By R A Henderson
Episode II: The Clairvoyant
PEKING, China AD1937
"Get that thing under cover," Leung shouted furiously at the motley collection of grubby overalled workers milling around his yard. They started to come sluggishly to life as if they were sleepwalking, slow and somnolent as they lumbered toward the wrecked machine. "And call Min Yao immediately. She must be here to see the machine now that we have it."
"That will not be necessary, Leung-san," a high, soft voice said coolly from behind Leung. "I expected that you would be able to bring the machine today. The guards slept like children, did they not?"
Leung turned to look at the girl. She was tiny, maybe only four and a half feet tall, and her face was round with large eyes like a child's, though Min Yao would be twenty-six this winter. Her body was fully developed with a small waist and perfect round curves for hips. Her breasts were large and full, barely contained by her rich purple and silver silk cheongsam. Leung smiled awkwardly at her. "Min Yao," he said with evident surprise. "You came. But how can you know the guards at the factory were asleep? You could not have been there."
"Zhu-san was there," Min Yao smiled in an evidently vicious way. "He has a talent for encouraging sleep from the restless."
Leung nodded. "Not the only talent of his that disturbs me, madam," he said.
"The machine," Min Yao said, changing the subject deftly, casually and with total ease.
The men had taken it inside and Leung offered Min Yao his hand. She took it and he led her into the main workshop area of the factory. It was large and open-plan with several large machines built for a variety of purposes, some with robotic arms poised to do who knew what to some product or other on the factory line, some with conveyor belts to run products and parts along, but all inactive. The main workshop had been shut down. It had actually only just been shut down and all the original workers fired because Min Yao had other plans for the production lines. When the machine was working she would be able to set in motion her plan to refit the factories to make a very different kind of product…
ThreeOSLO, Norway AD1967The sky was bleak but a grand improvement on the night that passed slowly with the insipid tendrils of first light creeping across the lower stratosphere. The rain had stopped but the waters still ran in a torrent as the storm drains gorged on them, delivering the flood slowly but surely through the sewers to the Arctic Sea. For the ninth time since the journey from the TARDIS had begun, Keri was clinging to a lamppost, fighting to avoid being swept away. Aspirodor was behind the post, clutching her by the waist and keeping her steady. The wind was blowing Keri's sodden hair across her face and the freezing wind was sticking it there, adding the sharp snap of frostbite to her already mounting frustrations. "I think I liked it better when it was raining," she complained through gritted teeth.
"We have to get out of the water," Aspirodor said urgently. "The temperature's dropping at a fantastic rate and in less than an hour this river in the street will be frozen. If we don't find some high ground soon we'll be entombed."
"Well, if we let go of this post we'll be dragged down," Keri whined.
"I know that," Aspirodor replied, slightly annoyed. "But I've got an idea. I can feel the mooring of this post giving at the bottom near my feet. It should come out of the ground at any moment."
Keri cocked her head back to look up at him. "Is that a good thing?"
"Might be," Aspirodor answered. "If my idea works. Shift your weight over to your left."
Keri leaned to her left and hung on tight, watching with a mixture of horror and amazement as a huge chunk of ice floated past. It was three times the size of her body. In appearance it was broad and more-or-less flat, barring a few crags. "Look at that thing!" she exclaimed.
"I've seen it," said Aspirodor. "It's part of my idea. How good's your grip?"
An ear-splitting high-pitched creak ripped through the air and Keri shook, swallowing lungfuls of air all at once, as the lamppost was torn from the ground by the heavy current. "Oh, shit," she cried. "It's going!"
"Hold on!" Aspirodor yelled over the noise. Something snapped and Keri lost her footing. Her head went under the water and her life flashed before her eyes. And then in a moment she surfaced and she had a headache. Aspirodor was holding her by the hair. "Sorry Kerttu," he called. "Grab hold of the post, quick."
The lamppost was now leaning over at an angle, hovering diagonally over the flooded street, and Aspirodor had begun a Koala climb, his arms and legs wrapped around the post as he edged to the top. It shook and creaked precariously as Keri added her weight to it, pulling herself up and shivering more with the fear than the cold. In spite of her frostbitten fingers and numbing legs, she desperately swung up and adopted Aspirodor's motions, following him to the lamp part. By now, he'd made it to the top and had twisted around so that he mounted the post as though it were a horse. Reaching a hand back, he snatched Keri's and heaved her up beside him. Below, the huge chunk of ice floated right by the post and suddenly Keri realised Aspirodor's idea. "We're hitching a ride on the iceberg?" she stuttered.
"You ready?" Aspirodor grinned, lifting her spirits the merest fraction.
"Nope," Keri replied. "Never will be."
Aspirodor patted her head gently. "But you know we have to."
"Yeah," Keri nodded.
Together they jumped.
