A story we can all create..
Brad Filippone
been done before, but here goes anyway.
I'll write a paragraph or two below. Then someone adds a paragraph or two
after that, etc.
Of course, I know we're going to get more than one person responding to
one post so we'll probably have a case where the story goes off in two
entirely different threads, but here goes anyway....
-----
DESERT OF FEAR
Chapter One
The TARDIS materialized, making the usual grinding sound. It
interrupted all the quiet stillness. The door opened and out stepped the
Doctor and Jo. They looked around. As far as the eye could see was
nothing but sand; except for a tiny bit of vegetation off to the
northeast. An oasis perhaps?
"Doctor, this isn't Miami! I wanted to go for a nice ocean swim! If
this is Miami beach, I'm afraid that SOMEONE has stolen away the Atlantic
Ocean."
"I may have miscalculated, Jo. I'm sorry. At least you can build a
sandcastle. Anyway, I wouldn't stay out here too long in that bikini;
that sun will play havoc with your skin."
Brad
BKWillis
>I'm new to this group, so I won't be surprised if something like this has
>been done before, but here goes anyway.
Welcome aboard, sir. We hope you enjoy your stay. And since this sort of
thing is always fun, here's my contribution.
>DESERT OF FEAR
>
>Chapter One
>
> The TARDIS materialized, making the usual grinding sound. It
>interrupted all the quiet stillness. The door opened and out stepped the
>Doctor and Jo. They looked around. As far as the eye could see was
>nothing but sand; except for a tiny bit of vegetation off to the
>northeast. An oasis perhaps?
> "Doctor, this isn't Miami! I wanted to go for a nice ocean swim! If
>this is Miami beach, I'm afraid that SOMEONE has stolen away the Atlantic
>Ocean."
> "I may have miscalculated, Jo. I'm sorry. At least you can build a
>sandcastle. Anyway, I wouldn't stay out here too long in that bikini;
>that sun will play havoc with your skin."
"Well, pardon me," huffed Jo in a tone that held more exasperation than she
actually felt, "but I seem to have left my burnoose and kaftan back at Fort
Zinderneuf."
The Doctor gave her a sharp, appraising look. "Kipling," he declared after a
moment.
Jo grinned impishly up at him. "Nope. 'Beau Geste'. Back in a flash." She
ducked back into the TARDIS to change.
The Doctor shook his head and knelt down, sifting his fingers through the sand.
He examined it, felt it, let a bit trickle through his fingers, then cast it
abruptly aside. Mere sand. Utterly without remarkable qualities and
completely uninteresting.
The Time Lord felt something drone past his head as the sand erupted in a small
spurt to his left. A fraction of a heartbeat later came the loud crackle of a
gunpowder weapon being fired.
The Doctor whirled about, ducking instinctively as another bullet burrowed into
the sand a yard away. As he did so, a huge rush of wings thundered overhead
and away at blinding speed, the wind of its passage kicking up the sand in a
choking cloud. As he waved it away and lurched for the safety of the TARDIS,
he could see his attacker wheeling back into the sky: a reddish-brown bird of
enormous size, on whose back rode a brass-helmeted man who was in the process
of holstering what looked like a flintlock pistol of some sort and drawing
instead a long and viciously curved sabre.
And there were more coming.
BKWillis
--
"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're
mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."
--Lewis Carroll, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_
Brad Filippone
: <Brad Filippone wrote:>
Jo had closed the TARDIS door when she had gone in. He realised that to
escape into its safety he would have to take those extra few precious
seconds to retrieve his key from his pocket and unlock the door. He felt
the key in his fingers, extracted it and was about to put it in the lock
when the door suddenly burst open and out came a startled Jo, exclaiming
"What's that noise, Doctor?" and crashing right into him, causing him to
drop the key in the sand.
"Jo, you clumsy...!" He refrained from finishing the sentence, realising
that he would probably regret the words later, but he still had to act
fast. Jo had pulled the door closed through force of habit as she ran
out. "Can't you see we're being fired on?"
"Sorry, Doctor, let's go back in then."
"Exactly what I was trying to do, but you knocked the key from my
fingers." He stooped down to the ground. He couldn't see the key. Jo's
movements must have buried it. He felt around in the sand, but to no
avail; the key must have been kicked accidentaly by Jo.
"Well," he demanded, "Where's YOUR key?? Quickly! He's coming back!"
"I don't have it!"
"Well, why not?"
"Where would I carry it?"
The Doctor noticed for the first time that Jo still hadn't changed her
clothes; of course not, he realised, she hadn't had time, had she? He
glanced up at their attacker who was preparing to fire again. "Quickly,
take cover behind the TARDIS!"
She followed his instructions, and he did likewise. But the strange bird
swerved around to their side with an amazingly dexterous maneuver. The
man was about to fire again. The Doctor and Jo closed their eyes and
awaited the shot...
But it didn't come.
They opened their eyes. The bird had swooped down to rest about fifty
meters in front of them. The man was dismounting.
"I'm so sorry, friends! I thought you were the Servii. They've been seen
around here, you see. I'm Prak. What are you folks doing out here?"
The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief. "Glad to have that little
misunderstand cleared up!" Suddenly noticing that Prak was noticing Jo's
current state of attire, he offered Jo his coat, both to protect herself
from the sun and from Prak's prying eyes.
"So, Prak," he continued, "Just who are the Servii, and why do you shoot
them on sight?"
<to be continued>
{writer's note. that went on longer than I intended! I just got on a
roll}
Brad
Clive May
As my first bit didn't seem to arrive? and it's been superceded anyway,
here's my addition...
"Well, why not?"
<to be continued>
In answer, Prak pointed behind them. "Look! Already the Servii come like
blood flies to a bloating corpse!"
The doctor and Jo spun round. On the southern horizon, a great grey dust
cloud was climbing into the brassy sky. Glimpsed at its base was a surging,
jostling mass of monstrous half seen shapes. The brassy sunlight glinted off
enormous scaled flanks. Their riders were no less monstrous, glimpsed through
the curtain of dust, waving long swords of shining metal. A great howling
arose from the mass as they sighted their prey, drowning out the thunder of
the galloping monsters.
While their backs were turned, Prak darted forward and took Jo around the
waist. She screamed, and began to struggle; but Prak was immensely strong.
He flung her over a shoulder and raced to his waiting bird. Hoisting Jo over
the birds back, he sprang into the saddle, and cried: "Up Windstrider. Up
and away, Windstrider!"
The bird sprang aloft, the wind from its first mighty down stroke razing a
cloud of dust. The great gust of wind swept the Doctor from his feet as he
rushed to Jo's aid. He was up in an instant, and lunging for a clawed foot.
He got a hold. The bird staggered in the air, the Doctor swung wildly, then
lost his grip. He plummetted back to the sand with a terrific impact
which knocked all the wind from him.
Out of the south, the ghastly hoard thundered down upon the dazed Doctor.
Prak circled his airborne steed once around the TARDIS but the crackle of
musketry could be heard over the thunder of the charging hoard. The air
around the bird became thick with flying lead. Prak barked an order, and the
bird banked away, climbing over the billowing cloud of dust.
Face down over the neck, Jo had a crazy and terrifying view of the monstrous
steeds and their riders as they glared up at them, letting of shots from
ancient looking rifles and waving great clawed fists in rage. Moments later,
the bird was past the horde and climbing into the south.
It got very cold as the bird drove higher into the sky. Jo began to shiver,
despite the Doctor's coat, and tried to snuggle herself down into the thick
plumage. Squeezing her eyes shut, she clung on for dear life.
They flew on south for an hour over the arid immensity of the desert. The
landscape of dunes and salt flats flowed by under the soaring bird,
changeless. Then, out of the south, grew the edge of the world. It was a
line of gigantic fortifications stretching east to west from horizon to
horizon. Beyond, was only empty air.
All along the line of the linear fortress, Jo could see little puffs of smoke
as the soldiery let fly at them with musket and cannon. The air once more
grew dangerously full of flying lead shot. Several went through the wings
and tail of Windstrider;one even spanged off Prak's brass helmet. He
lurched in the saddle, under the near miss, looked for a moment as though he
might lose his grip, then wriggled back into the saddle. He urged the bird
to go higher. Straining mightily, Windstrider drove up into a safer zone,
climbing high over the fortress. By the time they crossed the line, they
were so high that Jo could scarce make out any detail.
As they soared clear into the gulf beyond, Jo saw that the edge of the world
was a huge slip fault, some two thousand feet high. The valley below was
choked with matted jungle. The bird tilted down the sky, and the air grew
rapidly warmer and wetter.
They flew on over this green country for some minutes, before a great
sluggish river, like a fat silver snake winding its way through the forest,
came into view. A moment later they were over the river. On the far bank
was a ruined city, half eaten by the jungle. One tall pyramid of crumbling
ancient stone rose above the centre of the dead city. On its platform was a
huge ten foot tall statue seated in a stone throne, surrounded by a dozen
scarlet robed figures. Before the statue was an alter.
Prak Set the bird down at the edge of the platform. He eased the half
unconscious Jo to her feet. She clutched at the bird for support, and stared
fearfully at the vaguely humanoid figure of the alien monster sitting stiffly
in the chair. As she watched, the statue of grey stone turned carven blind
eyes upon her. The long, fanged snout opened; and it spoke in a voice of
thunder.
"At last! Josephine Grant! Now the sacrifice can begin."
> Well, that's my bit. Who's next?
Brad Filippone
cintinuation from him seems forthcoming, I'll dive back in again.
: In answer, Prak pointed behind them. "Look! Already the Servii come like
-----
Back at the TARDIS, the Doctor looked on helpless as Jo was taken away by
Prak. Forgetting for a moment the approach of the Servii, he was almost
startled to hear the voice behind him. "You! Who are you"
The Doctor turned around to find two people staring at him the ends of
metal object that appeared to be weapons of some sort. They were male and
female and it was the male who had spoken.
"Ah!" said the Doctor, "You are the Servii, I presume? Well that man on
the large bird just kidnapped my companion!"
"You are not one of Prak's friends then?"
"Certainly not! We only just arrived here. We don't know you or Prak or
anybody else here either."
"Very well, then, I believe you" He lowered the weapon and the woman did
the same. "I am Gorthund and this is my mate, Kepla."
"Pleased to make your acquaintence. Can you help me get my friend back?"
"Why did Prak take him?"
"'Her' actually. Jo is a woman."
"Oh," said Kepla, somewhat dishearteningly. "Was she your mate?"
"Certainly not. She is my companion only. We are friends."
"That's good then. Companions can be replaced."
"I don't want a replacement. I want Jo back."
"Then," said Gorthund, "you surely do NOT know the people here. By now it
is already too late. You will not see your companion again."
Jo stared at her captor. "Sacrifice! What do you mean? I have no
intention of being sacrificed! And how do you know my name?"
Prak spoke to a fellow standing there in robes, "It was so fortunate. I
found this one standing out in the desert. I didn't need to sneak into
the Servii city at all."
The robed one replied. "Fortunate indeed." He turned to the monsterous
figure standing there before them. "The sacrifice is ready, your
emenance."
"Remove the cloak from her," replied the thing, whatever it was.
Prak removed the doctor's jacket from Jo's shoulders.
"That's to protect me from the sun!"
"Are you that delacate? Then we will take you out of the sun."
Truning to the monstrous figure, he said, "I will take her into the temple
to prepare her, Great One. When the time in the ceremony comes for her
entrance, she will be ready."
"Now wait a moment..." screamed Jo.
The fanged monster replied, "You will be silent. And remember, that from
this time forward, you're name will be no longer Josaphine Grant, but
Vetra. Take her, Prak."
Screaming and protesting, Prak dragged Jo into the temple.
<to be continued>
Brad
Paul David John Andinach
> Screaming and protesting, Prak dragged Jo into the temple.
Sounds like Prak is unhappy about having to drag Jo into the
temple... :)
Paul
--
The Pink Pedanther
Clive May
al...@chebucto.ns.ca "Brad Filippone" writes:
Hi
Here's my next bit.
The Doctor stared hard at Gorthund and Kepla in disbelieving shock, before
turning his questing gaze upon the thirty or so birds and riders which had
settled to the sand some hundred yards distant. Finally, he shot a desperate
look after the fast vanishing dot of Prak's airborne mount, dwindling into
the south. Spinning back to Gorthund, he demanded: "We must get after him
before he gets too far away."
"The pursuit is already away," said Kepla, pointing with her odd weapon.
Four more birds were climbing up the sky in pursuit of the fleeing Prak.
"But I fear they'll not over take him before the edge of the world. If they
can't bring him down before then, he'll be clean away. We dare not anger the
Lord of the Vale by sending an armed squadron into his territory."
"You've got to admire old Prak," said Gorthund. "The boy's got nerve.With a
full Wing of Temple Guards hot on his tail, with nothing at all nice in mind
for the rascal wen we catch up to him......and he stops off to snatch your
companion?" He shook his head wonderingly.
"He's just desperate," Kepla told her mate. "After bungling the raid on the
Avis Temple to snatch a Priestess, he's surely willing to take any risk to
lay his hands on anyone to pass off as a Priestess for the Lord of the Vale.
The old monster might be nailed on his throne by some wondrous magic spell,
but he's still not someone to be crossed lightly."
Gorthund and Kepla exchanged significant glances.
"I'd give a pile of gold to be there when the Lord of the Vale finds the
Priestess Prak's snatched for him is nothing of the kind," Gorthund grinned
nastily.
Kepla paled. "I wouldn't," she declared, with a shudder.
"Look!..." the Doctor started to exclaim; but was cut short by the solid slap
of a heavy calibre bullet against the side of the TARDIS.
"I think," said Gorthund, eyeing the nearing hoard, "we'd best adjourn aloft
to a place of safety. We've not the strength to meet the Servii on the
ground." He turned to the grounded Wing of Temple Guards and rapped out swift
orders to take flight. The men and women mounted upon their winged steeds;
and at another barked order, they leapt for the sky, blowing up a gale of
dust.
Gunfire crackled in the distance. A hail of bullets hissed in the air around
the Doctor and Gorthund. Dust spurted all about them. More struck the
TARDIS. The Doctor ran to the machine, yanking at the doors. Belatedly, he
remembered that they were locked, and that the key was lost in the sand.
There was no way in without the key.
He glanced over the ground; but it was hopeless. There simply was no time to
search. The charging band of Servii were barely four hundred yards distant.
He couldn't stay here.
"Doctor!" cried Gorthund. "Come on! Hurry! There's no time." The commander
of the airborne Temple Guard Squadron was hurrying towards him leading a
huge, red feathered bird. The bird ran ponderously with wings held out.
Kepla sat astride a pretty brown spotted bird nearby, quieting Gorthund's
mount by stroking its head and speaking soothing words.
The Doctor glanced once at the on-coming hoard, then at the bird. He was not
too certain that he liked the idea of risking himself on the creature; but he
was out of choices.
He ran to meet Gorthund, clambered onto the saddle strapped to the bird's
back, and wondered how it was controlled. He needn't have worried. The
moment Gorthund was mounted, all three birds leapt for the sky. The Doctor
grunted under the sudden thrust, and barely stayed on. He grabbed a handful
of feathers and clung on for dear life.
The birds climbed quickly to around two thousand feet, forming up into a Vee.
The Doctor's bird, of its own accord, attached itself as the end marker on
one line.
Down below, the Servii had enveloped the TARDIS. Through the dust, the
Doctor saw his time machine hoisted bodily and thrown onto a giant scaly
back. As they sailed overhead, out of range of the guns, they watched the
hoard milling around below, letting off the occasional wild shot. Then the
Servii began to move away in a jostling mass, towards the south.
The Doctor was desperate to follow and reclaim his TARDIS; but he had no idea
how to make the bird obey him. He was forced to sit astride the bird, and be
carried along wherever it decided to go. The formation wheeled away into the
north, winging away over the sand. With every mighty wing-beat, the Doctor
was being carried further and further from his only means of saving Jo, and
getting off this planet.
Gorthund' side-slipped his bird in to a station some hundred feet off to the
right and ten feet above the Doctor. "Are you alright?" he called down.
"Getting the hang of it, old chap," the Doctor called back, still clutching
grimly to the birds neck feathers. Despite everything, he was enjoying the
exhilaration of racing through the sky on the back of a giant bird.
He nodded in the direction of the retreating hoard, not daring to release a
hand to point. "We must follow them. They've got my TARDIS. I must get it
back."
"No need, Doctor," Gorthund called back. "We know where they'll take it.
The best thing is for us to get to Avis City as quick as possible and return
with a couple of Wings of the Elite Guard."
"How long will that take?"
Kepla settled her yellow spotted bird beside the Doctor, a hundred feet to
his left and ten feet below. She pointed into the north and shouted "Look!
There! That's where we are going! Avis City!"
The Doctor looked, and caught his breath in wonder. Creeping over the far
horizon, like a range of crystal mountains, was a gigantic city of towers,
shining in the desert sun. It was a vast agglomeration of glass and steel
and stone; but the most breath taking aspect of the city was that it floated
two thousand feet in the air, with no visible means of support. The
structure was rotating slowly, causing sunlight to flash and glitter - as
from a million faceted diamond. As the troop of airborne cavalry swept
closer, the illusion of pristine elegance diminished. It grew evident to the
Doctor's amazed gaze that the place was a ruin. Many of the towers were
fractured stumps and others were twisted into ugly parodies of their former
artful elegance. Some had fallen, bringing down others, creating great
mounds of tangled steel, stone and glass. The improbable structure was
canting drunkenly on one side. Every now and then, the city jerked and
staggered as it rotated. Even in its ruin, the city of Avis was an awe
inspiring sight, hanging there in the blue.
"That's the biggest PNPG field I've ever seen in operation," the Doctor
shouted across to Gorthund.
"What?" frowned Gorthund.
"Permanent Negative Para Gravity field," the Doctor shouted back in
explanation. "And somebody ought to do something about the phasing
alignment, and soon, or the whole things going to flip right over."
Gorthund Looked none the wiser.
"Don't you know what holds the city up?"
Gorthund shook his head. "That knowledge was lost in the great disaster that
overcame the world when the stars were young."
As they drew rapidly closer, the Doctor saw that the air all about the tilted
city was thick with flocks of birds. They were of all sizes, colours and
kinds. Their raucous calling filled the air. The squadron slanted in
through the wheeling flocks, heading for a narrow platform jutting out over
the gulf of empty air.
The troop did not land on the platform. As each bird came along side, it
back winged and stalled in the air for a moment, enabling its rider to leap
from the back, over the gulf of air, to the platform. Then the bird would
drop away to be replaced by the next in line.
The Doctor's bird came in at the tail end of the column. The bird stalled;
the Doctor leapt. At that exact moment, the mighty structure of the city
gave one of its unpredictable lurches. The Doctor suddenly found himself
over two thousand feet of empty air.
Two red robed priests came forward and took the wildly struggling Jo from
Prak's grasp. One of them brought a brilliant scarlet flower from under his
robe. Holding the long trumpet under Jo's nose, he squeezed the bulbous
bottom of the flower; and a great puff of cloying scent rose in Jo's face.
She tried not to breathe the aromatic gas; but even so she felt herself
growing faint. The world around her retreated into a dreamy haze.
The red robed priests led the now quiescent Jo to the south east corner of
the platform, where a large rectangular slab was marked out with a border of
tiny interlocking pictograms of fabulous animals. A rusted iron ring was set
in the centre of the slab. While one supported a woozy Jo, the other bent
and hauled on the ring. On oiled pivots, the great slab turned back, as
though it were made of balsa wood. Quickly, the pair of priests urged Jo
down the flight of worn steps into darkness.
For what seemed forever, Jo stumbled down the crumbling steps, through a
stinking darkness. Foul water dripped from the sloping roof to splash on her
bare skin, and slide in chilly runnels down her arms and back.
They led her to a dank chamber, lit by a dim greenish glow, coming from a
huge green, crystal eye set in the ceiling. Beneath the eye, was a stone
thrown. The priests seated Jo's limp form in the chair. A feathered cloak
was draped about her shoulders; and a tall head dress of feathers was fitted
over her head. In the golden band which circled her head, there were a line
of little green gems.
The priests withdrew, swinging shut a set of rackety wooden bars. One moved
to the wall nearby and pressed a carven stone.
The green eye in the ceiling began to pulsate, calling forth a similar
rhythmic pulsation from the gems in the head band of the crown.
Slumped half conscious in the chair, Jo began to dream a terrible dream.
*> That's my next bit. Anyone care to follow it up? I am eager to see what
other people make of this.
Clive May
Just SPOTTED a small spot of carelessness.
Hmmmm? A 'Wongly Spotted Lesser Credulous Chameleon Bird perhaps?
(tick)
Nah - it'll never do!
The Flying Dinosaur
BKWillis
>*> That's my next bit. Anyone care to follow it up? I am eager to see what
>other people make of this.
>
Atop an eroded hillock, a lone woman stood watching the fleeing bird-riders
with a half-amused, half-annoyed smirk, her long blonde braids swaying in the
grit-laden breeze. She was clad in a tight-fitting bodysuit of a vaguely
grayish non-color that accentuated her lean, pantherish build. A thin-bladed
dagger rode in a sheath on her left thigh, while a holstered machine pistol
hung on her right. One hand lightly gripped the reins of a huge, scale-backed
gurvuk that snorted and clawed impatiently at the sand behind her.
"All right, big and ugly," she sighed in a pleasant, musical voice, giving the
gurvuk an unaffectionate glance, "let's go see what our buddies found for us."
She tugged at the reins, causing the huge creature to droop its head, and
vaulted easily into the saddle some seven feet above. The gurvuk hissed and
bared its fangs, but quickly set off at a lope to meet the onrushing Servii
horde.
The woman rode easily down the hill, then pulled her hissing mount up short as
the thundering mass of mounted Servii warriors began reining in around her,
their own gurvuks spitting and snarling the endless grumbles of cavalry mounts.
"Success, Overworlder!" bellowed an armor-clad Servii as he dismounted and
strode over to the blonde, sweeping off his crested helmet. Like all Servii,
he was a huge slab of green-tinged muscle and coarse hair nearly as broad as he
was tall, wrapped up in a clattering, creaking array of leather and steel.
Three reddish, narrow eyes glared out over a massive prognathous jaw and blunt,
piggish nose. He nodded deferentially to the woman and motioned for the gurvuk
bearing their plunder to be brought forward.
"And just what have you brought me, War Captain Rahaaz?" she asked
ritualistically, careful to enunciate the full title.
