Ganne


01 - The Golden Dragon.


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The darkly handsome man peered up at the ninety foot golden Dalek, which
was floating twenty feet in the air.  The monstrosity was rotating slowly
inside a transparent sphere of force.  Light, radiating from the machine
creature, illuminated every corner of the vast hemispherical room.

Directly below, amid a clutter of consoles, the man clasped black gloved
hands before his chest.  "Perfect!" he exclaimed, his hard eyes roving
lovingly over the summoning.  A rich chuckle rose in his throat.  "Yes.
Oh yes, it will do.  It most certainly will do."

A slight motion on his left brought his rapt gaze from the summoning to
the body of a young woman on her back, stretched over a table.  She was
dressed in what had once been elegant and exquisitely tailored clothes,
but which were now tattered and travel stained.  The bindings at ankles
and wrists were so tight the woman could do no more than arch her back in
a futile struggle.  Fresh blood was running down her spastically flexing
fingers, adding to the dark stains on the floor.

Her head was totally enclosed in a silver globe.  From the top of this
shining headpiece, a thick cable snaked away to the base of the console
where the man stood.

At sight of the blood, his gloating smile creased into an expression of
distaste.  He reached down a hand to caress the jerking shoulder.

"Ah," he sighed; "what magnificent creatures you Ganne are." He glanced up
at the Golden Dalek.  "The effortless generation and containment of such
power...And such exquisite manipulation of Artron flows.  Such a rare
talent."

Thoughtfully, he fingered a dial on the console.  With sudden decision, he
twisted it over, his eyes never leaving the Dalek.  The gigantic form
began to change.  For a moment, it seemed about to become a savage bear;
but then it thinned and grew upwards into a stately pine.

The man scowled, and twisted the knob again.  The young woman screamed.
Overhead, golden energy re-formed into a rampant bear.  Its jaws opened in
a silent growl, exposing foot long fangs.

The black garbed man smiled in satisfaction, and re-adjusted the knob.
For a fleeting moment, there was just the suggestion of a snake, with
fangs dripping venom.  Then it fattened and shortened, becoming a dolphin.
As it swam, the joy of simply being strong in life streamed from its
rippling flanks.

The man uttered a low oath and tweaked the knob savagely.  A fat spider
existed for a second, before reforming into an exquisite rose.  Anger
flashed in the man's eyes.  He jerked the knob over.  There was an
unrecognisable blur, and the energy settled into a new born babe.  It
smiled down, gurgling, pudgy fists waving aimlessly.

In sudden fury, he slammed a gloved hand down on the console.  "I WILL not
be defied," he cried, twisting the control right over.  Another muffled
scream was torn from the woman.  She writhed against the restraints.  More
blood ran down her fingers.

Within the sphere of force, the babe fluttered and pulsed in agitation.
It seemed about to take on the shape of a monstrous creature from the
seventh pit of hell, before it flowered suddenly into the form of a
marvellous Golden Dragon.

The man snarled in rage.  He took hold of a second dial and twisted it
right over.  The Dragon opened diaphanous wings.  The angular head turned
to regard him, great golden eyes full of an ineffably sad pity.  The fang
lined jaws opened; and a mighty roar of defiance reverberated in the
chamber.  The man did not so much as flinch; but a little knot of guards
nearby, garbed in form fitting black leather armour, shrank back, hands
going to sword hilts.

The man's mouth twisted in fury.  He drew back from the panel, lifted a
tissue compression eliminator, and aimed it at the woman's struggling
form.  He would not tolerate such wilful defiance.  However, calm returned
to the Master as suddenly as the fury had risen; and he put the device
away.

It was such a pity to have to destroy these Ganne Witches.  Their
cooperation in his venture would have been of inestimable value; but, as
every single one of them had met his proposition with an almost fanatical
defiance, killing them to extract the energy was now the most efficient
option.

In the containment sphere, the Dragon's wings were beating slowly, while
the ethereal creature continued to gaze down at him.  He chuckled, reached
for a third dial, and turned it to maximum.

The woman screamed in agony.  Her body contorted in a mighty spasm, and
shrank in upon itself.  A nimbus of pale gold suffused the metal dome
enclosing her head.  Slowly, the glow dimmed away, leaving a corpse from
which all the goodness had been sucked.

The Master paid no heed to the girl's agonised death.  His attention was
rivited on the Dragon as it dissolved into a pulsing ball of golden Artron
energy.  It glowed behind the invisible barrier, while half formed shapes
came and went in the churning energy, the last ghostly remnants of
memories of the minds from which the energy had been drained.

For a while, he stood there contemplating the ball of energy, and musing
on what form would be most fitting for his purposes.  Soon, he would
stabalise the energy into that shape and send it forth.

Finally tearing himself away from contemplation of the fruits of his
genius, the Master barked a command at the group of Vardenai soldiers
standing by the doors.  "You there!  Clear up this mess!  Get rid of this
carcass and get me another.  I want another witch ready in ten minutes."
The five burly men leapt to obey.

The Master turned to another console, which was dominated by a large
monitor screen.  He flicked a switch; and the screen lit up with a shadowy
view of a narrow alleyway.  A lantern, hanging from a bronze bracket on
the wall at the corner, shed a dancing orange glow over the grey military
stonework.  The Master leaned closer, studying the scene with an avid
intensity.

"Now," he breathed.

As he spoke, a tall blue box materialised in the alley.  The Master
clasped his gloved hands together under his chin, and chuckled.  "Oh,
Doctor.  Such perfect timing!" he declared.

A door opened in the box.  The Doctor thrust his head out.  His slightly
bulging, blue eyes peered around, his long scarf dangling.  He pressed a
large floppy hat down on the riotous explosion of curly hair, wound his
scarf, shoved hands into the pockets of his great coat, and stepped out.

He was followed by a slim, pretty young woman in a bright yellow cagoole.
She hefted a bulging bag, and slid the strap over a shoulder.  With
bright, inquisitive eyes, she peered around at the military stonework.
"Doctor?  Are you sure this is right?" she asked; but he had already
strode from the alley.

"Do come along, Sarah!" he bellowed.

The girl shrugged, pulled a face, and hurried after him.  Before she had
gone two steps, there was a shout from beyond the mouth of the alley.
Heavy iron shod feet rang on the paving.  The Doctor backed hastily into
view.  Sarah cannoned into him.

Four young men in black armour, long silver steel blades ready, moved into
the light of the lantern.  The lambent radiance ran like fire down the
three foot lengths of razor sharp steel.

The Doctor put up his hands.  The men closed in with deadly intent.  Sarah
took in the situation at a glance.  She was beginning to get used to this
kind of reception.  From the look of the ruffians, discretion was the
better part and all that.  She turned to duck back through the door of the
TARDIS...  And froze.

Another soldier stood there, sword drawn.  He raised the weapon, putting
its point to Sarah's throat.  Sarah swallowed, tried to back away, and
collided with the Doctor.  The man leered at her from under a rimmed
helmet.  He caressed the skin of her throat with the cold steel.

"Well now?" he inquired, a suggestive tone in his voice.  "You're a real
pretty little baggage, aren't you?"


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