REYKJAVIK, Iceland, Scandinavia Minor AD5029The scanning room was alive, bustling with activity as technicians and operators and supervisors checked and scanned and rechecked and rescanned and analysed and datalysed and programmed and reprogrammed and deprogrammed and engaged and disengaged. Computers flickered and bleeped and buzzed and twittered as scientists of every qualification ran diagnostic checks, programs and routines of every design and purpose. Administrative officers ran back and forth with data crystals and copypads on errands from one department to another and back again. And Magnus Greel stood right in the middle of it all, overseeing a highly specific operation. One of the senior technical supervisors stood beside him, making notes of his instructions on a copypad and giving orders to members of his team. Greel watched with amusement and slight satisfaction as his intended procedure was carried out. "Mr Moreson," he said to the supervisor at his side. "Has the servo pickup for the satellite registered yet?"
Guy Moreson nodded. "Yes, my Lord. We now have a bearing for you. Will you join us at the tracking console?" And he unfurled an arm to offer Greel a seat next to one of the scientists operating a nearby computer.
Greel marched over. "You sit in it," he snapped. "I'll get a better view of the screen over this technician's shoulder."
Moreson sat down and looked at the young woman operating the console. "Show the Minister the present bearing of the satellite," he ordered.
The technician ran the scanning beam and fed the pickup back through the computer. A holographic picture of Australia appeared in the visualiser. She checked the feed and compared the coordinates to those registered in the databank. "Australasia Major, my Lord," she announced. "Fourteen per cent refinement."
"Excellent," Greel flashed his teeth wickedly. "Go to fifty per cent."
"Specific target area, my Lord?" the technician asked.
Greel's finger stabbed at the hologram. "There."
The technician's fingers dashed across the console and in a moment the holographic image zoomed in on Brisbane. "Fifty per cent refinement confirmed, my Lord."
"Can you isolate the city?" Greel demanded.
"To within a yard, my Lord," the technician promised.
"Do it," Greel snapped. "Target the beam and lock it."
Moreson watched in horror as the young technician locked the targeting sensors of Magnus Greel's latest diabolical invention on the city where his wife and children lived. He dared not speak; dared not challenge Greel. He knew what would happen. He'd be declared an insurgent and sent of to the reconditioning laboratories, and then Greel would just do this anyway. His children were going to suffer a horrible death and he couldn't do a thing about it. The technician looked up from the computer. "Targeting sensors locked. We'll only lose about two per cent of the city – just the outskirts, really."
"That will be more than adequate," Greel laughed. "And the citizens of Brisbane were worried about the cyclone due next month!" Suddenly he was deadly serious. "Open fire."
There was a loud thud as the girl technician's unconscious body slumped to the floor and Greel was knocked back a few feet. He nearly staggered over, but caught himself in time to see Guy Moreson reaching for the console, surely about to hit the satellite emergency destruct button. Greel flung himself forward in a cannonball motion and grabbed Moreson by the throat, but Moreson slammed his elbow into Greel's stomach and winded him. Slightly disorientated but still stable, Greel pulled the technical supervisor away from the console and headlocked him with one arm, seizing the other by the wrist. He leaned forward, holding the helpless man in his grip and pushing his hand toward the firing button. "I will make you my own personal dog for this," Greel seethed. "After you have destroyed your home."
Moreson was weeping. "Jenna, Philip, Rosie," he sobbed. "I am so, so sorry my darlings."
Greel lurched forward and Moreson's hand made contact with the button.
OSLO, Norway AD1967
For a minute Victoria couldn't open her eyes and at first she feared that they had somehow been sealed shut, but with a little determination she cracked the thin film of hard material sticking her eyelashes together and opened her eyelids. She only realised it was ice when a sliver of it ran down her cheek like a frozen tear. Carefully she eased herself up, wincing and whining at the cracking, ripping sensation made by her frozen hair peeling away from her neck, and rolled off the couch she had found herself lying on. Jamie was lying opposite her, his kilt askew and for a moment Victoria closed her eyes again. "You really ought to wear something underneath, Jamie," she said through chattering teeth as she carefully felt along his legs until she gripped the material. She straightened the kilt and opened her eyes. He didn't look much better, but at least his appearance lay now within the expected standards of propriety. Carefully she nudged his shoulder. "Jamie," she called to him. "Jamie, wake up."
"Unhhh…" Jamie groaned. "Urrrhhh…" And slowly he rolled over. His face was frosted like hers. "Ma eyes won't open," he murmured. "I canna open ma eyes."
Victoria carefully rubbed the lashes on both Jamie's eyes between finger and thumb, melting the ice with body heat. "Try now."
Jamie's eyes opened and he almost shut them again at the sight of Victoria. Her face was almost milk white but for little red pockmarks of frostbite. Jamie shivered, realising why. He was used to the cold, being a Highlander, but even back home the weather wasn't like this. He scrambled up, yelping as his hair detached like Victoria's had before him, and managed a sitting position. "Where are we?"
Victoria looked around the cramped room they were in. There were metal walls and the two couches, a metal floor and a couple of cabinets set into the walls. There was a closed metal shutter at one end of the room and a wall of snow at the other. The room was narrow and about fifteen feet long. "I don't know, but we're snowed in."