"I know not, Overworlder," Rahaaz replied, slightly more subdued. "We simply
rode to the place thy master bid thee have us go and scattered the Wing-Born
who sought to defend, using the new muskets thou hast provided to drive them
off from beyond reach of their retribution."
"As I saw, War Captain. You did well. Now let's see what you've brought me."
With a kick, she urged her mount forward to get a closer view as a huge,
grunting gurvuk was led forward, a dull blue boxlike structure lashed to its
back. She eyed the thing for a moment, reading the words on its side.
"Police... Public Call...?"
"Thou knowest the runes, Overworlder?" Rahaaz asked from where he stood at her
knee. An impressed murmur ran through the surrounding Servii.
"I know them, but they don't make much sense in this context," the blonde
replied distractedly. "Doesn't matter, though. This is the real test." She
pulled a small, cardlike device from a pocket of her bodysuit and held it
against the side of the box. Instantly, a light on the device began to glow.
"The ways of sorcerors pass all wonder," muttered the War Captain, shaking his
head.
The blonde swore softly and jammed the card back into her pocket, then pulled
out a small headset communicator. "Babydoll to Cain. Babydoll to Cain," she
said into the mouthpiece, until after a moment someone answered. "Hey, guess
what? You were right. It's a TARDIS..."
----
In the depths of the Cyclopean stone fortress of the Servii, a man swore
blasphemously as he tossed his headset down onto the table, the two Servii
across from him exchanging a glance at his tone.
"Thy mate doth bring ill tiding, Overworlder?" the larger and more
ornately-armored Servii asked.
The man grinned a little in spite of himself. The Servii had a hard time
grasping the concept of men and women as friends and equals, so they tended to
refer to his associates as 'mates' or occasionally 'servants', the latter of
which terms would often provoke him to outright laughter.
"Minor problems," the man replied, "but only for me, War Chief. I'll still
have those rifled musket barrels for your armorers by tomorrow, no sweat. Go
ahead and continue the patrols toward World's Edge and get those stockpiles
ready for our raid on the Vale."
"It shall be as thou sayest, Overworlder," the two Servii intoned, rising.
"Victory to the Sacred Land!"
"Victory," the man replied as the two turned to file out.
The War Chief paused at the door, a slightly nervous look on his face. "Ah, if
I might enquire of thee...?" he asked. "I see not thy other mate, the small,
pale one. Be she well this day?"
"She's fine, Ghorlok. The sun's just a little too much for her today. She'll
be around after dark."
"It is well," the Servii grunted, casting a few nervous glances into the
shadowy corners of the room before departing.
With a growl, the man sank back into his chair and poured himself a mug of
something orange and foamy, then downed most of it in one gulp. He was a large
man, nearly as tall as the Servii, and heavily muscled, with a long mass of
graying straw-colored hair and a black patch over his left eye. He leaned back
and propped his booted feet on the rough table.
"Hast thou worries, noble Time Lord?" whispered a feather-soft voice from
behind him.
"Nothing we can't handle, babe," he grunted back. "And lay off the formal
stuff. It's bad enough when these Servii do it."
"As thou wishest, oh mighty and fearsome Overworld sorceror Cain," came the
light, laughing reply as cloth rustled in the dark.
Cain rolled his eye. "Hah. You're the one they fear, not me and Babydoll. I
though poor old Ghorlok was going to wet himself for fear you were lurking in
the corners just now."
The soft, charming voice sounded faintly offended. "Feh. I've been the soul
of decorum to these poor brutes. Why should they fear me?"
Cain shrugged. "You biting that gurvuk and drinking its blood when we got here
probably has a lot to do with it," he said nonchalantly.
"That's _not_ my fault," the voice replied, now sounding both angry and hurt.
"You know I'm still only half-cured--"
"I know, I know," the Time Lord soothed, contrite. "Tasteless of me to remind
you."
"Very. Now, what are you brooding about? Isn't the plan going well?"
"Jack-dandy. But there may be a snag. I picked up a temporal disruption on
the scanner and had Babydoll's patrol go have a look." Cain paused to pour
some more of the vile orange brew.
"And...?"
"It's a TARDIS, all right. Blasted Gallifreyan busybodies."
The voice now sounded worried. "Is it the Regulators, do you think? Or a
renegade, like the Master?" The name came out as a loathing-filled hiss that
made even Cain's spine chill a bit.
"Don't know yet," the one-eyed man answered, shrugging. "We'll just have to
wait and see. All we know is that it looks like a blue box."
"A blue... box?" asked the voice, a bit shakily. There was a soft rustle of
cloth as the speaker stepped out into the pale lamplight. It was a woman,
wrapped in the folds of a dark hooded cloak, with only her milky-pale face and
delicate hands showing, trembling slightly. A few stray brown curls tumbled
from under her hood as she leaned against the back of Cain's chair, frowning.
"Babe? You okay?" he asked worriedly, looking around at her.
The woman ignored him, lost in her own thoughts. "Doctor?" she mumbled. "What
could you be doing here, of all places? Oh, dear." She sighed and grimaced,
two long fangs just visible against her lips.
BKWillis
--
"It's better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need someone to
clean up after them."
- Anita, age 9
Clive May
bradk...@aol.com "BKWillis" writes:
> <Clive May wrote:>
>
> The woman ignored him, lost in her own thoughts. "Doctor?" she mumbled. "What
> could you be doing here, of all places? Oh, dear." She sighed and grimaced,
> two long fangs just visible against her lips.
>
>
> BKWillis
--
Prak, watching Jo being taken away, shoved off his misgivings about the
girl's fate, and, made a formal bow to the Lord. He addressed the seated
being. "Grand Sire, Lord of the Great Vale, Protector of the High Desert
Lands, I have fulfilled my part of our bargain. Will you now honour our
agreement."
In answer, the great stone figure signed with a finger. From behind the
throne, an elfin young woman in ragged remains of once fine clothing was
hustled forth by two priests. Her pretty face was smeared by tear tracks,
and the skin of her arms showed the marks of ropes. Her long dark hair
straggled over her shoulders in a matted tangle. Even in her present
woebegone state, it was obvious that here was a Princess.
When she saw Prak, she gave a little half-hearted cry of joy. With an oddly
stiff gait, she moved into his waiting arms. Prak hugged her a moment then
looked up at the snarling snout of the Lord of the Vale. He made another
formal bow and was on the point of leading the Princess to his mount, when
the voice of thunder stopped him dead in his tracks.
"You are not dismissed, Trickster. I see deceit in your heart. I would know
the nature of your perfidy - you will remove the helmet!"
Prak's insides turned to jelly. His face pale with fear, he turned slowly to
meet the stony gaze of the Lord of the Vale. The Overworlder, Cain, had
given him the helmet, before waving him off, with the firm instructions never
to remove it in the presence of the Lord. Indeed, Cain had been most
insistent on that. Prak had suspected his benefactor of some ulterior
motive; but just then, with his Princess held hostage by the Lord to ensure
his compliance in the snatching of a Temple Priestess, what choice did he
have? Failure would mean his lovely Soolisa would be "converted" to be a spy
for the Lord in the lands that encircled his domains.
Prak wondered if the bullet strike had damaged the helmet's screening
mechanism? He hoped not. If the Lord once got a sight of the things Prak
knew, then he would die a very unpleasant death. Licking suddenly dry lips,
he spoke.
"With respect, Great Lord, that was not part of our bargain;" he said with a
touch of defiance he really did not feel.
The blank eyes considered Prak for a long, suspicious moment, then it nodded
in doubtful acknowledgement. The Lord spoke once more in his voice of
thunder. "That is so, Trickster. Never shall it be said of the Lord of the
Vale that he no longer has honour, even in his reduced circumstances." A
great grey arm lifted and swept out, indicating the encircling desolation of
the fallen buildings, half submerged by the smothering Jungle. Then the
creature leaned forward in its throne and fixed Prak and his princess with a
stony glare.
"But be warned, Skyborne, if the aura of villainy that enwraps your soul has
truth, and I discover that truth? Come nevermore to the Vale, or it shall go
ill for you."
Prak gave the Lord no time to change his mind. It was not going to take the
monster long to worm his way into the deeper levels of the girl's mind, and
discover that she was not a Temple Adept - he wanted a lot of miles between
himself and the Lord well before that moment.
Quickly, he hustled Soolisa to Windstrider, and helped her to mount. She
seemed oddly stiff in her movements; but he was so desperate to get away that
he thought nothing more about it just then. Hastily setting the lift-pack
built into the saddle to full power, to assist Windstrider with the added
weight, he swung up, and ordered the bird aloft. He guided Windstrider out
over the river, turned his head into the west, and climbed the bird to around
two hundred feet.
Airborne once more, Prak began to relax. He tightened arms around his
strangely silent and unresponsive mate, hugging her to him. Soolisa remained
rigid in his arms. Her tangle of hair was fluttering over his shoulder,
while she stared stiffly ahead. There was an almost imperceptible greenish
sheen glistening in her staring eyes.
As the bird moved out of earshot, the Lord began a laugh that rolled like
thunder. He was quite, quite mad, and fully aware of the fact. It
bothered him not at all. It might be supposed that knowledge of the state
precluded its presence. Be that as it may, the Lord remained quite mad, and
knew it.
He had never been entirely sane, even in the beginning, when the city thrived
and he was its unquestioned ruler. It had not helped his state of mind when
the Overworlders had come out of the sky and nailed him on his throne with
some Overworld wizardry. He had been forced to sit here, impotent, watching
his city dying around him. That, and the fact that he knew not why he was
being so persecuted, had not helped his state of mind.
At first, his priests had gone into an orgy of human sacrifice. All the
people knifed to death across his alter had not helped one bit to set him
free; but he had enjoyed the screaming and the spurting fountains of scarlet
which had drenched his alter stone. Yes, if he could not be free, then there
had been some compensations; but even that pleasure had paled over time; and,
still, he remained nailed to the stone seat.
For centuries, he had been compelled to sit, in all weathers, on the temple
platform, watching his magnificent city being devoured by the encroaching
green. His people, those who had escaped the knives of his priests, had fled
away, until all there was left to him was a small following of loyal
priests. In is isolation, the endless turning over and over of his plans for
vengeance upon the Overworlders had consumed his soul.
But now! Now his deliverance was at hand. Prak's attempted deceit had put
into his hands a far more useful tool than just another spy in the Skyborne
city which he had intended. Prak, all unknowingly, had gifted him the means
of his deliverance. Eagerly, he studied the information revealed as the
deeper levels of Jo's mind were exposed by the conversion process as it
peeled back layer after layer. Soon, she would be his totally obedient slave.
With another part of his vast mind, the Lord issued an order to his "convert"
Soolisa.
"Destroy the Skyborn Trickster!"
It galled Babydoll to have to ride in the dust at the back of the column.
Though the Servii already granted her more respect than they did their own
females, she remained a woman, and that could not be easily changed. The
murderous efficiency with which she despatched opponents had gained her a
grudging latitude; but she'd already pushed it way beyond 'sensible'. Cain
was getting worried.
"You stupid crucking bitch," he'd stormed at her. "One more male Servii dead
like that and the whole crucking operation's down the tubes!"
Babydoll's lips pulled into a humorless grin under the bandana. Yes. Cain
was worried. He seldom showed it when he was angry; and he'd never sworn at
her before.
The raiding party, trailing its plume of dust, rode in among the shacks and
corals that clustered like a leprous mould about the walls of the fortress
city of Serviion. They had not build the place, but had appropriated it
during the disasters; and no one had so far been able to dislodge them from
the stronghold.
Babydoll slid to the churned ground under the shadow of the mighty walls.
She tossed the reins to a Bird Rider slave and stripped off the bandana. She
slapped it against her shapely thigh to beat some dust from the scrap of
cloth, before tucking it away in a concealed pouch in her suit. She drew the
machine pistol. With an efficiency born of familiarity, she checked the
mechanism. The bloody sand got in everywhere! The thought of the gun
jamming at a crucial moment caused her some concern. She re-holstered the
weapon, checked the knife, and strode off among the bustling confusion of
Servii, Gurvuks and scurrying slaves. Moving like a lion among leopards, she
followed the wall until she came to one of the gigantic double mazed gates.
With head held high, she returned the hostile stares of the gate guards. The
hulking brutes fingered their weapons and showed long fangs at such insolence
from a female; but they did not detain her. They had strict orders, she
knew; but if this operation went down in flames, then they'd make it a point
of honour to seek her out an teach her some proper respect.
She fondled the hand-grip of the machine pistol. Just let them try and
they'd get the same treatment several others had got before the
"accommodation" had been arrived at.
Inside the gate, Babydoll ran lightly up the worn steps to the walkways which
ran along the walls. The whole fortress city complex was a system of
interlocking courts. Her training told her that it would be an absolute
bastard to take by any kind of assault she could dream up, and she knew a
trick or two about creating mayhem.
The sporadic sound of gunfire came to her. She changed direction at the next
intersection to look down into an adjoining court. Let Cain wait, she
thought savagely. Give the bastard a bit more rope and he'd be sure to hang
himself. She never set no store in all that guff about his people not being
moved in that way; and the next time she caught the Thing draped all over
him, there was going to be real trouble.
From the sound of the guns, Babydoll could tell that the Servii were trying
out some of the new weapons with rifled barrels. Not that they needed the
improved range and accuracy, the Servii, with that third eye arrangement,
were the best shots she'd run across, in a long while of rubbing shoulders
with mercenaries, renegades, cut throats and the like.
Down in the court, a Bird Warrior was dashing from various lumps of rock and
stone strewn about to provide some cover while he tried to make his way to
the steps in a far corner. The Servii had a fine sporting sense of honour.
If the warrior survived his dash for the steps, honour dictated that he be
set free in the desert beyond the walls to take his chances with the
carnivores which ranged there.
Some made it; most did not.
Babydoll leaned on the parapet to watch the man's flight for his life, with
that familiar tightness in her belly. The Skyborn almost made it. Three
paces short of the steps, one of the watching War Chiefs grunted with
annoyance, as the poor shooting of his men threatened to bring dishonour upon
his position as War Chief. He casually threw up his rifle and loosed off a
single shot. The Bird man's head exploded into a spray of bone shards, blood
and brains.
Even though she was ready for it, Babydoll caught her breath at the shiver of
excitement which thrilled inside her. For a few seconds, she leaned on the
worn stone work, regaining her composure. Then she walked away, nursing the
little spurt of shame that always came treading on the heels of such moments.
Brad Filippone
good stuff. I'm going to need another day or two to think up a
continuation!
Brad
BKWillis
>Even though she was ready for it, Babydoll caught her breath at the shiver of
>excitement which thrilled inside her. For a few seconds, she leaned on the
>worn stone work, regaining her composure. Then she walked away, nursing the
>little spurt of shame that always came treading on the heels of such moments.
>
>
The Doctor tightened his grip on the dangling chunk of metallic latticework,
forcibly reminding himself not to look down as he tried to pull himself up into
a less-awkward position. The metal groaned under its shifting burden, a groan
he echoed as he felt his precarious perch begin to pull loose from the jumble
of ruined struts and girders above it.
"It isn't the fall I mind," he muttered to himself, "so much as that dreadful
hard stop at the end." Against his own better judgement, he glanced at the
ground wheeling along so far below and wondered if one could actually
regenerate back from a pulp.
There was a low creaking sound as the piece of lattice began to droop.
"Doctor!" cried a voice above him. He looked up to see Gorthund's anxious face
peering down at him from a platform not far overhead. "We're fetching a rope,"
he went on, "so stay right where you are!"
"I wasn't really planning on going anywhere," the Time Lord answered drily.
The metal creaked and shuddered again. "Unfortunately, the decision may not be
entirely mine!"
----
Thanks to her pause to observe the rifle practice, Babydoll arrived at the
courtyard containing Cain's 'office' shortly behind War Captain Rahaaz and the
band of warriors and slaves that were even then wrestling the TARDIS down from
its sulky pack-gurvuk. She stepped around them and started for the door, only
to stop as Rahaaz slipped in front of her.
"Hold, Overworlder," the War Captain said, his palm out.
Babydoll's hand instinctively dropped to her knife hilt, but even as she laid
fingers to it, she realized that Rahaaz's tone was not one of command, but
more... concern, perhaps? She relaxed a little, but did not step back from
him, nor take her eyes from his. "Yes, War Captain?" she asked impatiently.
The massive Servii shifted uneasily. "I bid thee wait a moment before thou
dost enter. The time is... a bad one, methinks."
Now the sound of raised voices came to her ears, one a deep, guttural Servii,
the other the too-familiar tones of a certain Time Lord of her near and
not-always-dear acquaintance.
"Who's in there?" she asked.
Rahaaz's thick lips twisted in reply. "The Exalted War Chief Murgonj," he
said, managing to fit the tiniest note of sarcasm into Murgonj's title.
Babydoll rolled her eyes. Murgonj was the most stubborn of all the independent
War Chiefs, one of the last to join the banners of the Serviion Hordes and one
of the first to criticize each break with Servii tradition. All of which would
have been fine, had his venomous temperament not been the source of constant
death-duels and inter-warband skirmishing. Three rival War Chiefs had already
been slain in the fighting, along with scores of common warriors and it seemed
as though the Exalted War Chief was becoming a focus for the dissident factions
that opposed the Servii's new direction. As of late, the 'unholy female
presence' had been a particular focus of his bile in Council meetings.
"Sounds ugly in there," she observed as a new round of shouting shook the door.
"'Tis so," Rahaaz replied solemnly, his sense of sarcasm not developed enough
yet to appreciate the understatement. "Murgonj shall likely demand a duel."
"Good," she answered with a smile as she stepped around the War Captain and
went inside.
----
"Thou hast craft enough, Overworlder!" spat the huge, garishly-armored Servii
as he glowered at Cain, who eyed the Exalted War Chief back just as poisonously
from behind his table. "That must I grant, but thou'rt not of us, nor to be
trusted by us! None but a Servii can command Servii! Most especially not one
who knows not nor cares not for our ways!" Murgonj crossed his massive arms
over his chest and bared a fang at the Time Lord as the half-dozen warriors
he'd brought along glared their own silent menace.
Cain was completely uncowed. "Look, Murgonj," he snarled, dispensing with the
chief's title and thereby claiming a superior status, "I've said before and
I'll say again, we're just here to advise and assist, not rule you people. You
can do as you damn well please, if you want. The only thing between you and
the gate is paved road. But, if you want my help, you play by my rules. You
want better weapons, you do as I ask. You don't like it, then you head for the
High Desert and don't let the gate hit you in the ass on the way out. End of
story."
The chief hissed his rage as his face darkened to a hunter-green. "Thou'rt
subtle, too, Overworlder," he growled, subtlety not being a compliment among
the Servii. "Thy pernicious influence doth spread without thy command. Thou
pull'st the strings from behind, using the lure of thy wizardry as a bauble to
ensnare the mind. As thou hast Ghorlok in thy web, so wouldst thou have us
all, abandoning the ways of our fathers in exchange for the aid of thy power!"
"Hard words from one who swore himself to the Cause of the Sacred Land," a
light voice tittered. "Hard words from one who swore in blood to set his heart
solely on the destruction of our enemies."
Murgonj stepped back and half-drew his broadsword as Cain's companion seemed to
materialize out of the shadows at his back, a mocking smile on her pale,
delicate face, her cloak pulled tightly to her.
"I fight all enemies of the Servii, even those that lie within!" Murgonj
yelled.
"But, I see no enemies here," the girl said, still smiling. "I see friends who
have given you weapons and advice that have led you to victory. And I see a
foolish ingrate who slaps the hand that offers aid, who sets his own prideful
ambitions above the Cause of the Sacred Land, who comes to make demands of
those who have given freely. What do _you_ see, boastful Murgonj?"
"Demon-bitch!" cried the Exalted War Chief as he clawed out his sword. "I'll
not be spoken to thus by a woman!" With a burst of the blinding speed that had
made him a feared leader of the Servii, he leaped forward and drove his blade
through the girl's chest.
The girl staggered back with a gasp as the Servii wrenched the sword free. She
stumbled to the wall, her cloak falling open to reveal a velvet gown the color
of midnight which was already staining with her spouting blood.
Cain didn't move, but just shook his head ruefully. Babydoll, watching at the
doorway, merely winced. "Now you've done it," the one-eyed Time Lord sighed.
Murgonj blinked at him uncertainly, then looked back at the dying girl--
--who was not dying at all, but rather gasping in great lungfuls of air as the
gash in her chest began to slowly seal itself shut.
"Should've used a wooden stake," Babydoll muttered.
The Servii chief stared uncomprehendingly as the flow of blood from the girl's
chest finally stopped and she raised her face to look at him. Her eyes, which
had before been a bright green, had now gone solid red and her slight fangs,
absurdly delicate compared to a Servii's huge tusks, had grown much longer.
"I wish," she said, twitching slightly, "that you hadn't done that. I wish
that you hadn't made me do what I'm about to do." Her light, charming voice
had taken on a feral, animalistic edge as her hands began to clench into claws.
"I wish," she said, a red tear streaking down her cheek, "that you didn't have
to die like this."
The Exalted War Chief was fast enough to get his blade up as the girl surged
across the table at him, but she merely batted it aside like a child's toy as
she seemed to almost fly up into his chest, her flashing teeth aiming for his
neck. Murgonj dropped his sword as he staggered back, clawing at the clinging
girl and giving forth a horrid, gurgling scream.
One of the other Servii whipped out a dagger and rushed to aid his chief, but
Babydoll met him halfway there, her knife flickering like silver lightning in
the lamplight. There was a blur of steel and the Servii collapsed in a sodden
heap, his throat neatly severed. She met the charge of a second warrior with a
circle-kick that his armor barely softened, sending fragments of broken
breastbone knifing into his heart and lungs.
The other four warriors milled uncertainly as their leader crashed to the
ground, his struggles subsiding as the girl sucked hungrily at the blood that
poured from his neck.
Cain favored the four with a sardonic smile. "Now, will there be any more
arguments?" he asked.
One of the four, a War Captain by his armor, tore his eyes from the ghastly
feast and stepped forward. "This deed shall not stand," he declared. "The
blood of Exalted War Chief Murgonj shall be avenged!"
"The blood of Exalted Murgonj," Babydoll observed, "appears to have become a
one-course dinner."
The War Captain shot her a venomous look, then went on, "As the War Captain of
Exalted War Chief Murgonj, I swear to thee--"
There was a sharp crack and the officer tumbled backward, dead, a bullet
through his heart.
