived
his last regeneration too well.  However, he did know what the green jewel
was.

He flourished the tongs.  "This," he began, "is a highly dangerous solar
parasite.  If it infects a sun, that sun will turn silver and begin to
radiate energy deadly to all carbon based life forms.  In effect, it will
steralise the entire system."

"Can it reach the sun?" Siharal asked in sudden alarm.

"All too easily, I'm afraid," said the Doctor, "now that it has gained access
to the City.  If it can get Avis's main drive engines re-started, then from
what I've seen of the city, Avis is still easily capable of lifting into high
orbit.  From there, it will take only one good nudge to get the city started
in the direction of the sun."

A cold knot of fear formed in Siharal's belly at the mental image of his
beloved Avis rising into the frigid vacuum of space, and being flung at the
sun.  "Where did this thing come from?" he asked.

"Outside," said the Doctor grimly.  "It's an extra dimensional creature
which, I'm rather ashamed to confess, my people rashly brought into our
universe."

"Why?" Siharal asked.

"As a weapon," the Doctor said with evident distaste.  "In those days, my
people had powerful and dangerous enemies; but something went wrong almost
from the start.  A technician working on the team accidentally cane into
contact with the energy field of the creature.  The poor fellow died in
horrible agony, and the scientists discoverd an unsuspected quality to the
energy creature they had sought to use against their enemies."

A bel chimed softly in the humming air.  The Doctor flipped a switch, and the
column slowed to a stop.  "We've arrived," he announced.  "I only hope we are
in time."

He worked the door lever; the doors swung open.  Beyond, in the billowing
cloud of green tinted faces, two stood out starkly from the millions of other
contorted, screaming faces.

"Prak!" cried Siharal.

"Jo!" exclaimed the Doctor.

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