"We might even be buried," Jamie said. He got to his feet and made for one of the wall cabinets, pulling it open. There were a few bottles of chemicals. "I think this is some sort of ambulance," he said, remembering some of the things the Doctor had taught him. "Like a sort of vehicle to take you to hospital where there are nurses to look after you on the way. These bottles are probably medicine."
Victoria looked at the shutter. "What do you think's through there?"
"Place where the driver sits," Jamie shrugged. "We'll try to get it open. This floor slopes upwards towards that door, so that end might be nearer the surface than here. It could be a way out." He made for the shutter and grouched at the bottom, trying to catch his fingers under it. The crack was too narrow, though, and he couldn't get any purchase. "Och, it's nae good hen."
"Really Jamie," Victoria huffed. "Must you speak in that awful mongrel dialect?"
"Are you going to complain all day or are you going to try and help?" Jamie said slowly, taking care with his pronunciation this time.
Victoria sighed. "I'm sorry. What can I do?"
"See if you can find something in that cupboard that we can shove under this door," Jamie suggested. "Maybe we can wedge it open enough for me to get my hand through."
Victoria nodded and started rummaging through the cupboard. Her stomach was rumbling and she was freezing to the bone. "Do you think we can get out?"
"I don't know," Jamie sighed. "But trying is better than sitting here waiting to starve to death."
"Or freeze to death," Victoria added.
Jamie nodded. "Aye."
HELSINKI, Scandinavia Major AD5029"You stupid, irresponsible, incompetent children!" the Doctor shouted frustratedly at Aleks and his crew. "Didn't any of you bother to do any proper research on Time technology before you stole some? Didn't even one of you realise the potential danger of interfering with something as complicated as this?" He was literally hopping up and down with rage.
Aleks lowered his head solemnly. "Of course we realised, Doctor," he said. "But we had to steal it in spite of the risk, because any changes we might make would be far better for everyone than all the destruction and suffering caused by the Alliance. And we didn't have time to do that much research before we stole it, although our best people are working on it now to perfect it."
"Don't you think that's rather closing the gate after the horse has bolted?" the Doctor retorted sharply. "You've killed my companions with your stupidity and recklessness."
Pyotr shook his head. "Not necessarily, Doctor. They may not have been killed when the van broke up. We have had this happen a couple of times during the first few trips we did when we were just testing it and when we went back the bits we left behind were intact up to where they were torn from the bits that got through."
The Doctor wrung his hands awkwardly. "Well, if there's even the vaguest chance they've survived I must go back for them."
Aleks shook his head. "You can't do that, Doctor. We need you here."
"I believe it is up to me where I go!" the Doctor snapped.
"That's true," said Kirland. "You're no prisoner, but you are our only hope of beating the Alliance."
"Please, Doctor," Aleks begged. "Isgaard, my sister, is still in Oslo 1967. We can contact her and order her to try and rescue the children. But if we do, you must help us. It's a fair exchange – our favours for yours."
The Doctor looked one by one at the members of the team. Their eyes were pleading and somehow, for some reason he could not yet fathom, the Doctor could see a spark of faith. They truly believed in him. For once it came to the Doctor that to accept the offered terms was probably the best option. "All right," he said. "I'll help you if I can. Do your best for my friends."
"You have our word," said Aleks. He turned to Kirland. "Ellie, get on the tracker and call Issy. Instruct her when she arrives at the exit to try and get those kids free and bring them through."
Kirland nodded and was gone. Pyotr looked at Aleks. "Right, let's get him back to Faith One as swiftly as possible. The sooner the Promise is fulfilled the better."
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "The Promise?"
But his question went unanswered. A young woman interrupted the discussion as she ran down the road and almost collided with Aleks. Aleks grabbed her by the arm and shook her still. She was panting for breath. "Helen, what is it?" he demanded.
Helen Faulkner swallowed down a breath. "Greel…" she panted. "Greel's…"
"What?" Aleks snapped. "Steel yourself, woman! What's Greel done?"
"The Zygma Beam…" Helen gasped. "Used it as… a weapon. Brisbane."
Pyotr grabbed Helen's shoulder. "Brisbane?"
"Destroyed," Helen spluttered. "Everyone aged to death… No survivors."
FourDRESDEN, Germany 2014A large crowd gathered at the end of the street, a heavy murmur of excitement sweeping through it like waves at sea as the people looked down at the sight that lay before them. The crater was almost a kilometre wide, round and deep and filled with smoke and patches of fire. The ground was charred and blackened, most of the soil dehydrated to ash, and the surrounding grass flattened and scorched. And right in the middle of it lay a football. Just a football, nothing else. There were no signs of damage to the ball, in fact it looked brand new, and it didn't seem to be affected by the fire or the apparent explosion that had caused it. People had been on the move all night, closing in on the site and gathering around it together from the moment the news had reached them that there had been an unexplained crash. There were police all over the place already, but they weren't able to keep the spectators out and the army had been called. They were taking their time arriving though. Problems of their own, it had been said. There were a couple of cries of "Eine fussball!" followed by laughter at the surreal quality of the spectacle. Lots of people were chatting excitedly, but there was no rioting and as far as could be seen no one doing any harm or endangering themselves by sneaking down into the pit to try and get the ball as a souvenir. A few police had even stopped working and started coming up with silly stories about how the ball might have come to be in the pit, although no hypotheses regarding the existence of the pit itself were forthcoming.