Cain, Babydoll, and the remainder of Murgonj's men all turned to see War
Captain Rahaaz striding through the doorway, a smoking musket in his hands.
"War Chief Ghorlok hath a wise saying," he said solemnly. "'Always shoot the
mouthy one'. Words to live by." He turned to Cain and bowed slightly. "Now,
wouldst see thy plunder, Overworlder?"
Meanwhile, the girl continued to feed on the corpse of Murgonj, quietly sobbing
as she swallowed his reeking blood.
----
(Well, that went a good bit longer than I intended. Oh, well. Next?)
BKWillis
--
"I am a dark swordsman! I cannot be bullied! Even by bouncy topless girls!"
--Zelgadis in 'Slayers: Stimulus and Response'
Clive May
> "Now, wouldst see thy plunder, Overworlder?"
> Meanwhile, the girl continued to feed on the corpse of Murgonj, quietly
> sobbing as she swallowed his reeking blood.
> ----
> (Well, that went a good bit longer than I intended. Oh, well. Next?)
> BKWillis
Here we go again!
Something brushed the Doctor's hair. He looked up, to see the leg strap of a
bird saddle before his eyes. He tilted his head back further, and saw
Gorthund's face peering down at him. He was holding the neck strap of the
saddle that was flapping against the creaking metalwork above the Doctor's
head.
"Doctor! Grab the strap," Gorthund urged. "Quick!"
The Doctor loosed a hand to reach. There was a metallic 'spang' and the
lattice came adrift. The Doctor made a desperate lunge, and grabbed a
handful of leather strap. The next moment, he fell free, dragging the
saddle, and Gorthund, down with him. Gorthund had unwisely wrapped the neck
strap about his wrist.
As they tumbled into emptiness, the Doctor was a little disconcerted to
notice that Gorthund did not seem overly concerned at the disaster. He was
grinning broadly.
"Hang on, Doctor," he cried through the wuthering of the wind. Scrabbling
at the saddle, he clasped it to his chest. He slipped the neck loop under
his thighs, and reached for the back edge of the saddle. "Get a foot in the
loop, and hang on tight, Doctor," he urged.
The Doctor hastily did so; and Gorthund gently eased a knob set in the back
edge of the seat over a smidgin. The sudden deceleration almost ripped the
Doctor loose. He tightened his grip on the saddle strap. They were still
plunging earthwards; but the killing acceleration had eased back.
"A personal PMPG field unit," exclaimed the Doctor, peering at the controls
set in the back of the saddle.
Gorthund nodded uncertainly. "If you mean what keeps the city
afloat," he surmised. "Then yes, it's the same magic."
The Doctor was nodding in agreement. He asked: "What's the lift power
potential? Not much I'd warrant, on a unit as small as this?"
Gorthund looked down at the ground far below. "Not enough to stop us hitting
that hard, very hard," he admitted. "But it should slow us down enough for
them to get a patrol around to sweep us up. - at least I hope so." He began
peering hopefully around at the flocks of wheeling birds.
The Doctor, marvelling over the compact piece of technology, had all but
forgotten their danger. "I wondered how it was the birds could lift the
weight of a man?" he mused. "The power to weight ratio equation just cannot
work; and with that wingspan, the birds are so highly geered, it's a wonder
they can get aloft at all. I think...."
"Look!" cried Gorthund, pointing to an arrowhead of birds
side-slipping down the sky in their direction. "There's Kepla with help.
Hang on, Doctor, it won't be long now."
Below them, the ground was rushing up at them with distressing speed.
For a long moment, Cain watched Bella slaking the feeding frenzy. He grinned
without humour. "Well? That's my two most pressing problems sorted... one
permanently, he observed dryly. "And by the looks, the other one's gonna
be on hold for a good while too." Picking up a small case from under the
table,he arose and moved to the door, careful not to step in the gore.
Babydoll was leaning against the wall, cleaning her knife, and watching the
feeding frenzy with a whole lot less detachment than Cain. Her face was
grim, her mouth pulled into a thin-lipped grimace of distaste.
As Cain went past, he jabbed a thumb at the mess, and grunted: "Get that lot
cleaned up, Babe?"
Babydoll snapped out of her fascination. "Me?" she asked indignant.
"Yes you. With Bella's little performance there, you don't suppose you'll
get any Servii to step in here until the place's been exorcised by one of
their Shamans, do yer? And that lot's gonna get real high, real soon in this
heat."
"She made the mess," Babydoll pouted. "She should clean it up."
Cain paused to regard Bella crouched over the former War Captain Murgonj.
With the dark cloak flared out over her, she looked like a giant bat hovering
over its prey. Eager hissing and slurping noises bubbled in her throat as
she sucked down the Servii's life blood. Growing aware by some animal
instinct that she was the focus of attention, Bella paused in her feeding.
She raised her head from the gory feast to regard them over her left
shoulder. Blood smeared her lower face, running in red rivulets from her
pointed chin. In her bright eyes, an agonised vestige of humanity, all but
overwhelmed in a tide of beastiality, pleaded for surcease.
Turning his one good eye on Babydoll, Cain shrugged. "That's fine by me.
"You just go right ahead and tell her. It's your funeral!" He stepped
through the door into the glaring noon-day sun.
Babydoll muttered several comments about Cain's parenthood, which were too
close to truth for comfort, and followed the Time Lord outside.
Rahaaz's raiders had set the blue box on its base in the middle of the court.
Cain walked all around it, observing it from every angle. Babydoll lounged
against the wall beside the door. Cain was playing to the gallery again. He
could be a right poser when he had an audience. Rahaaz's men began to crowd
closer, curious to see the Overworld Wizard at work. All were openly making
the sign of warding off the Evil Eye. Cain was putting on a good show of
acting the powerful Overworld Wizard to the hilt. The savages were lapping
it up. Babydoll sighed and drew her dagger. Feigning indifference, she
began to pare her nails.
When he finally deigned to come to the doors, Cain set the case down and took
out a grey disk attached to a coiled lead. The Time Lord approached the
TARDIS, and placed the disk against the side, where it stuck with a little
click. Taking a small headset from the case, Cain slipped it over his ears.
Then he picked up the control unit, and began to set dials. The Servii
clustered closer to watch the Overworlder magic.
"Hey!" Cain suddenly exclaimed grinning. "Whadderyou know! It's an old Type
Forty."
"And that makes a difference?" sighed Babydoll.
"sure does, Babe. If it was a later model I'd not be able to do this..."
With a flourish, Cain jabbed a button and said: "Open Sesame!"
The door swung in. Cain set down his box and grinned all around at his
attentive audience. For a moment, Baby doll thought he was actually going to
take a bow. Instead, he strode to the TARDIS, pushed the door wide, and
stepped inside.
Had she not been so preoccupied with her feasting, Bella might have warned
Cain about the perils of walking blithely into that particular 'old type
forty'.
A second later, all hell broke loose.
Somewhere, a Servii yelled a warning. The hot sun was suddenly blotted out.
Babydoll looked up, to see six giant birds in the sky. Before she could
react, the riders opened up with some kind of energy weapon, pouring a
crackling blue death down into the ranks of Rahaaz's raiders. Six small
canisters fell away from the birds. Even taken completely by surprise, the
Servii reacted with the savage instincts of born desert raiders. Before the
canisters had dropped ten feet, those Servii who had survived the initial
onslaught, blazed back at the attackers with their muskets. The air was
suddenly blue with gunpowder smoke.
Babydoll, by conditioned reflex, flung herself out of the path of a bolt of
crackling blue energy. The blast boiled the stone work where she had been
lounging an instant before. In a single rolling movement, she came to her
knees, and hosed a long burst from the machine pistol at the near-side rider.
The young, lightly armoured, woman warrior was smashed sideways from the
saddle by the hail of lead. The bird also took several hits. It began to
lose height in a sudden swoop, but flew on with the bullet riddle corpse
dangling by an ankle from a stirrup. The bird managed to clear a low watch
tower; but the body of the woman was smashed against the stonework. The foot
tore away, and the bloody parcel of meat left a long smear of red down the
stonework as it tumbled. Screaming murderous war cries, several nearby
Warriors fell upon the body, hacking and slashing it into bloody ruin.
The voice of Rahaaz boomed out over the uproar, issuing a challenge.
"Standeth thou cursed airborne cowards! Standeth thou and faceth thou the
wrath of Kahaaz, mighty War Captain of the Servii!" the War Chief boomed,
incidentally promoting himself to 'War Captain' in the zeal of his
indignation. Kahaaz cut a majestic figure amid the smoke and confusion. He
stood, legs braced apart, laughing wildly in the savage battle joy, as he
blazed away at the attackers with an ancient Webley revolver in each clawed
paw. When the hammers fell on empty chambers, he hurled the useless weapons
with such force, they sailed clear into the next court. He grabbed up a
primed musket from a fallen warrior, took aim, and discharged it at a bird.
The wounded creature rapidly lost height. It veered, flew smack into a
corner tower, and collapsed brokenly into the court. The elite Skyborne
warrior leapt clear from his dying mount, clutching a pistol in one hand and
sword in the other. He had time to blast down one charging armoured warrior,
before he was swept away in a maelstrom of flashing steel and flying gobbets
of flesh.
Servii war cries resounded in the enclosed court, filling the air with
pandemonium, to which was added the screams of wounded and dying. A thick
haze of gunpowder smoke swirled crazily in the down draft from the birds'
arrowing passage over head.
Taking the scene of carnage in at a glance, Babydoll adjusted her aim, and
sent a long burst raking after the remaining raiders. The stream of lead
chewed chunks from the parapet of a wall as the birds disappeared from sight.
The six canisters struck.
There were six muted explosions, and the air was thick with a choking yellow
gas. Babydoll snatched the bandana from her pouch and held it over her face,
backing for the doubtful safety of Cain's office. She had to skip over the
sprawled form of Bella, lying crumpled in the shadows beyond the entrance.
The Thing must have been sensitive to the backwash of the blue energy bolts?
Running to a side table, Babydoll grabbed up some more ammunition and
returned to the doorway. As she was reloading, more dark shapes loomed
overhead in the yellow mist. Muskets were going off in a desultory fusillade
all over the court. Vaguely she was aware of some kind of net arrangement,
hanging down from the mist, and tangling around the TARDIS. The next moment,
in a mighty downdraft, the blue box had been drawn up out of sight. Cursing
volubly, she let off a long burst at the unseen raiders hidden by the mist.
And as suddenly as it had begun, it was all over.
The thinning mist revealed the blue box gone, a score of Servii dead, and War
Chief Rahaaz standing amid the fallen, staring at the sky, his jaws working
with rage and frustration.
Babydoll re-holstered the gun. This was not looking too good. The Servii
had very firm ideas about those who failed; and however you looked at this
little debacle, Rahaaz had screwed up real good.
She'd better get the door shut and barricaded, if she was dead set on seeing
another sunset. Bella was sprawled right in the way. Babydoll really did
not care to touch the Thing, even when it was unconscious. However, there
was no time for squeamishness. She bent, sliding her hands under Bella's
arms, and hauled the slight woman from the doorway. The bulging belly,
swollen tight with Murgonj's blood, pulsed obscenely. Gagging, Babydoll
averted her gaze from the sight, and dumped bella unceremoniously in Cain's
chair.
She hurried back to the door. Things were hotting up outside. Rahaaz was
backed in a corner, a blade in both hands, as he desperately tried to beat
off the attacks of would-be War Chiefs. Things did not look too promising.
Babydoll drew the machine pistol, and considered taking a hand; but that
would be certain suicide. Rahaaz's victory, should he win, would be
worthless if a mere female had assisted him to it. Biting her lip, she
slammed the door and began to barricade it as best she could.
The noise of the desperate struggle aroused Bella. Her eyes fluttered open.
Babydoll was relieved to seen they had turned green again.
"Wha? What happened?" Bella asked, easing herself upright.
Babydoll poured a tall glass of Cain's evil brew. She took a cautious sip,
grimaced at the taste, and downed a long pull. She said: "Wee were attacked.
Those airborne rats have snatched that TARDIS."
Bella glanced uneasily at the barricaded door. "Are we safe in here?"
Babydoll took another long pull from the orange brew, screwed up her face,
and set the near empty pot down. She began checking the machine pistol.
"For the moment," she said. "But our Gallant War Chief has lost serious
face. He's gonna have to fight for his Chieftainship."
For a long moment, the two women listened to the sounds of clashing steel,
musket shot and yelling war cries coming from beyond the too, too flimsy
door. "That's them kicking up that ruckus, sorting the matter now in the
good ol' traditional Servii way - by fighting each other to a standstill. If
our gallant captain goes down, with Cain not here, it'll be curtains for us."
Babydoll drew a finger across her throat in a graphic gesture. "At least for
me, that is."
Bella raised an inquiring eyebrow at that.
Babydoll nodded at the corpses. "They'll probably want to make you some sort
of tribal Goddess after that little performance," she said drily. Tossing
the bandana at Bella, she added. "Here. Clean yourself up. All that shit
down your face is giving me the willies."
A violent hammering thundered against the rickety door. Some of Babydoll's
hastily contrived barricade shifted loose.
"We've got to do something," cried Bella.
"Right," agreed Babydoll. She moved to a side table and gathered up some
extra ammunition for her machine pistol. She moved back to the table, placed
the ammunition to hand, drew her knife, and stuck it in the worn surface.
Then she leaned her backside against the edge, and compulsively checked the
mechanism of the pistol again.
The ferocious hammering in her chest was matched by the thunderous pounding
on the door. She licked suddenly dried lips, swiped sweaty palms on her
thighs and prepared to take as many down with her as she could.
The door buckled under a powerful blow. A hinge tore free from the jamb. "A
short life, and a merry one," she muttered resignedly, hefting the gun. "Oh
well? One out of two's not a bad batting average for a no account kid outa
the Back Doubles." And she grinned wolfishly.
Bella rose from the table, looted a long knife from Murgonj's corpse and came
to stand at Babydoll's left hand. In answer to Babydoll's glance of inquiry,
Bella shrugged and said: "Don't much fancy being a Blood Goddess to a tribe
of green-skinned, barbarian savages at the arse end of nowhere." She shifted
the knife to her left hand, wiped her right on the cloak and held it out to
Babydoll.
She said: "I know we haven't exactly been bosom
pals...But?...Well?...Friends?"
Babydoll hesitated only a moment. "Why not?' She shrugged and clasped the
proffered hand.
The hammering on the door increased. The wooden door buckled inwards,
splintering as it fell.
Windstrider drifted lazily westward, seven hundred feet over the silver
river. The air was pleasantly warm as it blew through Soolisa's hair and
over Prak's face. With the warm body of his mate cradled in his lap and the
sunlight sparkling from the shining water, Prak's mind drifted back to the
pleasant memories of his nuptial flight with his princess. Consummating your
joining bird-back was not a requirement of the law; but the true Skyborne did
not consider themselves 'properly' wed until they had shared their love among
the clouds.
Prompted by the fond memories, Prak leaned down and nibbled at Soolisa's ear.
His hands clasped about her waist, seemingly of their own accord, moved up to
cup her small perfect breasts. Soolisa stiffened, then wriggled around to
face her mate. If Prak had any sweet words of love, they remained
un-whispered. There was a sickly green gleam shimmering in the deep brown of
Soolisa's eyes. Even before he was certain he had seen it, Soolisa's mouth
came down on his in a brutal kiss. He was vaguely aware of her hands on his
chest, then she heaved against him.
Prak went over backwards off Windstrider. He made a despairing clutch at the
tail feathers, only to have them slide through his grasping fingers. A
moment later he was tumbling earthwards, trailing a horrified scream.
Soolisa quickly squirmed around to seat herself in the saddle. She checked
Windstrider's trained response to salvage his rider. She made the bird
bank in a wide circle, while she watched Prak's plunge to earth. It did not
take long.
Afterwards, she turned Windstrider into the north. Along the horizon, the
edge of the world loomed like a mass of dark storm clouds. She set the bird
to climbing steeply.
Well! That's my next bit. I haven't enjoyed writing so much for a long,
long time. Thanks BRAD - both of you!
BKWillis
>Afterwards, she turned Windstrider into the north. Along the horizon, the
>edge of the world loomed like a mass of dark storm clouds. She set the bird
>to climbing steeply.
>
>Well! That's my next bit. I haven't enjoyed writing so much for a long,
>long time. Thanks BRAD - both of you!
>
>
"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..."
(Yeah, like Clive said, this one's even more fun than normal. Looking forward
to the next part.)
BKWillis
--
"Love is chemistry and sex is physics, but it takes engineering to be kinky."
--Washuu Hakubi
Brad Filippone
a new segment, but I've got to read everything thoroughly first and make
notes.
I honestly had no idea it would take off like this when I started it! :)
Brad
Clive May
> "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..."
> (Yeah, like Clive said, this one's even more fun than normal. Looking
> forward to the next part.)
> BKWillis
Hi
Here's my next bit.
The second attempt by the Doctor to board the city, was handled with more
circumspection. Gorthund directed the birds to a docking platform that stuck
out at least three wing-spans from the side of the structure. It had been
meant for freight, in the days when Avis had truck with such things. The
Doctor's bird settled at the extreme edge, well away from the PNPG field's
worst effects. The bird had stopped only long enough for the Doctor to slide
to the decking, before it had dropped away out of sight. Gorthund came in,
using the more usual manner of leaping from the back of a stalled bird. The
Doctor was waiting at the edge of the platform, holding onto the single guard
rail. He was peering into the south, his expression grim.
"Doctor?"
The Doctor spun round, the wind agitating his white mop of hair. "I've got
to speak to whoever's in charge, at once!" he demanded. " I must locate and
retrieve my TARDIS as soon as possible. Jo..."
"A snatch squadron of the Elite Temple Guard has already been despatched. If
anyone can get that box back for you, they'll do it. They once snatched a
Servii War Chief the Queen wished to remonstrate with over unpaid taxes,
right off the back of his Gurvuk, going at a dead run, and didn't even dent
his armour."
"That's all very well..." the Doctor began, but broke off as a squad of
guards emerged onto the platform, through a ragged hole in a set of vast
hangar doors. The two men were immediately surrounded.
"A ceremonial guard," Gorthund explained hastily, a little embarrassed. "To
escort you to your audience with Her Majesty High Priestess Shanneril.
The usual Protocol and all that."
"Of course, dear chap," agreed the Doctor, with a gracious smile ; but they
both knew he was not fooled. He dusted some sand from the ruffles of his
shirt, assumed a regal bearing, and set out briskly. His air of assurance
created a credible impression that he was indeed a visiting dignitary, and
that the armed men were in truth an honour guard.
They passed through an outer ring of deserted buildings which brought them
into a broad way, running right around the perimeter of the city. The paved
way was uneven, breaking up in places. Plants showed through the cracks, and
in the angles of walls. An atmosphere of dilapidated weariness clung to the
scene.
In the middle of the road, the Doctor paused, forcing his honour guard to do
likewise. He squinted up at the blue shimmer which hazed the sky above the
broken towers.
"You know, old chap," he mused. "It wouldn't be that difficult to induce a
restricted rupture in the PNPG field to act as a portal. Then you could have
the birds land right inside the city limits, instead of that risky business
of jumping in from a flying bird." He turned an expectant look upon Gorthund.
"What do you say, my dear chap? If I could get a look at the generator room,
It could be fixed up in a jiffy? I could even re- align the phase field
oscillations too, while I was at it. You'll have to do that soon anyway, or
the whole thing's going to flip over."
"Alas, such a thing could not be permitted without Priestess Shanneril's
express orders," Gorthund said. There was some quality in his tone that
warned the Doctor that Gorthund was not entirely happy with this arrangement.
The Captain of Temple Guards set off again. "This way, Doctor." he urged.
"I'm afraid it's a bit of a walk."
As they passed out of sight into a narrow alley, two men garbed in filthy
rags stepped into the street from a doorway. They were both armed with those
snub-nosed energy throwers the Skyborn used to such deadly effect against the
Servii. The men exchanged a few words, then one hurried off. The one
remaining, was joined by two ragged women, one carrying a sabre, the other a
crude club. The man checked his weapon, and all three set off in pursuit of
the Doctor's party.
It took the little group more than an hour of walking through the desolation
to reach their destination. Many times they had to detour around collapsed
buildings. In all that time, the Doctor saw only three other people. A
woman who had been digging over the soil in a small patch of garden between
the buildings, paused to watch them go by with hooded, unfriendly eyes. The
other two were standing guard on the entry to the intact looking tower to
which Gorthund led them. He directed the Doctor inside.
The climb that followed, up flight after flight of crumbling steps, had left
even the Doctor winded. Eventually, he had been shown into a large, sparsely
furnished room. There was a panoramic window running three quarters of the
way around the walls. The door was shut and locked behind him.
The Doctor strode across to the window, and gazed out over the ruins for a
brief moment. Then he turned from the depressing vista of ruins and began
pacing impatiently back and forth. After a short while of this, he took out
his sonic screwdriver, and crossed to the door. There was too much to be
done, locating his TARDIS, and going to Jo's rescue. He couldn't just cool
his heels in this tower-top eyrie, waiting on the whim of some tyrannical old
matriarch.
The lurch, when they manhandled the TARDIS onto the trolley, was much worse
than when the birds had set the box down on the outer edge of a broad docking
platform. The jolt had made him spill some hot Earl Grey in his lap - and he
didn't even like the wretched stuff!
Trapped in the TARDIS, with nothing to do but watch the sky flow by, Cain's
assessment of possible future outcomes had made it clear to him that all he
could do was await developments. Loathe to waste any opportunity, he'd
stowed his meager handful of possessions, and gone exploring.
The TARDIS had taken, what seemed to him, a malicious and unwarranted
exception to his nosing about. All he'd found was a large comfy arm chair,
which he'd wheeled into the console room, a lot of passages which led
nowhere, locked doors, and a food preparation area. So far, whatever he'd
tried to get the unit to dispense, all it would produce was an annoyingly
extensive range of teas, buttered scones or hot crumpets. He'd finally cut
his losses, and returned to the console room with a tray of tea, and some
buttered crumpets.
Doffing his coat and draping it over the chair, he'd settled in to watch the
glittering monstrosity of Avis City swelling in all its dilapidated glory on
the web-worked screen. The gentle penduluming motion had been quite
soothing. The ride would have been quite pleasant, if not for the
uncertainties lurking at its end, and an annoying buzz in the TARDIS hum
which told him it was sulking. There'd been trouble when he had propped his
booted feet on the console; but after being thwarted by the machine in his
explorations, and then with the food dispenser, Cain had dug his heels in
asserting his will.
He got up from the chair, and patted ineffectually at the hot dampness in his
lap. The TARDIS sounded smug. Cain ignored it, concentrating on the screen.
The journey through the city was a series of aggravating glimpses; but he saw
enough to deduce that the TARDIS was being hauled in the general direction of
Old Mother Shanneril's tower top roost. He was not surprised. Shanneril
kept a tight hold on the reins of power; she delegated nothing. It was a
sure bet that anything like the TARDIS would be delivered post-haste for her
inspection.
Cain returned to the chair, to await events in comfort. He listened with
attentive interest to the grumbling comments of the party moving the TARDIS.
Information was always useful. It was nearly an hour before the jerking and
rolling stopped. The scanner showed only a blank wall. He turned up the
gain on the audio, listening for another ten minutes, until he was certain
the way was clear. Then he opened the doors, and went out.
He walked slap into a metal wall, about four inches in front of the door.
They left within the hour, their promptness forestalling any real trouble.
There was a brisk exchange of pleasantries at the north gate, which left two
guards dead, and a couple of Rahaaz's raiders with flesh wounds. Once clear
of the "town" of hovels clustered about the walls, the Gurvuks were put to
the gallop with determination. There was only one possible place where
Babydoll's hare-brained plan for rescuing Cain had any chance. It lay a hard
ride away across the hot desert.
This time, because it was her idea, Babydoll rode up in the van among
Rahaaz's lieutenants. There was some grumbling, even from his most loyal
men. Rahaaz had not entirely believed Babydoll when she had sworn that there
was a way to reach Avis City. If Babydoll's plan failed, he would throw them
to his raiders. Their deaths would do much to assuage the outraged
sensibilities of his chief men. The cause of the Sacred Land would be
strengthened by this act; so that when the tribes fell upon the Vale, it
would be as one united people.
Bella, bundled in filmy midnight, rode up behind Babydoll. This was partly
because she was not sure of being able to control the lumbering beasts while
the sun was up, and partly because the Gurvuks had taken a violent exception
to her. The scaled beasts had long memories, and the first meeting between
the slight woman and their race was fresh in their savage little minds.
As the day wore onto evening, and Rahaaz held to the killing pace, Bella
began to wilt. Even Babydoll was beginning to roll in the saddle with
fatigue by the time the sun went down. Once the stars came out, Bella
rallied. Throwing off the muffling swathes of midnight cloth, she send her
hair flying free in the cooling breeze. Her grip around Babydoll's waist
grew firmer; and she began a low crooning love-song to the deepening dark.
The night was "her time". The eerie, lilting moan raised the hackles all
down Babydoll's spine.
An hour after dark, the bulk of a ridge loomed up before them. Rahaaz called
a halt at the base of the sandstone scarp, and made a disposition of his
force. He broke it into two unequal squads. The smaller, he put under the
command of Ghanzaz, a fearsome and trusted raider.
"Thou hast thine orders, loyal Ghanzaz," Rahaaz bellowed, and waved the troop
captain away. The snorting Gurvuks moved off in a jostling mass, along the
foot of the escarpment. A grey plume of dust went up in their wake, as they
thundered into the west.
Rahaaz dismounted and started barking out orders. His raiders flung
themselves to earth, and gathered together the equipment the blond braided
woman had bid them bring along.
Babydoll slid to earth, and turned to study the cliffs blotting out half the
sky. She hoped it wasn't as hard as it looked. They had to be on the
plateau in less than an hour, or the plan was out the window.
Rahaaz barked more orders. His heavily armoured raiders began an assault on
the cliff with the same zest they demonstrated in facing an overwhelmingly
superior enemy. They swarmed up the sheer face like flies running up a
window. Babydoll held no illusions about matching their performance. Where
the Servii relied on sheer physical strength, she employed her quick mind.
Bella helped her to rope the captured bird saddles to their backs; and they
scrambled easily up the sheer face.
Even with the lift of the saddles, they arrived on the plateau ten minutes
behind the last Servii. Rahaaz's raiders were already making preparations
for the assault on Avis City, laying out coils of rope, and securing their
extra war gear in bundles.
Babydoll stood up, handed Bella up over the lip, and gazed around. A
desolate tableland stretched away, fading into the dark. The rough terrain
was dotted with huge rocks which the wind born sand had sculpted into weird
shapes. Between and around them, stunted plants clung on in the thin soil.
A stiff breeze hissed through the mean leaves, underscoring the desolation.
Rahaaz's voice boomed out, startling Babydoll from her contemplation of the
dreary vista. He pointed east with a shining long sword. "Already,
approacheth the verminous bolt hole of the Skyborn curs!"
Babydoll looked,but could see nothing. Bella, though, nodded and said: "I'd
say we've got about ten minutes to get ready, so long as it comes on at the
same speed."
Rahaaz agreed with a grunt, and gathered the two captured saddles. They were
lashed together; the end of a long coil of rope was tied to them. More coils
of the special rope were unrolled and joined to the first.
For a few minutes, Bella hovered around, giving unnecessary advice about the
preparations, before she moved into the dark to prepare herself for her own
part in the mad scheme. She was by no means happy about the risky plan; but
the dark helped to calm her nerves; and the gritty breeze, fluttering her
hair and midnight cloak, drew off her misgivings. The night was "her time".
Babydoll, studying the sky to the east, finally made out a looming darkness
obliterating the thin scatter of stars. It looked an awful long way up.
Sudden misgivings assailed her. It was a hideous risk, especially for Bella.
Some encouragement for "Fangs" might not come amiss. She peered around,
seeking the other woman. She really ought to at least wish her good luck.
Bella stood on one of the weirdly wind sculpted boulders, some ten feet
overhead. The wind was streaming her hair and cloak. She gave a sensuous
little wriggle. The cloak and dress fluttered away, leaving her outlined,
pale and naked, against the scatter of frosty stars. Raising her arms, Bella
let out a long tormented moan, like a wind lost in a pine forest. All the
activity stopped abruptly. The Servii turned to stare, with eyes grown
suddenly wide with superstitious fear. A score of clawed paws formed the
symbol to ward off the demons from the Outer Dark.
A shimmering of darkness enfolded the slight form on the rock. It boiled and
pulsed, warping into a vaguely egg shaped smear of nether dark. Then it
split. Rising, as though hatching from an egg made from midnight, a giant
bat fluttered against the sky.
On leathery wings, the monstrosity swooped down among the raiders. Rahaaz's
men scattered. He and Babydoll alone stood unflinching, as the giant bat
grabbed up the saddles in a taloned claw, and swooped up into the night.
"Good luck, Fangs!" Babydoll shouted after the vanished form.
For a while, the only sound was the breeze, the rustle of the rope as it
spiraled up into the night, and the occasional clink an creak of harness as
the Servii came creeping back from their bolt holes. They stared up
expectantly at the dark bulk overhead which had forever eluded their swords
by the simple expedient of being for ever out of reach.
Rahaaz's jaws worked as he began a low war chant. His three eyes glittered
with the anticipation of the coming fight. He knew now he'd been right to
trust Babydoll, although it went counter to all the sacred codes of the
Servii to permit a woman to take a hand in warfare. Yes, he had been right
to trust his instincts about the blond braided alien female.
A most satisfactory settlement of the problem posed by the Wingborn
scavengers was at hand. Rahaaz had lived for this glorious day, ever since
leading his clan out of the High Desert to join Cain's crusade.
Babydoll suddenly shivered. She rubbed palms over the tingling skin of her
arms. The PNPG field supporting the city was getting very close. She bit
her lip in sudden concern. Had they left it too late? If bella got caught
under that field? Babydoll shuddered. The consequences would not be
pleasant. She stared up into the sky, willing Bella to be careful. She had
grown kind of fond of "Fangs" since she had come to stand at her side in
Cain's office. The pale woman's grit had spoken to her in that language
which has no words.
All through the long gallop to get into position, Babydoll had been
struggling with a strange new emotion. She had finally admitted to herself
that she actually liked Cain's pet monster. Now, when she thought "thing" it
had a wholly new flavour - affection?
"I must be getting soft," she muttered, and silently urged Bella to be
careful.
A great flash lit up the south western horizon. Babydoll dropped into a
defensive crouch. Lagging seconds behind the light show, came an explosion
which rocked the ground. This was followed by more flashes of distant
explosions. Rahaaz grunted in satisfaction.
"Maketh thou a distraction to grabbeth the attention of the vermin," he had
commanded Ghanzaz at the foot of the bluff, leaving the details to the
capable henchman. Ghanzaz was making a most splendid show. The attention of
the Skyborn vermin would assuredly be elsewhere now, long enough for his
raiding party to get aloft unseen.
The fortress arrived overhead. Its height was as Rahaaz had said - around
fifteen hundred feet. This was the nearest to the ground it ever came.
These hills were the only point at which the plan might have any chance of
success. Light as the special rope was, even withthe the lift of the
saddles, a length like that was going to tax Bella's night enhanced strength
to the limit.
Time, too, was critical. She would have to get the rope fixed to the north
east quarter to give them as much time as possible before the rotation took
the rope around the southern edge, and then drew it back under the field as
it came round in front. They all had to be on the structure well before that
moment. Climbing directly under the field would be unendurable. Shinning up
a fifteen hundred foot long rope would be no picnic with the added problem of
the field. It was not something Babydoll was looking forward to. Not for
the first time, since setting out from Serviion, she experienced misgivings
at this crazy scheme.
Then the pressure on her nerves eased, as the back edge moved past and the
stars came out again.
Babydoll checked her equipment. She was going up light, just her trusty
pistol and the dagger in the sheath on her thigh. All of the Servii were
going u in full armour. She didn't envy them. The rope would take the
weight easily. It was a special monofilament material, ten times stronger
than a like thickness of steel, and only a fraction of the weight of normal
nylon rope.
A blood freezing cry floated down to the raiding party. Rahaaz started
giving orders. The raiders began to swarm up the rope, hand over hand.
Rahaaz went next to last, and Babydoll brought up the rear. After seeing the
effortless way the Servii swarmed up, Babydoll was glad that she' d not
insisted on being in the van. She was soon lagging far behind. Only kept in
touch with events by the jerking of the rope in her hands. soon, her arms
and legs were aching. Sweat was running freely.
She was trying to ignore the fact that if they were seen, they were the
proverbial "sitting ducks". No sooner had the thought entered her
brain, when she was dazzled by a brilliant yellow light. The powerful beam
swept around a moment, before it dipped down and picked out the
climbing Servii against the surrounding dark. An energy weapon lanced
a crackling blue bolt down among the climbing raiders. There was a scream
of agony. there cane the unmistakable bark of Rahaaz's
Webley. The light went out with a loud crash. Babydoll was almost flung
from the rope as it jerked violently. Something large rushed past her in
the dark, going down, trailing the smell of seared flesh and hot metal.
"Smeg! Oh Smeg! Oh Smeg!" she snarled through gritted teeth. Now they were
for it. Rahaaz's fine shooting had earned them a momentary respite. It
would not last, the element of surprise had been well and smegging truly
lost.
Wrapping the rope around her left wrist, Babydoll drew the pistol and
prepared to go down fighting.
Well, that's my next bit. It's a bit rough, and needs some more work; but I
didn't want to delay posting it any longer.
Any more takers?
BKWillis
Just a quick announcement here.
Seeing as how the 'Desert of Fear' story has kind of snowballed into a
full-fledged Round Robin, the three of us who've been participating so far have
decided to just go ahead and make it official. Or semi-official, at any rate.
From this point on, we're going to set up a posting rotation so that we can
keep track of whose turn it is to write at any particular time. The rotation
will be open-ended, though, so anyone desiring to contribute need only contact
me, BKWillis, at
and I'll give you the next open slot.
See y'all there!
BKWillis
--
"I hope I die with a smile."
--Tetsuro in 'Galaxy Express 999'
BKWillis
>"Smeg! Oh Smeg! Oh Smeg!" she snarled through gritted teeth. Now they were
>for it. Rahaaz's fine shooting had earned them a momentary respite. It
>would not last, the element of surprise had been well and smegging truly
>lost.
>
>Wrapping the rope around her left wrist, Babydoll drew the pistol and
>prepared to go down fighting.
"Wake up, Jo. Come on, there's a good girl..."
Jo cracked open her eyes, groaned once at the blur above her, then
closed them again, unwilling to be pulled into wakefulness just yet.
"Come on, Jo..." The insistent voice was joined by an insistent tug
at her shoulder. Oh, if only they'd just go away and let her sleep,
then she'd...
Sleep? When had she gone to sleep? The sudden nagging
thought, the subtle misgivings aroused by her momentary lapse of
half-awake memory managed to finish what the voice and tugging
had started. With a sudden tension, Jo's eyes snapped open and
she sat up, staring around her.
She was lying on a small couch in what looked to be a small,
modestly appointed room, the sparse furnishings somehow
conveying the impression 'tidy bachelor apartment'. She felt a
hand rest on her shoulder and whirled about to see...
"Mike! What are you doing here? What am I doing here? How
did I... you... What's going on?" Jo's words tumbled out over
themselves, panic and confusion edging her tones.
"There, there," Yates soothed, patting her reassuringly. "You
just had a nasty turn, was all. You were just telling me how the
Doctor was going to take you to the beach, then you muttered
something about 'Fort Zinderneuf' and fainted dead away! I
brought you in here and was just about to phone for an ambulance
when you finally started coming to." He grinned at her in apparent
relief, his hand trailing across her neck.
Jo started to speak, stopped, shook her head once, then stared
blankly at the wall, trying to focus on something. "But," she
said at last, "I don't remember... Or rather, I do. We went. We did
go... somewhere... Didn't we?"
"There, there Jo. Don't worry yourself about it. Just relax." Mike's
fingers brushed her cheek and she shied back reflexively. Out of
the corner of her eye, Jo noted the slight darkening of the captain's
expression, but was too wrapped-up in her thoughts to pay any
heed.
"We did go," Jo said with a bit more conviction, still focussed
inward. "There was sand... And it wasn't Miami. And birds..."
"I know what'll get you back in order," Mike said in a chipper,
upbeat tone that his eyes somehow did not mirror. "Let's get you
cleaned up a bit. A wet towel and a bit of cold water will get you
fixed right up." He slipped an arm around her and helped her to
her feet. "Do you think you can walk?" he asked solicitously.
"The lavvy's just right through there... Here, lean on me." Jo did
so, allowing herself to be led, still lost in her thoughts.
In the bathroom, Jo leaned against the counter as Mike tossed a
towel in the sink and wet it down. "Yes," she muttered, "we did
go somewhere. I remember the sand... I think."
Mike handed her the wet towel and she mechanically rubbed at her
face with it, the coolness clearing her mind a little and helping her
focus on the _now_. "I remember going, and I remember telling
you about it, but I talked to you yesterday, not today," she said.
"I think that's it. Yes. I remember meeting you in the carpark and
telling you I was going to the beach. Yesterday."
"Your time-sense is a bit mixed-up, Jo," Yates replied gently. "That
was what you were telling me just a little while ago, before you
fainted."
"But it--"
"Oops," he interrupted, pointing at her eyes, "you've still got a bit
of something in your eyes."
Jo raised the towel and wiped at her eyes, still insisting that she'd
seen him yesterday. As she was doing so, she suddenly felt some-
thing clamp down on her wrist, biting into the skin. "Ow! What are
you--!?"
Mike had snapped one ring of a handcuff on her, the steel
ratcheting down cruelly into her flesh. With a snarling expression
that she'd never seen on him before -- never seen on _anyone_
before -- he grabbed her by the other arm and dragged her to the
shower stall.
"Mike! What the Hell are you doing?!" She struggled against his
grip, but the UNIT captain was too strong. Relentlessly and
without a word, he dragged her to the shower and looped the cuffs'
chain across the door-track, then clamped the other cuff on her,
leaving her standing there on tip-toe, helpless.
"Mike! For God's sake, Mike, what do you--?!"
"Shut up, Jo," he hissed at her and she recoiled from the expression
of utter loathing on his face. "Just shut up. This is my time, Jo, not
yours."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Shut up!" He sighed once, then shook his head in mock-sadness.
"Jo Jo Jo Jo," he said. "You've been a bad girl, you have. A bad,
bad girl. You tease me, Jo. Teasing isn't nice at all. Mama said."
He giggled, a mad, hackle-raising sound that had nothing of the
Mike Yates she thought she knew in it. "You tease and tease. You
get me bothered, Jo. Do you know what that does to a man? Of
course you do. And you like it, don't you? You like being a little
tease."
"Mike," she said desperately. "Listen Mike, I don't know what--"
"Shut up!" he roared. "I said for you to shut up! This is _my_
time! Mike's time! Jo's time is over!" He glared at her, then wiped
a bit of spit from his lips and went on in the same placid tone he'd
been using before, a tone that somehow disturbed Jo more than
any mere shouting could. "You see, Jo, you've been mean to
Mike, and that isn't very nice. Mama said that little girls who aren't
nice have to be punished. You can see the sense in that, I'm sure."
He paused a moment, as though waiting for her to agree. When
she didn't, he just sighed and shook his head again. "Jo," he
said in a chiding tone, "I think you'd best agree with me, because
if you don't, I'm going to have to break your pretty nose. Now,
you can see the sense in having to punish bad little girls, can't
you?"
"Yes, Mike," she agreed hastily, shocked. "Whatever you say."
"Excellent! Absolutely excellent!" He clapped his hands gleefully
and then leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead as one
might do an obedient child. "I'm glad you can see the necessity for
this, then. We'll make a good girl out of you soon enough. You
just wait here." He turned and walked out of the bathroom, then
ducked his head back in, his eyes madly alight. "Now don't go
anywhere, okay?" he giggled, then ducked back out.
As soon as he was gone, Jo began tugging furiously at the hand-
cuffs, trying to pull the metal shower-door track loose. A couple of
hard pulls had the plaster wall cracking slightly where the track was
fastened and she began to frantically redouble her efforts.
"Jo Jo Jo Jo Jo _Jo_. How you disappoint me. You're still quite
naughty after all." She looked over to see Yates back in the
doorway, his hands hidden behind his back. "But that's no more
than I should expect," he continued. "Once a bad girl, always a
bad girl. That's why Mike and Mama have a cure for bad girls.
Care to guess which hand it's in? Is it the left?" He held out his
empty left hand as he walked over to her, then stroked her cheek
with it. "No, it isn't the left hand. Maybe it's the right hand? Ah,
there it is!" He held up a curved, thin-bladed knife, one of the sort
hunters used for skinning game.
"Mike, please!" she begged, sobbing. "Please don't do this!
Please!"
"Hush, sweet Charlotte," he replied, his finger on her lips. "Jo's
time is over. It's Mike's time now. So be quiet. Mike's time..."
He twined his left hand in her hair and pulled her face to him, a
contented smile on his face as he raised the knife and placed its
point a hairsbreadth from her left eye.
"I can make the fear stop, Josephine Grant," a voice without sound
seemed to hiss in her ears. "All you need do is ask it of me, and it
will all stop..."
"No," Jo moaned through her tears. "This isn't happening. This
can't be happening. This isn't Mike. It's just a nightmare. It has to
be!"
"Nightmare?" Mike chuckled softly. "More like a dream come true,
if you ask me." He shifted the knife a bit, as though trying to
decide which of her eyes suited him most.
"Ask it of me, Josephine Grant..."
"No!" Jo spat through clenched teeth.
"Uh-uh," Mike said, not ungently. "The correct answer is, 'Yes Mr.
Yates, sir.'" He giggled for a moment, then rammed the blade
forward into Jo's right eye. Jo screamed as she felt the blade bite
home, her eyeball parting before the cold edge and then--
Flash to whiteness.
----
It appeared that her mind was stronger than he'd anticipated. He
had been certain that the fear would have brought her to him by
now, but she still resisted. It began to look as though there might
be an element of challenge in this Josephine Grant's conversion.
Not that the outcome would be in doubt, for the Lord of the Vale
had time everlasting to work in, and nightmare without end for his
weapon.
----
The monofilament rope jumped and swayed as the Servii some-
where far above Babydoll's head tried to work their weapons free
to fire back at the Skyborn guards. The snap-roar of a percussion
pistol sounded somewhere from above, followed by a blast of blue
energy bolts from the other side. Babydoll tried to spot the source
of the bolts by watching the gunflashes, but they were too far
above her and her grip too precarious for her to be able to return
their fire.
High overhead, she heard Rahaaz's voice driving his warriors on
like a whiplash. "Climb! Waste not your shots in darkness! Climb
for your lives! 'Tis useless to fight here!" Another blast of energy
bolts slashed the darkness as the Skyborn guards tried to track
the dangling Servii by sound.
Gritting her teeth, Babydoll reholstered her machine pistol and
resumed the laborious hand-over-hand ascent, her protesting
muscles aching and knuckles dead-white from the strain.
Again the energy bolts lit the night and in their glow Babydoll
could just make out the shapes of the gunners on a watch platform
far above. There was a loud grunt of pain somewhere overhead
and another seared body plummetted past her and into the nighted
abyss below.
"I'm not gonna die here," Babydoll thought as she continued to
pull herself up. "Not like this. Gonna die rich and famous and in
bed with somebody cute. That's the way for a girl to go, not shot
down by some fleabag sky-rats at the ass-end of nowhere. And I
can't get killed before I get even, anyway. I got too much stuff to
get payback for to snuff it just yet."
There came another volley of energy bolts, some coming closer to
her now as the guards began to shift their aim. Still, she hadn't
heard any more Servii getting hit yet, so maybe there was still some
hope. She glared up at the shadowy Skyborn sentries, mentally
taunting them with words that she couldn't spare the breath to say
aloud. As she watched, a lithe white shape, ghostlike in the glare
of the energy guns, dropped in behind the two figures. A faint cry
of alarm carried down to her as the firing abruptly stopped.
"Climb!" shouted Rahaaz. "Climb for your lives! Victory is at
hand!"
After a few more moments of climbing, Babydoll felt herself begin
to rise as the rope was pulled up, slowly at first, then with
increasing speed and surety. In her mind's eye, she could picture
the Servii swarming up the cable to the platform and then turning
to pull their fellows up.
At long last, the platform swam into her half-exhausted view, the
shadowy bulk of Rahaaz's standard-bearer Daraaga looming over
her as he hauled her up like a landed fish and deposited her on
shaking legs. She sagged gratefully to the floor, letting her sore
arms hang limply at her sides. Even the Servii seemed winded by
the climb, so she didn't feel _too_ bad about herself.