And then the noise sounded. A raucous trumpeting sound like a hundred thousand constipated elephants chorusing as they fought in unison for relief. It howled and parped like a bad orchestra until suddenly, to the amazement of the spectators, the football was engulfed by the slowly coalescing and solidifying shape of a large stone gargoyle. Eventually the sound stopped and the gargoyle now sat in place of the ball, and as the crowd watched in fascination it began to physically melt, the details and features twisting out of shape, the colours melting into and out of one another and the whole shape of the object changing. Everyone seemed to blink in the same moment as the gargoyle ceased to be, replaced by a huge round boulder, grey and brown with burnt black patches. And as if that weren't enough, the rock split open and a funny little man came out, dressed in a monk's habit and clasping the ball. His humorous-featured face was alight with mischief as he smiled at the little ball. The crowd threw up a fantastic cry of amazement and the little monk looked up, raising the ball above his head. "Well, that's clobbered Germany's chances of winning the World Cup, eh?" he laughed.
And he received a round of magnificent applause.
OSLO, Norway AD1967"This is crazy!" Keri shouted over the whoosh of the waves and the crack of ice around her as the huge frozen surfboard sped through the rapids filling the Norwegian streets. "We're gonna crash any minute and be smashed up completely!"
But Aspirodor was laughing. "The iceboard will crash, Keri," he said with delight. "We won't. We'll have long since jumped off by then. Look out ahead there, a little over to the right."
Keri looked and for the first time since she had left the TARDIS she smiled. "Is that snow?"
"Miles of it," Aspirodor answered. "And we'll pass within a few feet of it. The jump will be a piece of cake. No trouble at all."
"I could just like a cake right now," Keri grumbled. "And a nice cup of tea."
Aspirodor ruffled her hair. "I know. Don't worry, as soon as we find an abandoned restaurant or pub I'll see if I can scavenge enough bits and pieces to knock up a campfire and make you some brandy snaps."
"I feel better already," Keri smiled, doing her best to be positive. The huge chunk of ice swept down toward the snowy hillside ahead and Aspirodor snatched Keri's hand. She braced herself, knowing that the jump was seconds away.
Jamie slipped the skein dhu back into his sock after his thirteenth attempt to get the door open, sank onto the couch he'd been resting on and looked up sadly at Victoria. "Still no good. It goes under but doesnae make anything move," he said. "Is there nothing else in here?"
Victoria looked in the cupboards again. Apart from the medicine bottles they were empty. "That's all," she shrugged.
"Ach, I wish Poll were here," Jamie grunted.
"Poll?"
"Aye. She used to come travelling with me and the Doctor in the TARDIS. There was a nice laddie called Ben with us then as well. Poll would've done something with those bottles that might've got us out."
"How d'you mean?"
"She knew about chemicals and stuff. She wasn't a scientist, but she once made up this Polly-cocktail thing out of stuff in bottles just like that and it melted right through Cybermen. It would've made soup of this door."
"My father was a scientist," Victoria mused, taking some of the bottles down. "I remember some things. There are some chemicals that he called 'flammable' – which means they catch fire." Carefully she examined some of the bottles. "This one. I think it's a flammable substance." She leaned over Jamie to look at the junk on the couch. "Pass me some of that bandage, please."
Jamie picked up a roll of white bandage and handed it to Victoria. "Are you gonna burn the door down?"
Victoria shook her head as she unscrewed the cap of the bottle and stuffed a chunk of bandage in. "That's metal. It won't burn down, but a small explosion might damage the lock that's holding it shut."
"Won't we get showered with glass?"
Victoria bit her lip. "I hadn't though of that."
Jamie looked around. "Hold on," he said, grabbing a blanket from Victoria's couch. "If we sit against the snow wall and cover ourselves with this we should be alright."
"Right then," Victoria said decisively, holding up the bottle. "Now to light it."
Jamie looked blankly at her. "How do we do that?"
"Understood," Isgaard said into her TLC unit. "I'm just outside their position. Did you get the other member?"
"We did," Eleanor replied and Isgaard could hear the smile in her voice. "Issy, it is the Doctor."
"By the Promise," Isgaard gasped. "It's true."
"So far Aleks's every prediction has been one hundred per cent reliable. And you know what that means."
"That we really will destroy the Alliance and Greel will vanish in a howling storm, I know. I can barely believe it."
"Issy, why didn't you make it to the rendezvous on time?"
"I got swept up by the current. Travelled backwards to more-or-less where I started in a tenth of the time the original journey took and I had to start again. I'm only glad it's stopped raining and started snowing. At least the bloody snow keeps still."
There was a soft laugh. "Well I'm gonna have to sign off now, because we have duties as you know. Try and free those kids for Aleks. You know how important it is."
"Yeah I know. Nystrom offline." And she shut off her TLC. She looked out across the expanse of white. The snow wasn't too thick or heavy, but the dots of white patterned the atmosphere enough to cloud her vision to the point of slight irritation. Quickly she unpacked her goggles and put them on. The refined scanning beam picked easily through the snow, but still she couldn't see the truck. "Must've been buried," she murmured. "Bugger."
"Language," said a girl's voice and Issy whirled round, instinctively going for her blaster. She found herself facing a small girl, smaller even than Isgaard herself, with red hair frozen to her flesh, large green eyes and a tiny button nose. She wore a long purple dress and a sort of cloak over it.
"Who the hell are you?" Isgaard demanded. The girl sounded Finnish. Finland had become the power base of the rebellion and few Finns existed who weren't citizens of Faith One in Helsinki, Faith Two in Jarvenpaa or Faith Three in Kemi. "The city was evacuated. What are civilians doing here?"
"I'd put that down if I were you," said a man behind Issy, and somehow she knew she there was a gun pointed right between her shoulder blades. "Slowly and cautiously."
"Drop your gun or I kill her," Isgaard snapped.
"You kill her, I kill you," the man's voice answered simply. "That bluff would cost too much."
Isgaard's gun hit the snow. "Yeah, but it was worth a try."
"Hold still," said the man. "I need to scan you."
Isgaard was surprised. "Scan me?" She heard a mechanical chittering sound close to her back and then saw a little black gadget fly over her shoulder for the girl in front of her to catch.
The girl looked at the gadget and her eyes widened. "Chronons?"
"Near enough," said the man. "Turn round."
Isgaard turned slowly to face him. He was indeed pointing a gun at her, but it was more sophisticated even than hers. The man was tall and had quite a build. His hair was long and dark brown and he had a small dark beard. His eyes were deep-set, large and grey and he had a very pronounced forehead. He wore a black scarf, black overcoat, black slacks, black boots and black gloves. Even the huge pulse rifle he carried was black. "You're Time travellers," Isgaard said.
"And not the only ones on this hillside either," the man said. "You wanted to know who we were. The young lady standing behind you is Keri Kalonen and I am simply known as Aspirodor."
"I'm Isgaard Nystrom," Isgaard stammered. "You can call me Issy."
Aspirodor lowered his gun. "Now we're all friends, do you want to explain to me what a woman with fifty-first century scanning goggles and weaponry is doing in 1967? And why you and the people with whom you associate are shredding the fabric of space-time like so much discarded bog roll?"
"It's not us," Isgaard said. "My people are trying to stop it."
"Really?" Keri asked.
Isgaard nodded. "I swear. You can help, if you want to. Come and meet our leader. He needs people like you."
"And by 'people like us' I imagine you mean people who know their Time travel rather than the amateurs responsible for this preposterous cockup?" Aspirodor mused.
"Exactly," Isgaard nodded.
"Splendid," Aspirodor beamed, hanging his rifle back on his belt under the overcoat he wore. "Lead on, MacDuff!" he boomed.
"Pardon?" Isgaard asked.
"Euphemism," Keri smiled. "He's a bit nuts. He means, uh…"
Aspirodor clasped his hands together in excitement, grinning all over his face. "Go on, Keri! I dare you to say it!"
Keri smiled awkwardly at Isgaard. "Take me to your leader," she said.
Isgaard smiled back. "I think I'd better."
And then there was a soft bang like a firework inside a dog kennel. Keri jumped as the ground shook slightly beneath her. "Vittu helve!"
"Language," Isgaard said. Keri was definitely a Finn.
Aspirodor was on all fours, scrabbling at the snow like a dog digging up a bone. "There's something under here. Come on, help me." The others joined in, crouching in the snow and hurling huge chunks of it aside. Soon they had revealed the corner of something metal. Aspirodor pulled another chunk of snow cleared, revealing a little dark hole and suddenly a ghastly smell hit him and he gagged. "Eyes of Rassilon!" he spluttered. "Has somebody been blowing up bottles of antiseptic?"
"Aye," said a Scots voice from inside. "It didna work though."
PEKING, China AD1937
Dr Zhu smiled with great satisfaction as he examined Min Yao's machine. It was all glass tubing and stainless metal surfaces glinting and gleaming in the dim blue light of the main factory floor, now especially darkened to aid the conditions. Two major cables linked to the upper column of the huge apparatus ran down into the darkness and out of sight. Even Min Yao did not know what they were for, but Zhu had insisted upon their use, claiming it to be an essential part of the project. "This is most excellent, Min Yao," he nodded enthusiastically, giving his protégé a charming but strangely sinister smile. "The refinement of the inversion flux compensator is first class. How you learned so quickly I'll never know. You have the makings of a magnificent temporal engineer."