She took a moment to look around, taking in her dim surroundings
in a few calculating glances. They were on what must be a sentry-
post, a balconylike affair low along the city's edge, a shattered
searchlight swivel-mounted midways of its railing. A metal
staircase led up into the city proper at one end, while a speaker-
grille was set into the wall at the other. A Skyborn guard lay
asprawl in a pool of blood at the foot of the stairs, his throat torn out,
while a second guard, a young woman, stood rock-still and
staring nearby, her expression vacant. Beside her was the slim
white form of Bella, naked save for the fall of her curly tresses,
wiping her hands on a piece of cloth. The Servii milled all around
them, unslinging muskets and loosening their scabbarded
weapons, paying no heed to the females as they set about their
business.
With a grunt of mild self-protest, Babydoll got up and walked over
to Bella, a congratulatory smile on her face. "You did it, Fangs!"
she said.
Bella looked up at her, eyes luminous and sad in the starlight.
"Yes," the vampire replied. "I did it." She went back to wiping at
her right hand, which was coated in blood.
Babydoll shuddered despite herself, glancing at the torn corpse.
She jerked her head at the seemingly entranced female guard.
"What about her?" she asked.
"She is, as the old movies put it, 'in my power'," Bella replied.
"Her mind has been... sent away for now. Until the sun rises,
she has no will of her own."
"Overworld sorcery," breathed Rahaaz as he strode over to the
two. The War Captain looked at Bella and indicated the prisoner.
"Thou shouldst cut her throat and be rid of her."
Bella's curls fluttered as she shook her head. "There's no need.
She's under my control and can't harm us."
"This be not a slave-taking," Rahaaz countered. "We have not
effort to spare for captives. Kill her."
Bella slid between the Servii and the Skyborn, eyes flashing. "I'll
not do so, War Captain Rahaaz."
For her own part, Babydoll was inclined to agree with the War
Captain. All her training, all her indoctrination, all those years of
bloody experience told her that prisoners were liabilities in this
situation. But on the other hand, it couldn't be denied that Bella's
protective attitude toward the helpless woman moved her in some
way.
"Shouldn't let a bloodsucker be more human than _me_, should I?"
she asked herself.
Before she could say anything one way or the other, the night was
split by a sudden squawking voice. "Guard Post Five, report in.
Guard Post Five, report in." The Servii all dropped into firing
crouches and stared around for the source of the voice, which was
merely the speaker-grille at the end of the platform.
"Guard Post Five, report in. Nahlia, Jorsam, are you there? Report
in."
As the voice became more insistent, Bella leaned over to her
Skyborn prisoner and began whispering in her ear. The woman
turned and strode over to the speaker, Bella still whispering to her,
and touched a button beside the grille. In a perfectly normal and
alert voice, she said, "Guard Post Five reporting, Nahlia here."
"Nahlia, we heard shooting from your area," the voice replied,
sounding less anxious. "What's the status in your sector? Is there
a problem?"
"Negative," Nahlia replied briskly. "Jorsam and I spotted some
North Rim renegades flying past and thought we'd best warn them
off before they could rustle any mounts from our flocks."
"Very good, Guard Post Five. We were afraid it might have had
some connection with those Servii raiders we engaged earlier."
The woman named Nahlia laughed, her expression still as blank as
stone. "Really, now, Siharal, how do you think the Servii could get
up here? Grow wings and fly?"
"Don't be impertinent, Nahlia," the voice snapped. "Headquarters
out."
As the captive Skyborn settled back into passive immobility, Bella
turned and fixed Rahaaz with an arch look, to which the War
Captain replied with a nod. "It shall be as thou sayest, Over-
worlder," he intoned, then turned to get his raiders organized to
move out.
They set off a moment later, the Servii filing silently up the stairs
first, in case of ambush, with Rahaaz in the middle and the two
women in the rear. Babydoll checked her machine pistol again, as
was her habit, before starting up the steps, then turned to watch
Bella follow. The vampire had sent Nahlia to sleep with a word
and then stopped to look down at the man she'd killed earlier and
the huge, cooling pool of blood around him.
As the blonde watched, Bella knelt down next to the corpse, her
expression unreadable.
"Oh smeg, she's gonna feed," Babydoll thought, her stomach
turning in revulsion. In spite of her newfound respect for the girl,
the vampire's habits still sickened her to the core.
But the pale girl made no move to taste the dead man's blood.
Instead, she merely brushed a hand across his face, closing his
sightless eyes and shaking her head.
"Hey!" Babydoll called to her. "You coming along or not...
Fangs?"
Bella blinked something out of her eyes and leapt nimbly up behind
her, smiling slightly. "I'm right behind you... Pigtails!"
--
[Next up, Brad Filippone, followed by Clive May.]
Graham Woodland
>Hey, y'all
>
>Just a quick announcement here.
>
>Seeing as how the 'Desert of Fear' story has kind of snowballed into a
>full-fledged Round Robin,
and one of the better ones this group has seen in quite a while! When
Brad F started this, I certainly wasn't *expecting* the Spanish
Inquisition...
Particular revelation is the way that two styles as radically dissimilar
as yours and Clive's are just fitting together like puzzle-pieces on
this one!
>the three of us who've been participating so far have
>decided to just go ahead and make it official. Or semi-official, at any rate.
>From this point on, we're going to set up a posting rotation so that we can
>keep track of whose turn it is to write at any particular time. The rotation
>will be open-ended, though, so anyone desiring to contribute need only contact
>me, BKWillis, at
>
>bradk...@aol.com
>
>and I'll give you the next open slot.
>
Wish I could do 'actioners' well enough to book one, but I reckon I
still have some work to do on that. Besides, my Muse has gone to other
lands, riding on a tortoise.
>See y'all there!
>
Looking forward to the next one,
Cheers,
--
Gray
http://www.quilpole.demon.co.uk
"She does not get eaten by the sharks at this time."
- William Goldman, _The Princess Bride_.
Brad Filippone
First off, my apologies for the fact that it's been a month or so since my
last contribution, but as I said in other posts, I had completely lost
track of the story. I just read through them all, and here goes...
----
Xel was twelve years old. She had lived most of her short life on the
streets doing whatever she could to eke out a means of survival.
She was willing to do almost everything to live, no matter what the risk.
If she got killed in her efforts...well it was worth it. To survive was
always best, but to die trying was almost as good at least to her mind.
She had never known her parents; had no idea even who they were. She
lived her first six years in the company of a young woman who was gone
now, who had taken care of her and had given Xel her first valuable
lessons in survival. The woman had died at the young age of sixteen,
beaten to death while trying to avoid being gang raped by a bunch of boys
also living in the streets of the Servii city.
There were a number of human street urchins living there. They were
generaly ignored. Xel had managed to sirvive without her benefactor, but
it had not been easy. If only she could find some way to avoid having to
do the things one normally would have to do to live, like eating or having
to relieve oneselg. But that was impossible.
Or so she thought, until one day when she found herself where she had no
business being.
She, and a lot of the other kids, knew which of the old Servii buildings
had secret passageways in them. Old Serviian archetecture dictated that
there should be ample space between the outer wall of a building, and the
walls of the rooms. The reason for this antique style was never quite
clear in modern times, but Xel and the kids took advantage of it, for
these spaces provided wonderful shelter and a place to sleep. Possible
trouble though, if one were caught.
----
My apologies, I'm going to have to interrupt my narritive. It will
continue in the next post. Sorry about that.
Brad
Brad Filippone
: Ok, my turn.
: ----
<continuing>
So it was that, peeking through the tiny cracks in the wall of one such
building, she witnessed a scene that was at once both horrifying and
exhilarating!
For Xel had been a silent witness to the conflict between Bella and
Murgonj. She hadn't quite known what to make of the woman's survival of
such a horrible wound and of her subsequent slaying and partial devouring
of her foe.
She had heard of vampires, but they were just stories, weren't they? But
her suspicians were confirmed but what she heard Bella and the other
woman, Babydoll was her name? speaking of the matter.
Then the outdoor battle against the flying warriors ensued. Xel didn't
see it, but she heard it, she'd have to have been deaf not to. And then
everyone had gone off to battle elsewhere, leaving her there in her hiding
place to consider what she had seen.
And she resolved on a desparate course of action.
She slept on it, not moving from her spot between the walls. When she
awoke, she looked through the crack again.
The woman Bella was there alone, slumped sideways over the large chair
that had been occupied by the man Cain only hours before, her legs
dangling over one arm and her back against the other. Can't be too
comfortable like that, Xel thought.
Then she took a deep breath and thought, well, here goes.
Sneaking back outside though a hidden opening in the outer wall, the way
she had come in, she then reached up to the open window, and pulled
herself up and in, landing with a quiet thud on the floor inside.
Bella heard her land, turned her head, and was in an instant on her feet.
"Who are you?" she demanded, "And why are you here, you impertinant little
whelp?"
"Please forgive me, lady, I have a request to bed of you!"
"Leave at once the way you came, or you'll never leave at all! Ever!"
"Can I explain? I think I can help you some way."
"Help me? You don't even know who I am!"
"I know something of you." And, bravely, she told Bella what she had been
witness to.
"Give me one good reason," asked Bella, "Why I shouldn't just rip out
your heart right now!"
"I know what you are! You're one of those vampires I've heard about,
aren't you?"
"Well?"
"I...I want to be a vampire too!"
Bella, unable to believe the request, through back her head with laughter.
"You must be kidding!"
"No, I'm not kidding. I'd give anything. I said I could help you. I
mean, I'll be your personal servant if you want, for as long as you want.
But please just do this for me!"
Bella forgot her anger. There was something about the girl, certainly.
"Why do you want such a thing?"
"After you live like I do, you welcome a chance to not have to scrounge
for the tiniest morsal of food. Besides, I like what you did to that
man." She smiled.
Bella laughed again, only this time, the laughter was warmer. Yes, she
thought, there's something about this girl. She reminds me of someone.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Xel."
"Just Xel?"
"Just Xel. It's short for Xelerina." Suddenly embarrassed, she added,
"Only, please, don't call me Xelerina."
"Very well. I must you, you remind me of my kid sister. That is why I'm
not tearing you apart for this intrusion. She was impertinent too. You
know I havn't seen her in a very long time. Since before my embrace."
Trying to endear herself further to Bella, Xel hoped to make conversation
by asking, "Why don't you visit her?"
Bella laughed again, "If she's still alive, she'd be five hundred
seventy-three next month!"
"Of course! I should have guessed!" Xel joined in the laughter.
When the jocularity subsided, Xel asked, "So what are you going to do to
me? I'm not afraid of dying. I took a chance. If you kill me, well, I
die. That's just the way it goes."
"No, I'm not going to kill you. But you need to know two things! First,
the embrace is not something to enter into lightly. You're mistaken if
you think we don't need to scrounge for nourishment. If you know anything
about vampires, you know that. Kill the wrong person at the wrong time to
feel off of and you'll find yourself quickly surrounded by stake wielding
lynch mobs."
"But I would live you serve you. In your position, you're not wanting
anything."
"Well," Bella agreed, "Amost anything." The other important thing you
must know is that just because YOU want to feel the embrace, doesn't mean
I want to do it. There are things I must consider. Creating a new
kindred is a great responsibility, like a pair of humans creating a
child."
"I wouldn't know about that."
"But I like you. You've made a good first impression on me. You're
brave, I'll say that for you." She paused a moment, lost in thought.
"I'll tell you what, Xel. Be my servant, like you suggested. There are
many things I know of you can help me with, but they are difficult, not
for the faint of heart. When you've served me long enough, and I shall
determine what 'long enough' is, I will let you know. If this plan does
not meet with your approval, you may go out the way you came in, never
sleep in my walls again, and I'll just pretend you were never here. Is
that fair?"
Xel didn't even pause to consider. "Yes, that's fair. I'll do whatever
you say and I won't let you down!"
"Very well then, Xelerina...Ah! don't grimace like that! You serve me
now and I'll call you what I want!...step closer to me so I can get a
better look at you."
Again the girl didn't pause. She walked right up to her new mistress
obediently. Suddenly, Bella snatched up Murgonj's dagger, which she had
earlier placed on table and grabbing Xel's wrist, she dragged the blade
across the girl's right palm. Xel didn't even flinch. She felt the pain,
but steadfastly refused to acknowledge it.
Bella smiled in approval. "Excellent!" She drew the bleeding hand up
over her face as she looked up to receive the dripping red liquid. It ran
down the edges of her face and her tongue made quick appearences lapping
up any drops that landed at her lips. She then carressed the hand with
her entire face, rubbing it all around
"A-positive," she said. "You're just my type!"
----
The Lord of the Vale was very impressed with Jo's reaction the the
nightmare he had given her. He was in a way disappointed that she had
resisted the terrifying situation so well.
"If I can't get to her through fear, perhaps she will weaken under the
influence of another emotion."
----
Jo became aware that she was lying in bed. Had it all been a dream? Her
torture at the hand of her friend? She opened her eyes.
She did not recognize her surroundings. It was a bedroom, but where?
Whose bedroom?
She sat up and the bedclothes slipped down to her waist. She was wearing
a thin blue nightgown. But she didn't own such a nightgown. What was
going on?
The room was moderately furnished and decorated. A vanity could be seen
near the foot of the bed. There was a picture on it. It was a wedding
picture from the looks of the gown the girl was wearing. She got out of
bed and went for a closer look.
The girl in the picture was her!
She looked at the groom's face. And she thought, no, this can't be! What
is going on?
Sergeant Benton entered the room wearing a housecoat over pajamas. "Hello
darling," he asked. "Up so soon? I thought you'd be dead until noon
after last night."
"John! What is going on?"
"What's wrong, Jo? Are you still disoriented after the accident? Still
having the bad memory spells?"
"What is this place?"
"Woking. Don't you remember? You picked the house out yourself?"
"No, I don't. Where's the Doctor?"
"You want me to call Doctor Winters?"
"No," said Jo, not even knowing who that would be. I mean THE Doctor."
"Winters is the only doctor you have, Jo. You've got me confused."
"THE Doctor. The scientific advisor of UNIT."
"The what of what? What are you talking about, honey?"
"UNIT! Brigadier General Lethbridge-Stewart and you and all that."
"I didn't know you knew Lethbridge-Stewart."
Slightly relieved, Jo said, "Good, you've heard of HIM then. Can you call
him up?"
Benton shook his head. "If you know him, surely you must know he's over
in Ulster right now. Trouble there again. It's all over the news."
There was a noise from one of the other rooms, and a youngish female voice
could be heard shouting, "That's MY crumpet! Don't you take it!"
Benton shouted through the door. "None of that nonsense, you two!"
Jo had taken all she could. She felt that not only her memories, but her
very emotions were being toyed with, manipulated. She sank into Benton's
embrace. She felt safe there.
----
The Doctor didn't get very far before encountering a pair of guards.
There was a finally dressed woman there.
"You are the Doctor, I presume? I am the Priestess Shanneril. I
apologise for keeping you waiting. You needn't have broken out, you
know."
"My humblest apologies, my lady. I have a friend who's been..."
"I am aware of the situation, and I bring news. I've just been imformed
that a young lady was seen out in the desert near the place where Gorthund
and Kepla found you. I understand your need to find your mate, so
therefore I will forego our interview until your return."
"My thanks to you then. Might I borrow one of the birds?"
"Yes," relplied the priestess. "And Gorthund and Kepla will accompany
you, as you probably do not know your way around the desert yet. Go at
once. But your attempt to escape from your appointment with me must be
answered for. We will discuss that later. Go now."
"Thank you again."
A short time later, the Doctor, Gorthund, and Kepla were landing their
airborn steads at the site of the TARDIS landing. The Doctor dismounted
and walked to the spot where the police box's impression could still be
seen in the sand.
Kepla said, "I don't see any girl here. Was the report mistaken?"
Gorthung replied, "It must have been. I don't see how she could have
escaped if Prak took her to be sacrificed. Unless she is at the oasis."
He pointed to the northeast where the trees that the Doctor had noted upon
arrival were seen. It seemed logical to search that area.
"Wait a moment," the Doctor said. He got down on his knees and sifted his
fingers through the sand. Quickly, had found what he was looking for. He
held aloft the key for a quick look, and then pocketed it.
They set off toward the oasis. After about a quarter of an hour, they
were there. It was beautiful. An odd sight in the middle of a desolate
landscape. A grove of trees hid a tiny pond.
There WAS someone there, but they didn't see her at first. Tattered
clothing could be seen at the edge of the pool. From around a corner came
into sight a young woman. It was not Jo. The girl splashed as she swam,
and she suddenly spotted the newcomers. She quickly paddled over to the
shore and climbed out. She didn't bother to go for her clothes. Stepping
towards the threesome, she asked the Doctor, "You are the Doctor?"
"Yes," he replied.
"I come from Jo. She wants you to know she is safe."
"Forgive me, Miss, but I need some assurance that you're telling me the
truth."
She smiled, "She said to tell you that she can beat you at draughts, but
you still think the game is too simple for you. She hurt her coccyx when
yours and the Master's TARDISes were held inside each other."
The Doctor returned the smile, "She did indeed. Very well, where is Jo.
And, by the way, who are you?"
Her smile broadened, "My name is Soolisa."
----
Next up: Clive followed by BKWillis.
Brad
BKWillis
>BKWillis wrote
>>Seeing as how the 'Desert of Fear' story has kind of snowballed into a
>>full-fledged Round Robin,
>
>and one of the better ones this group has seen in quite a while! When
>Brad F started this, I certainly wasn't *expecting* the Spanish
>Inquisition...
>
_Nobody_ expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapons are fear,
surprise, and unexpected plot twists!
Thanks for the kind words, Gray! They're much appreciated.
>Particular revelation is the way that two styles as radically dissimilar
>as yours and Clive's are just fitting together like puzzle-pieces on
>this one!
>
You're not the only one to be surprised by that, I assure you. Clive is also a
pure joy to work with, tremendously insightful, and covers my weak spots with
great skill. Mr. Filippone, too, is a very pleasant and agreeable working
partner, with much knowledge of Doctor Who continuity.
>Wish I could do 'actioners' well enough to book one, but I reckon I
>still have some work to do on that. Besides, my Muse has gone to other
>lands, riding on a tortoise.
Oh, I think you'd do just fine. ;-) But I know how temeramental Muses can
be. If your Muse ever decides to ride into the lands of Servii and Skyborn,
feel free to 'jine up'.
BKWillis
--
"People have described me as a gun-happy redneck maniac. They're mostly
right." --Rebecca Bartley
Clive May
al...@chebucto.ns.ca "Brad Filippone" writes:
> yours and the Master's TARDISes were held inside each other."
>
> The Doctor returned the smile, "She did indeed. Very well, where is Jo.
> And, by the way, who are you?"
>
> Her smile broadened, "My name is Soolisa."
>
> ----
>
> Next up: Clive followed by BKWillis.
>
> Brad
Well, here at last is my next bit.
Encased in a block of clear crystal, the naked body of a woman lay upon a
wheeled trolley in the centre of a circular room. Her flesh glowed a
putrescent purple under the dim blue radiance shed by a single light globe
set in the centre of the domed ceiling. The chilled air was hazed with a
thin mist. Beyond the feet, there was a door and all around the wall were
square panels, four tiers of them. One stood open to reveal a dark niche.
The door opened with a metallic rasp; and two figures, anonymous in grey
sterile suits, entered. The square face plates of the head covers shone
blankly in the gloom, revealing nothing of the faces behind. Closing the
door, the pair came to stand, one to either side of the trolley. They
remained silent a long moment, gazing down at the corpse, each busy with
their own radically different thoughts.
Then the one on the right spoke in a male voice, muffled by the mask.
"I still don't like it, Shanka."
"The Overseers have agreed," said the other. The voice was female. Even the
muffling mask failed to take the edge off its carbon steel quality.
"Only because we're backed hard up against the wall. And only if I give my
assent."
The blank faceplates confronted each other over the corpse for a long moment,
then the woman asked: "You will give that assent? Won't you? Raile?"
Raile hesitated a long moment, before nodding reluctantly. "Yes," he said;
"I have no choice but to sanction the project. Though I still don't like it.
All this, this..." he waved a grey clad arm at the room in general, the
gesture eloquently expressing his distaste. "I can't see what's wrong with
the old methods," he went on, "define the enemy, go in hard, eliminate the
problem. Above all, keep it simple. All this?..."
"And just look at the mess that kind of thinking's got us into," Shanka
interrupted him. "No. Raile, I know I'm right. It's time to try a more
subtle approach to solving this particular problem. We must have an agent we
can trust on the spot. It's vital that we control the developing situation
on Avis City. If we lose control, and it's no longer a thorn in his side,
the Renegade will be free to press on with his invasion of the Vale."
"Do you suppose he knows the risk he is running?" Raile asked.
"I don't think he cares anymore," said Shanka. "But whether he's aware of
the nature of the power he might awake there will be a moot point, if he
actually rouses it with his blundering around. Which is why we must secure
Avis City and keep his beast men allies tied down in the High Desert at least
until the Golden Apes of the Southern Highlands arrive to reinforce the
garrisons at the World's Edge. How far have they got? Any news on their
ETA?"
"Two? Three days? to arrive in any useful strength." Raile hazarded. "But
I don't see what a few tens of thousands of the brutes can do? They'll never
be able to hold the line for long."
"Just so long as they arrive before the Servii fall upon the fortifications.
We need only to check them for a short while, until the Overseers find a
lasting solution to the problem. That cobbled together lash up the
Regulators have got in place won't hold forever, even if the Renegade doesn't
go poking around in the Vale."
"That's the trouble," said Raile, re-mounting his favourite hobby horse.
"We've been scrambling around from crisis to crisis cobbling together one
make do amend solution after another for too long. What we should be doing
is setting the agenda, forcing events and controlling the action like we did
in the old days, instead of continually chasing our tails in this endless
succession of holding actions. Back in the old days...."
Shanka had stopped listening to him, she'd heard it all before, too many
times. Instead, she let her eyes linger lovingly on the woman's body,
drinking in the sight. When this woman was alive, Shanka would have blithely
sold her soul a thousand times over for the privilege of a momentary glimpse
of the sight she was now enjoying. The keenly remembered despair of a
longing, forever unfulfilled, swelled within as powerful emotions, long
centuries buried, were stirred by the sight. The despair in her heart like a
cold stone. The bitter flavour of unrequited love was once more upon her
tongue. The anguish of a love declared, and scorned, surged up within her.
She'd never have believed that it would still have claws enough to score her
heart so deeply after this many centuries.
"Shanka! Are you listening to me?"
Shanka started out of her reverie. "What!. Oh, yes" she responded. With an
affected casualness that was painful to see, she drew away the hand which had
been caressing the surface of the crystal.
"You haven't heard a word I've been saying, have you?"
"Sorry."
"I take it we can trust that the conditioning will hold?" asked Raile.
"Stannard agrees with me - she'll be locked down tight."
Raile inclined his head. "That's not what he told me. When I tried to pin
him down on the matter, he admitted that working with people this long dead
can produce a certain level of unpredictability."
"But within acceptable tolerances." Shanka assured.
"Stannard got even more evasive when I tried to get him to quote numbers on
that. Especially," Raile's voice took on a loaded tone, "especially as
Stannard is convinced that there's been tampering with the emotional
sub-stratums underlying the personality matrix."
"That's impossible," Shanka said flatly.
Raile inclined his head in acknowledgment of her superior knowledge.
"Stannard thinks so too. Even so, I thought it best to check out the master
download." He pulled a Minicomp from a pocket, and held it up with a
flourish. With an exaggerated motion, Raile fingered a touch panel. The
tiny screen flickered with a greenish light. No one moved, nor spoke, for
nearly half a minute. It was left to Shanka to break the tableau, annoyed at
Raile's childishly unsubtle attempt to shake her composure. "And?"
His play trumped, Raile dropped his pose. He slid the minicomp out of sight,
and admitted: "....And, I don't have the training or experience to make a
judgement about personalities dumped to permanent store - as well you know.
Only Stannard and yourself are qualified in such arcana."
The faceplate concealed the sneer of contempt on Shanka's thin lipped mouth
at the ease with which Raile's clumsy probings could be deflected.
Raile was not finished yet. He said: "You know he wanted to use a much more
recent candidate? He was furious when you went over his head to the
Overseers. He wanted to wash his hands of the whole matter - except that
that's not an option when your in this deep with the Regulators."
"So?" Shanka shrugged.
"So, he made it known to Them that he thought your motives for picking this
particular one were questionable."
Shanka straightened and glared defiantly into the blank faceplate. "He can't
prove anything," she said sharply.
"He doesn't have to, Shanka. Just the suggestion that your jealousy, and the
rancid little mind games you indulged in because you couldn't have your own
way, were the cause of the Regulators worst disaster, would get you fried.
Not only did we lose the services of our two best operatives," he broke off
to wave a gloved hand at the corpse, "this one dead, and the other gone,
after slaughtering half the team, but he went renegade as well, and turned
his very considerable talents against us. And now he's on the point of
fouling up the Vale operation."
"Then we'd all better hope that I've not lost my knack for difficult
resurrections, because she is the only one who has any chance at all of
nailing Cain's arse to the wall for good and all."
Raile considered the blank faceplate for a long moment, visualising the
severe features behind it, then he turned and strode to the door , the
sterile suit whispering. He pulled open the door, and turned to loose off a
parting shot.
"You'd better be right about that, Shanka. Because if this avis operation
goes bad, your best course of action will be to take that nasty little
blaster you keep strapped in the small of your back, put the barrel in your
mouth, and fry your perverted little brain."
He went out closing the door behind him.
Left alone in the chilly gloom of the vault, Shanka dismissed Raile from her
mind. He didn't have the technical knowledge to be able to carry credible
tales to the Overseers. Even if he did, well, she was the best damned Total
Organism Resurrectionist the Regulators had ever laid their grubby paws upon.
They could not afford to dispense with her services.
Shanka turned her attention back to the woman in the crystal. The blue
lighting had turned the flame red hair to a ghastly mauve. She laid a gloved
hand gently on the surface, leaning down to inspect the almost invisible
scars marring the skin, where the hail of bullets had ripped the woman from
life. She had schemed, and plotted, for a very long time to gain access to
this particular bio-mass packet, DNA profile and total psyche transfer down
load. This was going to be her masterpiece as a Total Organism
Resurrectionist. No one, not even the subject herself, would be able to
distinguish any differences from the original. It would be a faithful
resurrection - with a couple of small changes that were dear to Shanka's
heart.
Stannard had been right in his suspicions. There had been a few very
discreet changes in the sub-stratums which would express themselves in a very
specific and definite way in the personality. Stannard was also correct in
worrying about the stability - two diametrically opposed, sexual impulse
progressions could very easily lock into a irreconcilable feed back loop with
very nasty outcomes; but she'd written the technical manuals on the procedure
for avoiding that herself.
In truth, she didn't give a shit about the Project to contain the
Manifestation in the Vale. It would serve the Regulators right, anyway, for
trying to gain control of it, if the Manifestation was awakened? and broke
free. What she cared about lay locked inside the stasis crystal. Soon now
her centuries long, forlorn dream, would become a real, living, breathing
reality.
Taking out her Minicomp, Shanka ran one last check on the changes she'd
introduced, before summoning the porters to convey the crystal to the working
area. While she waited, she eyed the rows of panels lining the walls,
wondering who the other dead people were the Overseers had got stored down
here for emergencies.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Babydoll eased back from the doorway. The benighted plaza beyond was silent,
and seemed empty. It wasn't, of course. There were a couple of Skyborn
sentries somewhere nearby, according to Bella. If they got wind that there
was a heavily armed force of Servii lurking in this derelict building, and
raised the alarm, things would get very unpleasant.
They were still in an uninhabited outer sector. The Skyborn could just stand
off and smear the whole area with heavy blasters, and there'd not be a single
thing that could be done about it.
At least old Rahaaz was keeping his men in line, ruthlessly suppressing their
natural inclinations to break out with all guns blazing, and settle a few
scores that had been pending for far too long.
Babydoll leaned against the wall and studied Rahaaz moving among his men.
The Captain was wearing enough war gear to maim a cart horse, yet he moved
soundlessly, cat-graceful. He was the "coming man", the heir apparent to the
title of Chief of Chiefs and Captain General of the Servii Horde. The
exalted position lay well within his capabilities, if only he'd learn to curb
the impulse to march right up to Death, and spit in his face, at every
opportunity. Death was a patient bastard, he could afford to be, seeing as
how he was certain to get you in the end, but constantly trying his patience
like that was practically begging for it. As far as Babydoll was concerned,
it was Rahaaz's only failing as a war commander. Mind you, that was
seeing it from a non-Serviian perspective. She had to admit that it went
down a storm with his raiders.
Ghorlok would be well advised to be far away on urgent business when Rahaaz
made his bid for the top job. Because he was not even a Chief, it was
beholden upon Rahaaz to make his bid over the dead body of his present
Chief, Ghorlok, and....
A flicker of movement, more sensed than seen, sent Babydoll into a crouch,
pistol drawn. A moment later she rose and re-holstered the weapon. Bella
had returned, seeming almost to materialise out of the very shadows
themselves.
"Well?" Babydoll asked.
Bella did not reply at once, but took a moment to catch up a corner of her
cloak and wipe a slightly glistening darkness from around her mouth and chin.
"The way is clear," she said in a flat voice. "And I brought you this."
She held out one of the Skyborn energy weapons.
Babydoll took it. "It's no good, Bella," she said. "We can't use them.
They're keyed to a specific bio-pattern. They won't work for anyone else."
She raised the weapon, aimed it at the opposite wall, and squeezed the
button. The only response was a tiny red light which began blinking on the
base of the handgrip. "See." Babydoll set the useless piece of metal on the
floor, and stood back as Rahaaz led his men out the door into the plaza.
Babydoll fell in behind them, leaving Bella standing alone, in the shadowed
room. She looked a rather forlorn figure amid the decaying dereliction. She
was troubled.
Clearing the path had been easy. There were two of them, male and female.
She'd taken the man first, because he had the weapon. The reaction of the
female had caught Bella unawares. Obviously, they had been a couple, lovers
it was the norm among the Skyborn, but the woman's outpouring of grief as she
clutched at the bloody ruin Bella had made of her man, had scoured Bella's
soul. She did not know then, and could not decide now, whether she'd ended
the woman's pain out of compassion or out of self preservation.
With an effort, Bella shook off the grim uncertainties. She slid into the
shadows, seeming almost to fade into the darkness as she hurried to catch up
to the others.
The colour of death was a gloomy, pulsing orange. He had discovered this on
forcing open an eye. Death smelt of fish, of the river and wood-smoke. It
sounded like wind in reeds, the slap and gurgle of water and a young woman
crooning a wordless song. Death was also very painful. He had always
conceived of death as a blank nothingness, a lack of any sensation. He knew
he must be dead, though he could not recall the exact moment of dying.
Prak forced open an eye again. Yes, the pulsing orange gloom was still
there. He watched it a moment, filling the universe around him, then
something touched his right leg. Sudden pain flared; and he groaned.
The crooning stopped abruptly. The pulsing orange light coalesced into the
face of a young woman. His heart cried Soolisa; but it was not his princess.
This woman had an oval, rather ugly face. Large eyes huddled under a ridge
of thick eyebrows. The two pools of shadow were divided by a neat nose over
a lop-sided mouth; the lips were full and dark.
"Hush now my bonny boy," her gentle voice crooned. "I've to salve this leg
a-for the river fly finds the wound. You'll be wanting to keep the leg?
won't you? my bonny boy?'
"Wha, what happened Where am....ARGH!"
"Hush now, my Bonny Bird," soothed the woman. "Thou shalt shatter the dream
of living with all that wailing....There, now. all done."
Prak took a long breath, and lifted his head to peer around. He was lying on
the floor, by a fire contained within a hearth of rough stones. Lively,
yellow flames lit his immediate surroundings with a pulsing yellow glow.
Overhead, under a rough thatch, he could make out beams draped with fishing
nets, strings of vegetables, and other things he could not quite identify.
Lifting his head further, he peered around the small roundhouse built of
large, undressed stone. Beyond his feet, a low oval doorway looked out upon
a rude village. Fires burned brightly, and around them, lit by the lambent
glow, the ghosts of people moved. A low sound of rhythmic chanting, or
singing, trembled in the air.
To his right, knelt a compact young woman, naked save for a leather
head-band. The fire light was painting shifting orange shadows over her dark
skin. Tiny green jewels were winking and glittering in the strip of leather.
The heads of three reeds had been stuck into the band, forming a head-dress.
At her side were a scatter of large yellow flowers, oval leaves, and a green
jewel on a thong.
"Who are you?"
"I am Reed Who Whispers With The South Wind..." She paused to favour him with
a lop-sided smile, liquid laughter pulsing in her eyes. The orange light was
wavering in their depths, lending her gaze a disturbingly distant quality.
"...But you must call me Reed."
"Where am I? What, what happened to me?'
Reed raised a powerful, shapely arm and pointed a finger at the thatch. She
said: "Out of the sky thou plungest, from the talons of Azia, God Bird of the
Shining City." She drew her arm down emphatically. Splash into Old Man
River; and all the fowls a flying in panic to the four winds; and the fish a
scattering from the boats of the People."
Prak frowned. "I fell off my bird?"
"Oh, most certainly so, my Bonny Boy, most certainly. With a scream fit to
wake Old Snout Face on is Throne....Splash right in the middle of Old Man
River."
Prak sank back to the reed mat. Confused memories were beginning to surface
from the depths of his whirling mind. Mention of the Lord brought sudden
anxiety, which cut like a knife through the fuzziness clouding his mind.
"The helmet!" he cried, and reached a hand to his bare head. It was about
then that he realised, that except for a poultice of leaves on his right
thigh, he was stark naked. Prak started up; but the world swung out from
under him; and he sank back to the mat.
"Be at ease, my Bonny Boy," Reed soothed, trailing cool fingers over his
brow. "This is OUR GROUND! Old Snout Face dares not tread here unbidden."
She sat back, reached up hands, and drew off the head-dress. With reverence,
she set it at her side, and took up one of the yellow, trumpet shaped flowers
and twined the stem into her long hair, beside her left ear. Taking up
another flower, she held it under Prak's nose. He inhaled the astringent
perfume. A dreamy smile blossomed on his face. Vettis Flower, his dazed
mind identified, one of the Dreaming Plants. Reed put it to her own nose,
inhaled a long draft of the powerful scent, before reaching down to twine the
stem into Prak's hair beside his right ear. She sat back to admire the
effect.
"There now," she sighed. "Thou art Crowned to be truly Our Champion....Ay,
and crowned thou most rightly in the manner most ancient and proper to those
who must pursue Purpose."
Reed then took up an oval leaf. The surface shone darkly in the fire-light.
Folding the leaf, she put it in her mouth and began chewing. The scent of
Vettis thickened in the smoky air. Prak's smile deepened as the powerful
narcotic on Reed's breath soaked into his soul. He relaxed, despite himself,
watching the lop sided mouth chew solemnly on the wadded up leaf.
After a few minutes, Reed stopped chewing, took up the green jewel on the
thong, and, moving with a fluid grace Prak could hardly credit in a
Groundhog, she moved astride his thighs.
A dreamy smile on her lop-sided mouth, she gazed deeply into his eyes. Prak
felt something stir deep inside himself, something profound and awesome.
Leaning down, Reed gently raised his head and looped the thong about his
neck. Drawing back, she cupped his chin in her hands and set a deep
lingering kiss upon his mouth. The sour taste of Vettis on her tongue
puckered Prak's lips; and his dream of life deepened.
Reed took his hand. Arising with a fluid grace, she drew him up. Without
any sense of transition, prak found himself walking among the crowding trees
of the jungle, Reed at his right, holding his hand.
"Come, thou Our Chosen Champion!" she commanded. "Come thou, to the very
heart of the Green Lady's Vale, and there must thou pledge thyself to the
service of Purpose.
She led him away through the humid gloom. Prak's fear of the enclosing trees
gripped his heart; but Reed Who Whispers With The South Wind held firm to his
hand, drawing him on. Though he still feared, he went willing to his destiny
as all must who come at last to the service of Purpose.
The singing of the night birds did much to ease his mind. Prak's people had
a great affinity with birds. As they walked through the gloom serenaded by
bird-song, Reed took up a low wordless crooning. The sound wove in and out
of the trees, co-mingling with the bird song. On, through the gloom they
strolled, until by the magic of the Vettis, Prak found himself treading upon
the very air itself.
Then, by inward paths they journeyed, hand in hand, Through states of being
meaningless for man, to seek the source. On winged feet they fled along,
through unknown lands of dust and stone, under gloomy midnight skies, where
no stars rise, and dawn can never come. Thus, travelling far beyond
imaginings, they came at last to the unremembered realm; where a cavern in a
hillside contained the steps leading down into the heart of the matter. Down
the steps they went, still hand in hand, their bare feet slapping on the
stone. Down, and turning left, always left and down into a cavern unknown.
It sat shining there, the Purpose. Yet it was not there exactly, for it was
everywhere. It did not think, for it was thought. It was not sentient
yet it was knowing. It could not love, for it was love.
The couple stood in the presence, doing nothing, for there was nothing to do.
The Purpose was its own purpose and simply to be in its presence was the
fulfillment of the Purpose.
It could not be described, for it could not exist. Yet the mind, ever
striving to encompass experience and comprehend, though it be a vain striving
after the impossible, persisted in its quest for definition. Thus it was
that Prak remembered a kaleidoscope he had once as a child. It was like that
- looking down the tube at the light, and hearing the rattle and crackle as
the patterns formed and reformed, never the same, yet always of a kind. As
they stood there, with a crackle and rattle, the formless concept without
colour reformed and reinvented itself in brilliant rainbows of light.
It could not be gauged how long the pair stood in the presence, for the
Purpose transcended such a "mere" inconsequence as time. Though the Purpose
might not have end, the audience did and Prak, again without remembrance of
transition, found himself once again lying on his back on the reed mat
beside the hearth in the rough built round house. Reed was still astride his
thighs, studying his face with a savage intensity.
"Reed?..."
She leaned down and placed an imperious finger over his lips. "Hush thou, My
Bonny Boy," she breathed. "Reed has no answers for thou. The Purpose is a
secret - not because Reed will not tell, but because the Purpose cannot be
told. What use then have thou and I for words?" Her finger was removed and
her crooked lips came down on his mouth. At her brow the green gems gleamed,
and above her head, the reed-heads glowed like flames.
Later , much later, Prak was skirting the border-lands of sleep, when he
thought he heard Reed's soft voice quoting verse.
"Stand thou firm, Our Champion;ð
stand thou firm, We say;ð
For the Dark hath raised its banners high,ð
To war upon the Day.ð
So stand thy ground, Our Champion,ð
Do not flee away;ð
Lest the rising Tide of Dark,ð
Sweep us all away.ð
Put thy trust in Purpose;ð
Set aside thy fear;ð
And remember Reed Who Whispers -ð
For she is ever standing near.ð
So, put thy hand in mine,ð
My Bonny, Bonny Boy,ð
For together we must stand,ð
To meet the murderous charge of Dark,ð
Which threatens life and land."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
John's arms encircled her. Jo snuggled against his chest, feeling safe at
last, until...
"It is meet that thou hast surrendered thy soul to me, Josephine Grant; for
now the grand crusade may begin."
Sudden alarm at the archaic phrasing, set Jo's heart pounding. The arms
about her were suddenly cold as death, and unyielding as stone. With a cry
of fear, she pulled free.
John Benton, her husband, stood before her with a hurt look on his face.
"Jo?" he sighed in an ever so gentle chiding tone. "Jo? Don't you know me,
Jo? It's John, your husband. Come to me Jo." He held out his arms, inviting
her to re-enter their comforting embrace, to enjoy again the love that he
held for her. Yes, she did love him. It was her Jonnie, her lovely Jonnie.
He even had that cute, vulnerable look he'd worn, she recalled, from when
he'd proposed.
Recalled?...Did she truly remember that?...She shrugged. It didn't matter,
for she had to go to him now, because of the love he bore her, and the love
she held for him.
Stretching out hands, she surrendered to their love with all her heart. Yet
even in that moment of surrender Jo thought she caught the astringent scent
of an unknown flower. She took a step towards his waiting arms...
...And found herself on a river bank. To her right was a deserted village of
hovels, before her reared the green wall of a jungle edge, and at her back
flowed a broad river. Reeds along its banks rustled. She spun at the sound
and saw a naked female savage, regarding her. The woman was frowning. Her
lop-sided mouth was moving with a rhythmic chewing motion. Jo took an
involuntary step back.
The woman stopped chewing, and observed, in a mildly bemused tone: "Well now?
What does old Snout Face see in such a dainty little bird, I wonder? that he
must needs exert his will to the uttermost, that he might keep thou hidden
from our sight?"
"Who, who are you?" Jo stammered out. She backed away another step,
intimidated by the woman's natural state.
The woman ignored the question. She moved slowly in a circle all around Jo,
observing her from every angle.Her inspection complete, she folded arms under
breasts, put her head on one side, and resumed frowning. She chewed
furiously for a long moment, while Jo shrank under the frank scrutiny.
At length, the woman stopped chewing, gave a little annoyed shake of her
head, and said: "I catch not any flavour of the reason why he should extend
himself so...And yet there must be something."
Jo straightened up to her somewhat unimpressive height. She stuck out her
chin defiantly. "You'd better get on with it," she said. "I don't care what
it is this time, crocodiles? snakes? spiders? I won't give in - I won't!"
The woman chuckled. "Ah! Now I see," she nodded. "Bravely spoken, my
dainty bird, bravely spoken indeed. But it is not Reed Who Whispers, nor yet
even Old Snout Face that thou must fear - but the very fear of fear itself.
He will use it to break thy spirit..." She raised an ironic eyebrow. "...If
he can?"
"I won't give in!" Jo reiterated firmly.
Reed nodded. "And neither must thou. lest the Darkness fall upon all that
loves the light." She paused a moment to consider Jo with regret, before
going on: "It is a dark day, indeed, when all that stands to hold off the
onset of the Dark, is such a fragile little bird as thee."
Jo began to relax. There was a subtle difference, a lack of menace in this
new aspect of the nightmare - despite the woman's cryptic words. There was a
sense of concern for her safety. Jo could not define exactly what she was
feeling about this woman; but she knew that it was nothing bad. Of course,
it might just be another level of deceit in the nightmare? How could she
know? Of course, she could not, and would have to meet the dream on its own
terms, keeping a wary eye out for loopholes, which might give her some
advantage. And God knows! She needed something solid to cling onto, if she
was not to go stark raving mad.
"What do you want with me?" she asked, in a voice so calm, it surprised even
Jo. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Not I, my dainty bird. This fugue is Old Snout Face's doing."
"Snout Face?"
"Ay, The usurper who hath stolen away the rights of the Green Lady to her
Vale."
"I don't understand," said Jo.
The woman shook her head. "Of course not. All that thou must know, and know
truly and deeply is that thou must resist him lest the Darkness fall. Give
in to his phantoms of fear? and the world shall surely fall into everlasting
dark."
I have to trust someone, sometime, Jo told herself; and there was about this
woman, an echo of that aura of "goodness" which pervaded the Doctor. She had
to trust somebody; an din this shifting kaleidoscope of dream images the
woman Reed seemed somehow more solid than all the rest.
"Can you help me?"
Reed looked regretful. "Alas, my dainty bird, this is Old Snout Face's
Ground. I have no power here. If the Usurper sniffs me out?...then there'd
be a payment due such as Reed shall not want to reckon. Look there!"
Reed broke off suddenly, and pointed across the river. In the distance, a
great grey wall of rock was rising, swelling, and evolving into a great
thunderhead. The boiling mass of clouds darkened the sky, as it loomed over
them, closing out the light.
"See! He suspects my trespass - even though he cannot know. I must be gone
from this place..." Read reached up to untwine a yellow flower from her hair.
She advanced on Jo with purpose, holding the blossom out to her. "Here, my
dainty bird," she urged. "A gift from the Green Lady. Though what service
it might avail you, is beyond my knowing."
The flower was thrust under Jo's nose; and she caught a strong whiff of the
scent she had smelt earlier. She gripped the stem, and drew in a deep
lung-full of the astringent perfume. Her head began to swim.
"It is all Reed have to gift thee in thy coming tribulation, Reed said.
"Stand thou firm and weather the on-coming storm and mayhap you'll come
through with body and soul together - though perhaps not thy sanity."
A screaming wind came then, wreaking havoc among the reeds along the river.
The banshee wailing beat at the reed beds in a malicious fury, tearing and
thrashing them into broken ruins. When it was done with the reeds, the
furious gale fell upon the women, in a howling rage.