Min Yao beamed at Dr Zhu. "Thank you, master," she said graciously. "You over-compliment me." As Leung watched, it was clear for all to see that she adored the strange dark man, although the reason why she felt this way remained a mystery. Dr Zhu was not even Chinese, he was a foreigner. Not a gwailo – too swarthy for that – and he had used the name of Zhu for his own purposes. No one even knew who he really was. Given sudden enthusiasm by the general atmosphere of admiration and devotion, Leung decided it was time to get the facts. He strode over to Dr Zhu.
Zhu turned to face Leung before they were even three feet from one another, as though he sensed him. "Is there something I can do for you, Leung-san?" He asked smoothly. He had a European accent, but that beard and those eyes made him look like more of an Arab. Maybe he was a member of one of those families of Arabs that lived in London.
Leung stood still where he was, not daring to come closer. Something about Zhu was imposing. "Dr Zhu," he said nervously. "I have questions. We all have questions."
"Everyone has questions," Zhu smiled, and the smile seemed dangerous, as though he drew a sword from his lips. "I am here to answer them. With my help, you can unlock the inner secrets of Time."
"We have other questions, Zhu-san," Leung persisted. "Questions about you. We know nothing of who you are. You look like an Arab and speak perfect Cantonese and Mandarin in an English accent. You assume a Chinese name even though you are not one of us, and we know this, and you know we know this. You guard your secrets in the strangest way."
Zhu stalked toward him like a cat stalking its prey, and Leung felt just like he imagined a mouse might feel in the same situation. "And with all the help I give you, you do not even consider my one request, that I reserve the right to conceal my identity?"
Shivering, Leung forced himself to answer. "We can think of only one reason why you would do this. You are a criminal, Zhu-san. You do not want to be discovered and stopped in whatever diabolical scheme you have created, enslaving Min Yao in the process."
Zhu smiled wickedly. "Oh, so that's it, is it? Min Yao. Things have changed between you and she since I came along, haven't they? You were to be married…"
"And now she loves only you," Leung spat, his anger sparking courage. "You steal her from me!"
"She came by choice, Leung-san. I did not force her."
"You lie! You trap her with promises of money and power, and she does everything you say as though she is mesmerised, and you are a snake, winding your coils around her. But there are more important things. If police find you here, they arrest all of us. I will not go to jail for you."
"And how will you prevent that?"
"I will go to police," Leung shouted. "I will tell them everything!"
Zhu shrugged. "And I will leave and take Min Yao with me. We will get away and you will never see her again. Besides, unless you can tell them who they're dealing with, the police will simply think you're mad."
"I demand to know who you are," Leung growled, locking eyes with Zhu.
Zhu stared deeply into Leung's eyes, into Leung's head, his brain… his soul. Leung was lost. He couldn't remember his name. He couldn't remember if he'd even had an identity. And he couldn't remember what the argument was about. And he couldn't remember having an argument. All he could remember were Zhu's words in reply to his demand, and that he must abide by them. "I am the Master," Zhu had replied. "And you will obey me."
For the first time in recorded history, the Capitol was in darkness. The walkway lights had flickered for the past couple of hours and then finally given out about twenty minutes ago; the heliosynthetic units in main areas like the Panopticon and the chambers of the High Council had also failed not very long ago; even the lights on computer terminals and communications screens seemed to be on flat batteries. Figures moved in the dark carrying small hand-lights powered by emergency cells that had been charged with stasar fire. It wasn't exactly a stable method, but in the absence of a precedent for this set of circumstances the unsafe option stood to be the only option. The heating units were down too, and the cold was getting in from the wastelands outside. And the transduction barriers were down. Gallifrey was, at this point, prey to any Sontaran War Wheel or Dalek Killcruiser that might just happen to be passing. As he chewed over that thought, Castellan Spandrell wondered if any of those other races capable of sloppy Time travel might actually be in a position to pass by – or indeed if they might be crippled themselves by exactly the same effect that was practically dismantling Gallifrey. Scans had been taken of the vortex up until blackout, and places like the Hectomatriarchy of the Monan Host, the Sontaran System, Skaro and all of the other Time travelling planets didn't seem to be responsible for the problem. To everyone's surprise and horror, the problem seemed to originate from some obscure Level Five world in the Mutters Spiral. That meant yet another newborn civilisation of vortex-wanderers that the Celestial Intervention Agency would be off to poke their noses into. The CIA always insisted on knowing how their counterparts were doing in order to make sure that Gallifrey was always doing better. Spandrell felt sure that it would one day be the death of them – and everybody else on this world. Someone edged past him, accidentally flashing a light in his face. He winced and the owner apologised. "Oh, I'm sorry Castellan," the guard said. "I'm just on my way to make a report to the Council."
Spandrell shook his head and sighed. "Oh, that's all right, Mr…"
"Hildred, sir," the guard said. "Guard-Lieutenant Hildred."
"Thank you, Hildred," Spandrell said. "I suggest you attend to your duties."
Hildred turned and vanished into the shadows from which he came. Spandrell watched him go, sure that the clumsy boy would come to a sticky end one day if he wasn't careful.
"Earth?" Co-ordinator Vansell repeated the name he had been given with poorly covered stupefaction. "That silly little planet on the other side of the Goloan Cluster? Are you sure?"
Lieutenant Hildred handed him the last file the scans had managed to get printed before the systems had failed. "It's all here, Co-ordinator. The last scan we took led us straight back to the Sol System. There's a massive temporal fracture absorbing every bit of energy we have. It's probably affected the other Time travelling races too."
The Co-ordinator bit his hip. "Hence why the Daleks haven't taken any pot shots at us. They must know we're down, but they're probably in the same situation as we are." He looked at the tall silhouette of the President. "My Lord, I do feel we should act."
The President shook his head slowly, barely visible in the gloom. "You know the situation, Vansell," he tutted. "Even the Celestial Intervention Agency is not above the law. We cannot be seen to act."
"Perhaps not," Vansell replied. "But what if we could act indirectly, in such a way that no one could point fingers at us if anything went wrong?"
"And how would you achieve that?"
"Renegades, my Lord."
"Renegades?"
Vansell nodded enthusiastically. "There are a number of former Time Lords, people who have become disillusioned with our way of life. They deregistered TT capsules and stole them, taking them off into other times and places. As such, they deny having anything to do with us."
"And if we enlist their help," the President concluded, "we can just as easily deny having anything to do with them."
"Precisely, my Lord," Vansell agreed.
The President was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. "Very well," he said finally. "Contact them. I'll leave it in your hands, but remember that I do know who is responsible if this doesn't work."
Vansell turned and rushed from the room, dragging Hildred with him.
DRESDEN, Germany 2014Mortimus sat glumly in his cell, the football around which he had materialised his TARDIS lying at his feet, bloated, dented and deflated, and his chin in his hands. His expression was more one brought about by the tedium of a long wait than the misery of the solitude and the prospect of longer-term imprisonment. He knew very well he'd be getting out soon, but he just couldn't stand waiting. The police had charged into the pit and accosted him the moment he'd stepped out of his ship, probably pissed off by that remark about the World Cup. Some people, Mortimus decided, just couldn't get over their petty obsessions. Merely for the sake of a little respite from staring at the dreary walls of the cell, he picked up the cup of tepid tea that he had been given a couple of minutes ago and finished it, grimacing at its coldness and lack of taste as it went down. He softly kicked the battered ball into the corner of the cell and leaned back on the little bed-bench while he waited. He was just dozing, half in and half out of sleep when the loud clack of the cell hatch being opened shook him into full consciousness. The looked up hopefully as the door swung open, but his face fell as a uniformed soldier walked in. The army had probably declared him an alien threat or something and come to cart him off somewhere. That would well and truly balls things up, he thought, if Valentine finally did get here after he had gone. "Well," he demanded of the military sergeant. "What do you want?"
Feldwebel Schneider offered his hand. "We would like to apologise on behalf of the police and our government, Ambassador," he said fawningly. "Your secretary has explained everything. We had no idea that the Church had such resources to invest in technology, and all for the benefit of society too. We are impressed."
Coming into his element, Mortimus stood up and shook the sergeant's hand. "Well, thank you very much, Feldwebel," he said enthusiastically. "You know, all the self-denial in my order means we save huge amounts of money, which can then be put into the furthering of Man's achievements." He decided not to embellish further, because Valentine had obviously told this man a story already and he didn't want any confliction between the versions of events. As it was, he was already playing by ear.
Schneider nodded. "Indeed. Now perhaps you will allow me to show you out?"
Mortimus grinned in agreement and followed Schneider out of the cell and into the corridor. He was let up to the reception area of the police station, where a huge man in dark clothes waited for him. Mortimus was pleased to see Valentine again, but not pleased that he wasn't alone this time. Standing beside the dark man was a young woman, small and slight with a heart-shaped face, soft features and straight red hair tied in a ponytail. Her eyes were ice blue and she wasn't a bad looking bit, but she still shouldn't have been there. In Mortimus's experience, women got in the way of everything. The dark man strode up to Mortimus and smiled warmly. "Brother Ambassador," he said in a welcoming voice. "We're so glad you are well. You shouldn't have offered to test the machine for the laboratories. You might have been killed."
"Oh, you know me," Mortimus shrugged with a chuckle. "Anything for the good of humanity!"
"How noble," the man smiled. "And by the way, allow me to introduce the new liaison between the research and development department and the Order, Miss Chloe Knight." And he indicated the bit of stuff with the copper top.
Mortimus waddled over to her and took her hand. "How nice to meet you my dear," he beamed, kissing her knuckles and squeezing her fingers gleefully.
Chloe suddenly felt that this weird little monk was undressing her with his eyes, and by then she had already guessed that he was about as much a man of the cloth as the obviously mercenary Valentine was. She gently pulled her hand away. "It's a pleasure, Brother Ambassador," she smiled, adding under her breath, "but if you try anything, you little pervert, I'll poke your eyes out."