Overhead the sky boiled . A lashing rain marched down upon them. Jo cowered
against the fury of the storm. Reed, though, seemed roused by the savage
assault. Taking a step back, she flung up her hands, as if in welcome. Reed
Who Whispers With The South Wind, threw back her head, and with black mane
streaming, she mocked the elemental fury with a merry laughter.
A jagged bolt of blue lightening slashed down from the clouds, spearing the
laughing woman. The world went a searing white, then a profound black; and
Jo found herself once more in the nowhere, with the unseen things rustling
and oozing all around her.
Jo hunkered down in the dark, taking great comfort from the flower clutched
in her fist, and the cloud of astringent perfume which blew about her face.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prak awoke, reached for Reed, and winced as his hand went into a patch of
stingweed. Deep thunder growled in the distance, moving away. The last
drops of a downpour spattered on his face. He opened his eyes, and sat up.
In blank incomprehension, he stared around at the dilapidated hut. The roof
had once been thatched; but now it was half fallen. The remains rotted,
sagging from weathered beams. A scatter of stones at his side, marked where
the hearth had stood. Beyond the walls of the ruin, dawn light was colouring
the sky grey.
Prak stared around uncomprehending. This place had not been lived in for
years. Then how?...What?...
Prak hugged himself, confused. His sodden clothing felt clammy in the dawn
chill. An indifferent breeze ruffled his lank, black hair. Something
rustled at his right ear. Sending up a hand, Prak's fingers encountered a
withered flower, wound into his hair. Pulling it free, he frowned at the
sere scrap, bemused. It was - had been - the Vettis flower he recalled Reed
winding into his hair, before they had journeyed to Purpose. before....
A harsh guttural grunt made him start. The entrance was suddenly darkened by
an ape face. Savage, brown eyes stared at him from a mask of golden fur.
The creature opened its mouth, revealing an impressive set of fangs. It
snarled, snaked in a long, muscular arm, and snatched him by the ankle. Prak
cried out in alarm, kicking at the face with his other foot. The creature
ignored both his cry, and the booted foot jammed in its face. The ape hauled
him from the ruin, and dragged him unceremoniously across to a red robed,
bald headed, priest, standing on the bank. About a dozen of the apes stood
around. All were heavily armed. Swords, axes and knives were clutched in
clawed paws. Knives were stuck in cross belts athwart their heavily muscled
chests.They wore no clothing. Out on Old Man River, a long boat rode at
anchor with a dozen more of the creatures.
Prak was roughly hauled to his feet. "Eat?" the ape grunted.
The priest, who had been staring keenly round at the long deserted ruins of
the village with a fierce expression on his hawk-like face, glanced at Prak.
He abstractedly signed his assent, turned back to his survey, then did a
double take. The ape's knife was already raised, when the Priest suddenly
shouted "Wait!"
The ape did not look pleased. "Eat?" it snarled, with more force. It gave
Prak a meaningful look. The Skyborn was dangling, stupefied, from a massive
paw.
"Later!" the Priest dismissed the request. He moved to Prak, took out a
knife, and slashed open Prak's shirt. There on Prak's chest was a shadowy
mark, like a jewel on a thong, dark on the pale skin. The priest traced the
image with his knife-point, his face twisting into a grimace of fanatical
disgust.
"Marked for the Blasphemy," he screeched, spital flying, eyes bulging in the
thin face. "They are here! Truly the Lord sees clear. The verminous
Blasphemers are here!" He stared around wildly at the ruined village. "I
see them! I hear their mocking laughter! They are here!" Still in a
state of agitation, his eyes flaming with fanatical zeal, he
addressed the ape. "We must cleanse the land. Their foul taint must be
extirpated. Fire! Bring fire! Fire! Fire will cleanse the land. Put the
Blasphemers to the Lord's cleansing fire! The Lord shall not be mocked in
his own domains!"
In moments, the entire river bank was ablaze with the Lord's cleansing fire.
The red robed Priest watched the conflagration sending up thick clouds of
smoke from the damp vegetation into the scudding clouds. A a mad ferocity
was shining in his eyes. He was muttering and cackling to himself, seeming
oblivious of the flames that were leaping nearer and nearer. At last, a
thick billow of smoke encircled him. The Priest seemed to start back to the
world, realising his danger. Gathering up the skirts of his robe, he
retreated down the bank and boarded the boat. "Bring him!" he commanded the
ape who still held Prak.
Prak was flung carelessly in after him. He landed heavily among the feet of
the troop of apes.
The Priest barked an order. Paddles were wielded. the boat shot into
clear water and was propelled swiftly up-stream towards the rotting city of
the Lord of the Vale.
A mile or so up-stream, the boat was paddled around a bend and ran
through the midst of a flotilla of small craft. The boats were crossing
from the south bank, loaded down with the Golden Apes. More of the beasts
clustered along the south bank awaiting their turn. At the north western
edge of the City, several
ropes had been secured across the flow. Dozens of laden rafts were being
hauled across by main force. The air was rank with the animal smell of the
great apes.
-------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - -
- - - - -
Getting out of the TARDIS took a great deal less effort than Cain supposed.
He learned this at the cost of a bashed nose, as the trolley on which the
TARDIS had been left shot backwards. Cain fell flat on his face on the
floor. When he'd realised the porters had left it on the trolley, he'd
simply put his hands against the wall, braced his feet against the inner
doors, and heaved for all he was worth. The trolley, he'd discovered, , was
one of those frictionless floaters with inertial dampers to make handling
mass loads easier. The trolley, rebounding from the opposite wall, almost
ran him over where he lay face down on the floor.
With a rueful smile, he got up, checked his nose for damage, and peered
around. There were two guards, the usual Skyborn male female combination.
Probably a couple? Partners? Lovers? That also was the norm; but all that
was academic because they were both dead.
Cain went across and knelt beside the two bodies, sprawled in ugly attitudes
of violent death, in pools of their own life blood. Throat cut, he noted,
from behind, by a slightly taller, right handed assailant. Not long ago
either. One of the blasters was missing too. Cain arrived at the conclusion
that the attacker would not be far away. He reached for a weapon whilst
glancing round the bare room. Over by the open door were two ragged figures,
a woman with a sword and a man with a blaster. Cain was on the point of
launching his attack when the barrel of a weapon was pressed to his neck.
"Up!" commanded a melodious female voice which sent thrills of
dread familiarity down his spine. His mind went rattling through memories,
seeking for a match. He had a bad feeling about that voice, very bad indeed.
Making no sudden moves, Cain rose and turned to face the woman. The business
end of a skyborn blaster was aimed unwaveringly at the bridge of his nose, by
a tall, red headed woman. The woman's face focused the vague memory started
by the voice.
"You're dead," he said with a slight note of accusation. "I know you're
dead! I killed you myself!"
A fleeting panic went through the grey green eyes. The barrel of the blaster
wavered a moment, then resumed its aim, rock steady. Cain continued to
ignore the blaster and looked the woman over appreciatively. She was an
absolute stunner. Even the tattered rags looked fashionable on her. Cain
grinned.
"Gotta be Shanka's work?" he ventured, looking her over. "Jeel's Gonads!
Haven't they burned that depraved lunatic yet? It'd be a real pleasure to
take on that little job myself 'cept I'd not want to do Them any favours."
"Can you think of one reason?" the woman asked conversationally, a faint
smile playing around her full lips. "It doesn't even have to be a good one -
why I shouldn't pull the trigger?" she paused a moment, as though awaiting a
reply. When none was forthcoming the smile deepened, became feral. She
nodded slowly. "Good! Now that's good - because I've been waiting sooooo
long to do this." She squeezed down hard on the firing stud.
Clive May
posted. It ran something like:
And that, Your Honour, is why I was discovered in a fish pond, in Victoria
Park, Newbury, naked at midnight, beating up on a giant inflatable
pterodactyl with a rolled copy of The Daily Telegraph...It could have
happened to anyone...
Five years? Do you not think that a trifle condign?
Next in the Dock: BKWillis, followed by Brad Filippone.
--
The Flying Dinosaur
BKWillis
Here's the first half of my next installment. The second half is in the next
message. (A rain of Curses to aol's posting size limits!)
<Clive May wrote:>
>"Can you think of one reason?" the woman asked conversationally, a faint
>smile playing around her full lips. "It doesn't even have to be a good one -
>why I shouldn't pull the trigger?" she paused a moment, as though awaiting a
>reply. When none was forthcoming the smile deepened, became feral. She
>nodded slowly. "Good! Now that's good - because I've been waiting sooooo
>long to do this." She squeezed down hard on the firing stud.
>
"Groundhog."
"Excuse me?" the Doctor asked, turning to look into Kepla's
scowling features.
The Skyborn woman jerked her head at the nude form of Soolisa
standing glistening in the light of the three moons. "Bloody
groundhog," she spat. "Surface-dweller. She has the look of North
Rim about her. Don't trust a word she says."
Soolisa laughed, a soft siren-song. "You have a keen eye, warrior.
I do indeed hail from North Rim, where we are at least taught to be
civil to those who would aid us."
"You're taught to grub in the dirt like Servii and rustle birds from
our flocks," Kepla retorted. "And I need no renegade to tell me my
manners."
"Kepla, please," Gorthund pleaded.
The woman threw up her hands. "Fine, then! Deal with this
groundhog if you must, but remember that I warned you." With
that, Kepla spun on her heel and stalked off to tend to her mount.
The Doctor turned back to Soolisa, who was patting herself dry
with a blanket from her saddlebag. "So Jo is safe, then?" he asked.
"Where is she now?"
"She is safe," she replied, regarding him with deep, unreadable
emerald eyes. "She was injured slightly when we escaped from the
Vale and is now resting among my people."
"Injured? How?"
Soolisa smiled reassuringly and clasped the Doctor's arm, a gesture
that made him strangely uneasy. "It's nothing, I promise. One of
the priests struck her with a knife as we fled the Low Temple. The
wound is little more than a scratch, but Prak thought it best to take
her to our healers first, lest there be poison."
"Take us there now," the Doctor demanded.
"I fear I cannot do so," she replied sadly. "Were Skyborn to
approach our mountains, they would be fired on by our sentries.
The plan is that we wait here until Prak returns with Jo tomorrow."
"Wait?" Gorthund asked. "Out here? What of the Servii?"
Soolisa laughed again, a bewitching melody of moonglow-joy.
"We need not fear the Servii _here_, on haunted ground. See that
stone?" She pointed at a tall, rough-hewn obelisk half-hidden
among the vines and creepers. Though immeasurably old and
weather-worn, a three-forked symbol etched in its side could just
be made out in the gray darkness. "The Servii believe that such
stones mark the domains of demons. They will not come within a
half-mile of such a place, lest the ghost-eaters take their souls."
She grinned impishly. "I should think, though, that demons would
prefer a tastier meal than Servii. Perhaps Skyborn souls are more
flavorful?"
"Superstitious nonsense," Gorthund spat firmly, but glanced
around at the shadows just the same.
"So we spend a night in a haunted house to get Jo?" the Doctor
asked archly. "I suppose if that's the only way, I'll just have to do
it."
"Rest easy, my friends," Soolisa soothed. "It shall not be a long
nor unpleasant wait. My company is not so trying, is it?" Her
cheeks dimpled in a mock pout.
A grumbled curse floated over from Kepla's direction.
Spinning about in a twirl that sent glittering droplets flying from her
still-damp hair, Soolisa danced over to her saddlebags and pulled
out a small earthenware jug and bowl. "We might make a picnic
of this," she giggled, pouring a bit of deep burgundy liquid into
the bowl. "Will you share wine with me?" She held out the bowl,
offering.
When neither the Doctor nor Gorthund moved to take it, she drew
it back with a small pout. "You wish no wine? Or is it that you still
trust me not? Very well, then." She turned up the bowl and drank
deeply, emptying it, then refilled it. "Are you sure you'll not share
my wine? Or are you too good to share drink with folk of the North
Rim?" A small hint of anger flashed in her eyes.
Gorthund shook his head and held out his hand. "No, I suppose
I'm not so high-born as that," he said with a smile, taking the bowl.
He took a small, polite sip. "It's very good, thank you."
She laughed delightedly and clapped her hands together. "See, we
shall yet make a picnic of this!"
Gorthund passed the bowl to the Doctor, who took it and gave the
liquid a dubious sniff. "Interesting bouquet," he muttered. "Not
exactly a Chateau Cheval Blanc. A hint of alkaloid, perhaps?"
"Come on, Doctor," urged Gorthund. "Have a taste."
Cautiously, the Doctor took in a small mouthful of the wine. It was
sweet, almost sugary, with a sharp undertaste that seemed to want
to make his eyes water, but then didn't. Not bad. Not something
he'd serve at a diplomatic function, but not bad.
"Will you take wine with us, my Lady?" Soolisa called over to
Kepla.
"Keep your wine, and your courtesy, groundhog," Kepla snapped
back. "I want neither."
Rather than offended, Soolisa merely looked amused as she
shrugged her slim shoulders and took back the bowl, topping it
off again. "Do you wish for more?" she asked the two men.
"Thank you, no," Gorthund said, a trace of a slur to his voice.
Soolisa giggled again. "No head for wine, then?" she teased,
then downed most of the bowl. She knelt by the saddlebags, rummaging through
them. "Well, I have something else in here
you might like..."
The Doctor looked at Gorthund, noting the way the Skyborn's
jaw was falling slack. The wine hadn't been that potent, had it?
The girl, who was much smaller, had drunk quite a bit more
without showing any effect, which also showed that it couldn't
be poison, could it...?
It struck him suddenly and without warning. A presence swept
into his mind, blanketing his thoughts and driving his awareness
inwards. He felt his joints go slack and loose, dimly conscious of
Gorthund tumbling to the ground beside him. He struggled against
the darkness that seemed to fill his brain like a drifting mist, but
could not focus to ward it off.
It came to him as he was swept under, that the alkaloid in the wine
was not a poison, but a _pathway_, a way for the strangling fog to
open his mind, invade, and smother it. He couldn't say just how
he knew that, but it felt true.
And then he was gone into the dark, his body crashing to the edge
of the pool like a felled oak.
----
"I have something else for you," Soolisa tittered. She straightened,
hefting a pair of heavy flintlock pistols in her hands.
"What have you done, groundhog?!" screamed Kepla as she
charged toward the fallen men, her blaster in her hand. She
stopped short at the sight of Soolisa drawing a careful bead on
her with the right-hand pistol.
There was a snap of pan-flash and then a roar as the big black-
powder weapon went off. Kepla felt the wind of the heavy ball as
it passed her cheek, the acrid reek of burnt powder tainting the night
breeze. Even as she noticed this, she pointed and fired her own
weapon, the blaster-bolt striking the girl and searing her right
shoulder to a scorched ruin.
Soolisa neither fell nor cried out. She staggered back a pace from
the impact, the spent pistol falling from her useless right hand, then
raised the left pistol and fired.
Kepla was taking aim at the girl's head when she felt something
punch into her chest. She stumbled backwards and fell, landing on
her rear with a smal grunt. She tried to point the blaster again, but
for some reason her arm didn't want to move. She looked down to
see her light brigandine tunic staining red from a spouting hole in
her chest.
"Well," she said weakly, unable to take her eyes from the sight. A
moment later, she tumbled over and lay still.
Soolisa silently regarded the corpse for a long moment, her eyes
flaring a deeper green, then laughed. It was not the musical,
bewitching laugh she'd voiced earlier, but a liquid reptilian chuckle
that had nothing of the human in it. "You were right, Skyborn," the
voice snarled, foul scorn dripping from its tone. "Little Soolisa was
not to be trusted, was she?" With that, she turned back to the
saddlebags and retrieved a long saber that was lying beneath them.
Holding the weapon somewhat awkwardly in her left hand, her
right still dangling uselessly at her side, she strode over to where
Gorthund lay sprawled. Raising the weapon high, she drove its
point through the man's chest, then again, then yet again, finally
leaving the sword thrust upright through his lifeless body, a
grave-marker of sorts.
She then turned and paused over the Doctor's prone form, eyes
aglow with a gloating greenish sheen, before grasping his collar in
her left hand and setting about the awkward process of dragging
him to one of the waiting birds.
----
Cain waited as the woman squeezed the firing stud on the blaster,
grinning and savoring the look of shock on her face as absolutely
nothing happened. It was really rather comical, the way her eyes
widened and her lips parted slightly, the smug smirk falling away
into a look of momentary dull surprise. He almost had to chuckle
as her knuckles whitened on the pistol-grip in her vain attempt to
force the thing to fire.
In the second or so all this took, Cain enjoyed himself immensely.
Then, as a dawning look of realization began to alight on her face,
he punched her in the stomach with every ounce of hatred he
could muster.
As the redhead folded, rolling to the side, his other hand was
already in motion into his coat. In the blink of an eye, his staser
pistol was in his hand, pointed at the pair by the door.
The two ragged figures froze, the man's blaster half-pointed in
Cain's direction, the woman's saber in guard position, useless as
that was at ten-yard range.
"Go," the Time Lord hissed at them, "and live. Stay, and you
die."
The two looked nervously at each other, then at the woman
coughing on the floor. The man licked his lips nervously as his
partner tensed and shifted her weight forward.
Cain shot the man first, the crimson staser bolt slamming into his
chest and hurling him back against the wall, dead before he hit the
floor. The woman had time to lunge a single step before Cain's next
shot took her in the face. She spun to the floor, her sword sliding
off into the corner.
Cain swung the muzzle of his staser to cover the redhead beside
him, who was staring up at him with a hate-filled glare.
"Murdering traitor," she snarled.
"That I am," he said with a jolity he came nowhere close to feeling.
"And you are a murdering pawn for a bunch of spineless would-be
gods." He regarded her for a long moment, studying the too-
familiar lines of her face, and a quick shudder passed through him.
"I take back what I said," he grunted hoarsely. "I believe I _will_
hunt down that twisted bitch Shanka, after all. Just for making me
do this again."
"Damn you, Cain." Her voice was a chill whisper, each word an
icy shard of Hell. "How did you know that gun wouldn't fire?"
He shrugged, the pistol never wavering from its aim at her head.
"Skyborn blasters are all biotechnically keyed to the inhabitants
of this city. They won't fire for anyone else." He smirked, taking
pleasure in the deepening of her scowl. "That was always your
weakness, Kali-babe. Sloppy tactical planning. That's why you
were second-best then and you're second-best now."
"Good enough to give you a souvenir to remember me by," she
shot back.
"That's true. Can't regenerate a staser wound." He brushed a
hand across his eyepatch. "But I ended up killing you just the
same, didn't I?" He noted a momentary look of panic in her eyes,
there and gone in the space of a heartbeat. "Don't you remember?"
he asked. "Or did Shanka omit that part when she put your brains
back together?"
"I remember everything I need to remember," she growled back.
"You killed Eris and Geryon and Loki, your own comrades!"
"I did," he replied with a slow nod. "Blew their heads off with a .45.
I also whacked ol' Surma, but that was years later, when he came
hunting me. And I killed you, too. And do you know what? Out
of all the thousands of murders I've committed and all the millions
of lives I've caused to unhappen, those are the only deaths I don't regret."
Kali rose slowly to her feet, the pistol tracking her movement the
whole way, never wavering. Her gaze fixed on his good eye,
unblinking, as she seemed to search for something there. Her face
fell slightly into a look of despair and she let out a soft sigh. "And
to think that I loved you once," she breathed.
A look of real pain crossed Cain's harsh features, but only for a
second. "Nice try," he spat, "but save your lies for somebody who
doesn't know you. The only thing you've ever gave a damn about
is power. That's why you got off on being a Regulator. It was your
chance to be a little godling, deciding who could live and who was
for the chop, shaping history for those bastards you serve."
"And you were the same!" she snarled back.
His jaw clenched as he slowly nodded. "That I was, God help me.
I believed we were right. I believed we had the duty to twist Time
itself for our ends and to make and unmake lives however we saw
fit--"
"Spare me the moralizing, traitor," Kali sneered. "I've heard this
speech from you before, the day you turned on us."
"Right before you ordered Geryon to shoot me in the back," Cain
corrected.
Kali folded her arms under her breasts, no trace of fear on her
face. "Whatever, Cain. The fact is that if you intended to shoot
me, you'd have already done it. And you know I don't give a
damn about anything you have to say. So why don't you just get
to the point? I assume I'm still alive for a reason?"
"Clever girl," he acknowledged. "I've been debating whether or
not I ought to try getting information out of you."
"You'd torture me?" she asked scornfully, narrowing her eyes.
His answering smile was ugly, self-mocking, brimming with loathing
for them both. "Why not?" he replied. "It wouldn't be the worst
thing I've ever done."
----
"Majesty, I must protest your freeing of the prisoner known as 'the
Doctor'! It was most unwise!"
High Priestess Shanneril swept imperiously down the corridor, her
small flock of Lesser Priestesses and Guardsmen trailing behind.
At her elbow hovered her Captain of the Guard, Siharal, indignant
agitation adding a rare abruptness to his movements as he
remonstrated with her.
"_You_ tell _me_ what is wise and unwise, Siharal?" she asked
with pleasant irony. "Shall we trade places, then, and make a
Priestess of you?"
"Your Majesty knows I mean no disrespect to your wisdom,"
Siharal replied with stiff dignity. He was a youngish, square-jawed
man who carried himself as though all the world were a challenge to
his rank. "But to release a stranger without even an interrogation
flies against our practices."
Shanneril stopped suddenly and turned to regard her Captain with
a keen, hawkish stare. "Who says I've released him?" she asked.
"But... you..." Siharal spluttered, confused.
"He is in Kepla and Gorthund's custody, after all. Gorthund is a bit
flighty, I'll admit, but Kepla is a good girl and will keep an eye on
him. We also gave him a bird-saddle with a track-beacon attached,
so that all we have to do is consult the Great Monitor to know
where he is." She chuckled a little at the look on Siharal's face. "I'm
not so naive as you seem to think, boy!"
Still, having begun his argument, Siharal was loath to abandon it
without a struggle. "Even so, we should have kept him here for
questioning," he insisted.
"So he could tell us lies?" Shanneril asked sweetly. "Honestly,
boy, do you know nothing of deviousness? Do you think a spy
will tell his tale from a bit of shouting and a few good slaps in the
head?"
"So this Doctor _is_ a spy!" Siharal exclaimed.
The High Priestess merely sighed. "I don't know _what_ he is.
But I do know that the best way to find out is to watch him,
rather than ask him. We'll just keep an eye on what he gets up to
and we'll soon know his game. He'll not stray too far, anyhow. We
have his box here, if you will recall. A box that I should like to
examine before I go to bed, _if_ you are quite finished second-
guessing me, that is."
Siharal snapped even further to attention than he already was. "Of
course, Majesty," he barked. "I apologize for questioning your
wisdom."
"Yes, yes," she said, irritatedly waving that aside, "I'm smart and
you're intimidating." She set off down the hall again, her entourage
in tow. "Now let's have a look at this box-thing so I can get on to
bed," she grumbled. "We wise-women need our beauty sleep, you
know..."
----
"Come on, traitor," Kali hissed. "Do your worst. I'm not going to
beg for my life."
"Good," Cain answered, voice flat, "because then I'd despise you
even more--"
At that moment, another of the ragged-looking Skyborn burst in,
a look of panic on his face and a blaster in his hand. "Lady Kali!"
he cried. "The guards are--"
He got no further. Even as his eyes took in the sight of Kali at
gunpoint and the bodies on the floor, Cain was already moving,
swinging the staser around to fire a single shot into the man's
chest. The Skyborn let off a choked cry, his hand convulsively
tightening and triggering off his blaster into the floor as he fell
back, dying.
That brief instant was all the opening Kali needed. She lashed
out with one shapely leg, kicking the staser from Cain's hand before
he could re-orient on her.
He spun away from her, bringing up his fists, while Kali advanced
on him in a bouncing martial-arts stance, face set in savage
exultation. "Yeeess," she drawled, "this is how it should end for
you, Cain. With your putrid blood on my hands."
"Come get some, babe," he shot back as she aimed a snap-kick at
his face. He blocked the blow and tried to counterstrike her leg,
but she was too quick to be caught so easily. She ducked past his
punch and landed a palm-strike on his side that would have
snapped his ribs had his trenchcoat not impeded the blow. Cain
side-stepped and tried to sweep her legs, but she jumped back and
away, getting clear.
"You've gotten slow in your old age," Kali taunted, circling as
Cain turned to keep her at his front. She aimed a kick at his
midsection that he easily deflected, then reversed to aim a spin-
kick at his head. Unable to block, Cain rolled with the blow,
going into a shoulder-roll that brought him back to his feet in
time to take another kick that nearly crushed his knee.
Grunting wth the pain of the blow, he lunged forward and landed
a hard chop to Kali's shoulder that almost drove the woman to her
knees. Grimacing as her arm went numb, she drove a hard punch
into his middle that actually staggered the much larger man. But
the move was a costly one as he caught her wrist in a vise-like
grip.
Her free arm still weak and unfeeling, Kali stepped in closer and
attempted to hoist her knee into the Time Lord's groin, but Cain,
expecting the move, twisted slightly and hooked his foot behind
hers, putting her off-balance. There was a quick grappling
scrabble for position as he pushed her back, finally resulting in
the two being locked tightly against one another, legs entangled
and faces mere inches apart.
As they stood there, Kali panting in short bird-gasps as she tried
to break his unyielding grip, a faint glistening seemed to shine in
Cain's eye. "Gotara's Holy Guts, but you're still beautiful," he
husked. She looked up at him, her face a mask of baffled rage, and
in that instant he slammed forward in a crushing head-butt. Kali
sagged in his grip, eyes unfocussing from the stunning blow as he
drew back and struck her again, their foreheads colliding with a
bone-jarring shock.
As the Regulator sank to her knees, half-insensible, Cain released
his hold on her wrists and slipped his hands around her neck,
softly brushing his fingers across her cheek in passing. His big,
calloused fingers met at the nape of her neck, while his thumbs
rested together over her throat, their scarred, weathered flesh
standing out starkly against the silken perfection of her delicate
skin.
"Damn you, Shanka," he muttered, voice cracking slightly. "Damn
you straight to Hell for making me do this again." Kali roused a
little and began to slap weakly at his arms as Cain blinked
something out of his eye.
"Damnation to us all," he whispered and began to squeeze.
<continued in next post>
BKWillis
----
"Whither from here, Overworlder?" Rahaaz asked, peering warily
into the unlit plaza outside.
Babydoll stretched a kink out of her back as she joined the big
Servii at the doorway. Across the plaza, the buildings seemed,
from what she could tell in the dark, to be in a better state of
repair than the half-ruined wrecks they'd been creeping through.
A few blocks beyond that, they could see the glow of streetlamps
and lighted windows from what was obviously an inhabited
sector of the vast city. Further in the distance, at the city's center,
a bright pillar of radiance marked the main towers, the Witch-
Spires, as the Servii called them.
"We should--" Babydoll began, then broke off into a deep yawn.
"We should stop here, I think," she finished.
"While thy master still be captive?" the War Captain demanded.
"Yeah," the blonde replied simply. "We should stop and rest and
recover our strength. I'm assuming old One-Eye is up in one of
those towers, right?"
"Captives of the Skyborn are taken to the Witch-Spires, yes,"
Rahaaz replied.
Babydoll nodded. "And at the rate we're going, it'll be well into
the morning before we get there, even if we keep moving all
night. We'll be in the thick of these sky-rats, outgunned, with
Bella's powers at low ebb and all the rest of us tired as Hell."
Rahaaz looked back at his crouching soldiers. Many of the Servii
were rubbing at sore muscles and one or two had sprawled out to
take the weight off their feet. Even the iron constitutions of the
Servii raiders had been sore tested by the hours of hard riding, two
arduous climbs, and a night march through unfamiliar territory.
"Thou speak'st true, Overworlder," the War Captain said at last.
"It be a hard thing to be unblinded by the glorious moment before
us." His mouth twisted into a rare and rather unnerving Servii
smile. "Our elders teach us that it is a weakness to give not thy
soul to the madness of battle-joy, but I begin to think it may not be
so. Perhaps a cool head may win battles that the hottest fury
cannot?"
Babydoll merely shrugged, too tired to be concerned with Servii
philosophy, while Rahaaz turned and slipped back into the
shadows to see to his troops' disposition.
The building they were in had evidently been a factory of some
sort in the dim past. The pitted hulks of great machines loomed
at every turn, some falling to piles of rust at the smallest touch.
There was a lower level of sorts, accessible by crawling down a
fallen mechanical carcass, that seemed a good enough place for
concealment and the Servii bedded down among the crevices and
hollows formed by the tangles of pipes and rotted conveyor belts,
leaving two of their number atop as sentries.
Babydoll was trying to work out that troublesome kink in her lower
back as she settled into one of the corners, putting her shoulders
against the safety of two walls. She could just make out the dim
bulk of the Servii nearest her in the sickly streamers of moonlight
that filtered in from above. She tried not to dwell on the fact that
their hiding-place would make an excellent dead-end trap if they
were discovered. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to focus
on getting the tension out of her muscles enough to get a decent
rest. The climb up the rope had put a tremendous strain on her
arms and back and it wouldn't do to be at less than tip-top fighting
trim...
Her eyes snapped open and she stifled a cry as she felt something
touch her lightly on the shoulder. Her machine pistol was already
out of its holster by the time she realized it was just Bella crouching
over her in the dark. Putting the gun away with a muttered oath,
she whispered, "What are you doing, Fangs? Trying to scare me
out of my pants?"
Bella laughed softly, night-quiet. "I might say something about
that, but I won't, Pigtails," she murmured. "I merely bring my report
to my commander, as a proper scout should." Though Babydoll
could barely see the smaller woman, she somehow caught an
impression of an ironic smile.
"Yeah, and...?"
"And the area around this building seems completely deserted. I
saw no signs of life and the only human scents are old and fading.
A week or more since anyone was last here, Madam General."
Bella swept her arm up in a languid salute, thumping her bare
heels together.
"Good report, bad sarcasm," the blonde grunted, wincing at
another twinge in her back.
"You're hurt?" the vampire asked, a hint of concern in her voice.
"Nah, just a sore muscle, is all," Babydoll replied, rubbing at the
spot. "That climb was-- What are you doing?"
Bella had slipped down beside her and was tracing a hand down
Babydoll's shoulders and back, her touch like falling feathers.
"It's no wonder you're sore," the vampire remarked. "Your muscles
are bunched like sailors' knots. Here, turn a little."
"I asked what you were doing," Babydoll whispered dangerously,
making no move to obey.
"I am trying," Bella sighed with just a hint of asperity, "to get you
to turn around so I can do something about this pain in your back,
Madam Stubborn General."
"I'll be fine," Babydoll snapped, trying to shrug off her touch.
"No, you won't. You'll be stiff and sore and slow and get yourself
killed and the rest of us into the bargain." As she spoke, Bella's
fingers kneaded and pressed along the taut muscles of Babydoll's
shoulders, blithely ignoring her patient's attempts to shake her off.
Even as she started to protest more, Babydoll had to admit that the
girl's touch was making her relax more by the second. The
vampire's hands were small and gentle, but surprisingly strong and
she seemed to know just where all the sore spots were. Against
her better judgment, Babydoll found herself letting go of her
tension and allowing honest sleep to creep up on her.
"Damn it," she mumbled around a yawn. "We've never gotten
along. So why are you being nice to me now?"
"Because you're letting me," Bella eventually answered, but by
then Babydoll was asleep.
----
Xel was asleep in the back section of the Overworlders' so-called
'office' when she was awakened by the sound of several people
rummaging about in the main room. Creeping to the door, she
peeked out to see several ornately-armored Servii sorting through
a large iron chest that sat by the table while another Servii, more
plainly-armored and covered in dust, leaned against the wall,
coughing, a leather sack clenched in one clawed fist. One of them
had lit the lamps, casting a flickering radiance over the scene.
"It is here!" exclaimed one of the searching warriors, straightening
up with a large scroll in his hand. As he turned and unrolled the
parchment on the table, Xel recognized him as War Chief Ghorlok,
while the other was one of his War Captains.
The lesser Servii was still coughing and the War Captain glanced
around the room, finally noticing Xel's frightened face. "Slave!"
he shouted. "Fetch drink, at once!"
Hurriedly, Xel, cast her eyes around the anteroom, finally noticing
a jug of the bitter orange Servii brew. Though it was always best to
avoid the Servii altogether, quick obedience was the best policy
when given orders by one. She grabbed up the half-full jug and
darted out to hand it to the War Captain, who took it with a grunt
and gave it to the dust-covered warrior. Xel had time to see that
the parchment was a large map before she hastily skittered back
into the shadows and hopefully away from further notice.
The warrior stopped coughing long enough to take a long pull from
the jug. When he finally set it aside, his coughing abated and he
seemed to revive a bit. He wiped his mouth with the back of one
dirty arm and joined the others at the table.
"Where, Zulkaat?" Ghorlok demanded, pointing at the map.
The warrior peered at the map for a moment, tracing a route with a
claw, then finally stabbed his finger decisively at one spot. "There,
War Chief!" he declared. "At that point, where the ridge doth
curve to the south. There our patrol didst come upon them!"
Ghorlok snarled a low curse as he examined the location. "And
thou wert certain of thy foe's numbers?" he asked.
"Aye, War Chief. At least five hundred did I make them, ere we
withdrew." The warrior grinned wickedly. "But thou might count
them less by threescore, now. Our blades and muskets did fearful
work!"
Ghorlok was caught in his own thoughts, though, tapping a claw
on the map. "An thou didst see five hundred, there shall be
thousands more thou didst not," he muttered.
"Let there be a hundred thousand!" exclaimed the War Captain.
"We shall sweep them before us, no matter their numbers."
"Aye, War Chief," agreed Zulkaat. "The brutes know not steel nor
powder, nor even the bow. They have not armor nor riding-beast,
either."
"Well might we crush them," grunted Ghorlok, "did we battle them
in desert or open plain. But an we must dig them from a fortified
ridge-line, the battle will be the harder."
"The greater the glory, then," argued the War Captain.
"Mayhap. But the Cause of the Sacred Land be not their
destruction, but the conquest of Vale and Skyborn. How shall
we strike the Vale if we expend our strength in the breaking-
through?"
As the other two Servii paused to consider this, another figure
entered the room. It was a small Servii woman, bent with age and
draped in a cloak of rough-stitched animal-skins. She leaned
heavily on a staff of gurvuk-bone and as she hobbled into the light,
Xel could see that her deep-seamed face had been tattooed with
strangely twisted patterns in red and blue, joining in a starburst
pattern around her middle eye. Unusually, the three male Servii
gave back a little before her as she clumped to the table, keen old
eyes watching them like a circling gallows-bird's.
"You have need of the Portents, War Chief?" she asked in a
cracked yet still very strong voice.
"Aye, Exalted Greatmother," Ghorlok replied. "The Golden Apes
fortify the approaches to the Snouted Devil's lands and the
Overworlders be not here. A strike against their works might
gain us swift lodgement and buy time 'til the Overworld wizard's
return--"
"But all thy strength be not assembled," the crone finished. "A
chancy thing it be, then. I shall read the Portents for thee, that ye
may choose the wise course."
The War Chief looked to Zulkaat, who stepped forward and placed
his bag on the table, then swiftly withdrew. Cackling softly, the old
woman upended the sack and dumped out its contents, a shaggy,
yellow-furred head. The thing was still oozing slightly from the
neck, leaving a smear where it lay. It had a long-jawed, apish face
with three yellow eyes under a heavily-ridged brow. The crone
smoothed out the bristly fur as she ran her fingertips along the
skull, then finally pointed at a spot just above the right ear.
"That be the spot, War Chief," she grunted. "Strike ye true!"
The War Captain grabbed the ape's head and held it still as
Ghorlok drew his broadsword and swung it down onto the spot
she'd indicated. The blade bit deep, splitting the skull nearly
to the jawline.
Nodding her approval, the old woman next held out her arm over
the gashed head and jabbed a long needle into her flesh. A tiny
dribble of blood welled out and dropped into the split skull. Then
she poured a small vial of dark powder in after it. Zulkaat handed
her one of the lamps and she carefully held it down against the
bloody ape head, letting its flame play across the gash. There was
a sudden blast of sparks and an odor of singed meat.
"All is as it should be," the crone intoned, setting aside the lamp.
She then thrust a hand through the sword-gash and into the head's
brain-pan, where she rooted around for a long moment. Finally,
with a cry of triumph, she withdrew her gore-spangled hand and
smeared the mess of blood and brains along the table-top.
The other Servii crowded around as the Exalted Greatmother stared
at the gray-red streaks. "The Portents are clear," she declared.
"I see the sons of the Sacred Land storming the great ridges and
carrying all before them! I see the Golden Apes and their masters
dying under the guns and swords of the Servii! I see the Lord of
the Vale confounded in his aims! His way is barred by a man
thrice-born and a child of broken flowers! Strength shall arise
from the hearts of the people! Allies both expected and strange
to ye shall fight at thy side!"
"Shall victory be ours?!" the War Captain eagerly demanded.
"'Tis in the laps of the gods," the old woman replied. "As are
all things ever. But they show favor, gifting us with a charm for
good fortune."
"What charm do the gods grant, Exalted Greatmother?" Ghorlok
asked.
"The gods have set their mark... _there_!" the old woman cried,
thrusting a withered finger at Xel, who was watching the
proceedings from the back room.
"What, the slave child?" asked the War Chief.
"Aye," the crone replied, not taking her eyes from Xel's. "Step out
here, youngling," she commanded and somehow, despite her
instinctive fear, Xel found herself almost compelled to obey. She
walked over and stood trembling before the Servii.
"'Tis but a spratling!" scoffed Zulkaat.
"Who art thou, slave-child?" the Greatmother asked.
"I-I'm Xel. I'm the s-servant to the Overworlder, Lady Bella." Xel
tried not to pull away as the crone set an age-spotted hand on her
head.
"So thou art," the old woman replied. "Thou hast the scent of her
'pon thee and doth bear a mark, dost thou not?"
Xel glanced at the cut Bella had made on her hand and held it out
for the Greatmother to see.
"Ah," the crone sighed. "'Tis as I saw. Thou art marked by the
gods and the Overworld and art sure to bring fortune where thou
dost go." She reached out the blood-caked hand she'd used for
the ritual and marked a sunburst in ape-blood on Xel's forehead.
She then turned to face War Chief Ghorlok. "When thou dost
ride against the Vale, take this child with thee. She shall be thy
talisman, bringing thee the boon of the gods!"
"Aye," whispered Ghorlok, face full of superstitious awe.
The Greatmother took Xel by the arm, not ungently, and began to
hobble for the door with the girl in tow. "I shall present her to thy
troops on the morrow, War Chief," she cackled. Turning to Xel,
she muttered, "Come, child, and let us get thee looking the part of a
proper Servii battle-charm..."
--BKWillis
<Next up, Brad Filippone, followed by Clive May>
<To join the queue for 'Desert of Fear', e-mail me at bradk...@aol.com >
--
"I'm nobody's fool but my own."
Clive May
> hobble for the door with the girl in tow. "I shall present her to thy
> troops on the morrow, War Chief," she cackled. Turning to Xel,
> she muttered, "Come, child, and let us get thee looking the part of a
> proper Servii battle-charm..."
I'm going out of turn because Brad Filiponne has had computer trouble and has
passed on his go.
This is the first bit of my turn. There is a much longer section to follow
as soon as I can get it into shape.
Shanneril turned from gazing out over the city through the panoramic window
of the Council Chamber, to fix her attention on Siharal. The bright
morning sunlight made a golden halo of her hair. "Why have I only received
this report within the last hour?" she asked.
"The serious nature of the matter did not become apparent until midnight,"
Siharal answered. "We were already busy with this blue box business,
tracking the rebel cell, and the attempted murder of the new Overworld
advisor...There has been much to do and..."
Shanneril interrupted. "I believe you spoke to..." She flicked open the
folder on the ledge beside her. Scanning the page, she went on. "...Nahlia
at the time? How was that?"
"I was in the Monitoring Room when the incident occurred."
"One of your impromptu inspections?"
"Yes...It keeps the teams on their toes," Siharal explained a trifle
defensively. He had a reputation as a 'night prowler' among his troops. "It
improves efficiency; and I like to keep an eye on things."
"Quite! So you spoke to Nahlia at the time of the incident? How did she
seem?"
"I took her report of the incident," Siharal nodded. A completely routine
matter - nuisance raid by the North Rimmers. Not uncommon, get a few dozen a
year. They shoot up a sentry post now and again. We tolerate it because it
helps to keep the sentries sharp. If they ever became a nuisance, we'd take
a flight down and discourage them by burning their crops - and they know it!"
"How did she seem to you when you spoke to her?"
Siharal thought about it a moment, before declaring: "Quite calm. Her usual
efficient self in fact."
Shanneril nodded; "yes. Which is strange?...Because according to the Medico
report, she must have been standing over Jorsam's mutilated body at the
time."
"I did not catch any hint of that in her voice," Siharal answered, a little
defensively. "We only found out about Jorsam's murder at midnight, when the
watch was changed."
"Then what did you do?"
"I took a squad out, personally, to post five, to see what all the fuss was
about. Just as I was leaving Central, I got another report from area 510 of
another team slaughtered. So I detoured there to inspect the scene after
doubling the guard on all key points. Better to be safe than sorry."
"Indeed, Siharal! What did you find?"
Siharal swallowed and went a little pale, which alerted Shanneril to the
degree of the horror that her captain had encountered at area 510. Siharal
did not shock easily.
"The team guarding the exits from the adjacent abandoned residential district
had been...Killed...Savaged...Horribly mutilated...Their throats had been
ripped out. They were lying in each others arms...Covered in blood...It was
gruesome...A ghastly mess...They were still warm..." Unconsciously, Siharal
began wiping his palms on his uniform trousers.
"So it had not happened long? Perhaps, around the same time as the murder of
Jorsam?"
"It's all in the medico report," Siharal said. He poked at a thin green
folder, edging it along the window sill towards her. "Medico said they'd
been killed about an hour after Jorsam. I called in a security squad to
seal up the place, and made my way to sentry post five. When I got there, I
found the new watch team guarding the entry...And on the platform...Jorsam
with the same kind of injuries as the two at area 510."
"And Nahlia?"
She was right out of it, just sitting by the wall, staring at the moons.
Jebba, the new duty sentry, had put her cloak around Nahlia's shoulders, but
had done nothing else, because she seemed uninjured, but in some kind of
trance. I had her removed to Central as soon as a cart could be got out
there."
"And how is she now?"
Siharal swallowed again. "She came out of the trance around dawn. But she
broke down completely. The medicos had to use a powerful sedative to quiet
her. She and Jorsam were a life bonded pair - very close...They..."
"So you have not yet questioned her?" Shanneril cut across him.
"The medicos say that she'll not be in any fit state to answer any
questions for a long time. Possibly never." He paused an shuddered. "Avis
knows what did that to Jorsam and the others but she must have seen it -
whatever it was?"
"Which is why it's imperative that she be questioned as soon as practical.
Use the probe on her if you have to; but I must know what sort of monster is
loose in the city."
Siharal nodded, snapped back to his military bearing by Shanneril's focus on
the immediate practicalities. He fished a small spheroid of lead from a
pocket, and handed it over. "I ordered a sweep of the area. Half an hour ago,
we found this."
"A musket ball?" Shanneril stared at her captain with suddenly hooded
eyes. "You're not suggesting that the Servii beast men have found some way
into the Sacred City?"
Before Siharal could offer an opinion, the grand double-doors of the Council
Chamber, opposite the grand window, were pushed open. The ornately carved
wooden valves swung back smoothly, to admit porters. They wheeled in a cart,
bearing the body of Cain, minus trenchcoat. At the centre of the chamber,
the porters unloaded the body onto the blue carpet, and withdrew.
Gaudily garbed Counsellors began to file into the wedge-shaped chamber,
talking amongst themselves in quiet voices. Eyeing the body on the carpet,
they took seats around the long outer curve of the council table, backs
to the window. Last of all came the new Overworlder advisor. She had
changed out of the rags she had worn to infiltrate the rebel cell, and was
now attired in a body-hugging scarlet coverall. The mid-morning sun struck
fire from her flame red hair, as she settled into the chair, to the right of
Shanneril's throne.
Shanneril waited until all were seated. She indicated Siharal should take
his place, to her left, and then seated herself in the high chair, at the
apex of the table. Guards trooped in to flank the two walls, narrowing down
to the doors. The doors swung closed. Shanneril rapped the table with the
silver rod of office, and opened the specially convened meeting.
"This meeting is called to order," she announced. "The first item of
business is the proposed execution of the Overworlder, Cain, for the murder
of three citizens and the attempted slaying of the Overworld advisor Kali!"
More to come...though I can't say exactly when.
--
The Flying Dinosaur