Mortimus's face went ashen and he backed discreetly away a step, turning to look once again at Valentine. "Well, we'd better get on. What's our next port of call?"
"Well, we've had the machine collected and brought here," Valentine said, "so we'll take her back now."
Mortimus nodded. "Right, let's get going, shall we?" And the three of them left the police station.
Feldwebel Schneider watched them go and turned to a constable on the reception desk. "These Monks," he said, "they are strange people."
The constable shrugged. "Not just the Monks, Feldwebel," he smiled. "All of the English are crazy."
They were barely a hundred yards from the police station when the shouting started, and Valentine was chiding himself for having not expected it to happen. Anyone who knew Mortimus should also know that to bring a pretty young girl before his lusty eyes was a very, very bad idea. And of course, acting as the victim as usual, it was Mortimus who shouted the loudest. "Don't talk to me like that, you cheeky young bint!" he was yelling into Chloe's face. "I've half a mind to put you across my knee!"
"You try it and you'll have half a scrotum as well, you dirty old bastard!" Chloe replied.
Valentine rounded on both of them. "Now that is enough!" he snapped. "The pair of you are behaving like children. Now we have a job to do and we're not going to achieve it by bickering, now are we?"
Mortimus folded his arms petulantly and snorted into the air. "Well, she started it," he grunted.
"He was trying to get in my knickers!" Chloe protested.
"Ha!" Mortimus retorted. "I'd need a bloody acetylene torch to get them off, you frigid little…"
Valentine grabbed them both by a shoulder. "Again," he growled, "I command the both of you, desist!" he growled and they both fell silent. Then, more quietly and calmly, he addressed Mortimus. "Mortimus, Chloe is not attracted to you and she is not frigid either. She happens to be sleeping with me."
Mortimus went white, realising his error, and turned to smile sheepishly at Valentine. "Oh, I am sorry. I didn't realise she was…"
"Never mind that," Valentine cut him off before he could further offend the girl and looked at her. "I'm sorry I let that out, Chloe, but he won't touch you now he knows."
Chloe gave an awkward smile. "Better of two evils, I suppose."
"Agreed," Valentine nodded as the three of them reached the large boulder of Mortimus's TARDIS. "Now there will be no more squabbling. We have a mission to complete and we're dealing with that at grade-one priority level. Everything else can wait, are we clear?"
"Crystal," Chloe said.
Mortimus sighed and produced his key. "So where are we really expected to be going, then?"
"London," Valentine replied. "We've got another pickup before we make for Norway."
"Anyone important?" Mortimus mused as he slipped his key into the hidden lock, causing a crack to appear down the middle of the boulder.
As he watched the rock split open to allow them inside, Valentine grinned. "Very important, Mortimus," he answered. "Cardinally, in fact."
HELSINKI, Scandinavia Major AD5029"So what exactly is the Promise?" the Doctor asked, gratefully accepting a cup of tea from Eleanor Kirland as they sat together in the Watch room of Faith One. On arrival at the actual base, the Doctor had been forced to admit that the rebel operation was impressive and obviously based on some great determination. The people in the base were really challenging all odds in the fight for their freedom, sparing no expense and fearing no sacrifice for that cause. There was something akin to rock music playing everywhere and the singer sounded Scandinavian, and so the Doctor had come to the conclusion that most of the people in this Finnish-based rebel organisation were Scandinavian nationals or the period equivalent. But there were a lot of other people here too. Michinov was Russian – of that there was no doubt, Kirland was Irish by the sound of her accent, and that other chap was German. There were also some Scots and English, a number of Australians, some Americans, French, Italians, Indians, Japanese… everybody really. It looked as though this Alliance-of-whatever was oppressing the entire world, and so the entire world had got sick of it and banded together to fight back. And in doing so they had seemed to abandon all of their differences. People of every nationality, race, religion, age, gender and personal taste worked side by side to fight this troublesome dictatorship that everyone here so hated. It was nice to see humans being so kind to each other, he thought, but sad that it had to come to this for that to happen.
Kirland sipped her own drink. "It's a sort of a prophecy," she explained. "Only one based on far more than pure faith. Not really anything religious about it at all."
"But I'm in it," said the Doctor. "And since I've been here I've been viewed as some sort of Messiah."
"That's because the Promise says you'll save us, Doctor," Kirland said. "You'll save us all."
The Doctor was bemused. "Really? And exactly who was the prophet who foresaw all this?"
"Aleks," Kirland replied. "He's seen into Time."
"Seen into Time?" the Doctor echoed the expression in a whisper, his brow furrowing in concern. "And exactly what does that expression mean?"
"You know about the Zygma Beam tap we developed and the way we used brain scanning technology and special implants to link it directly to Aleks's brain so that we had an intelligence to control the use of it?" Kirland explained.
The Doctor nodded. "I know how stupidly dangerous it is."
Kirland looked sadly at him. "It's all we have, Doctor. It may mean the destruction of the human race, but we'd rather that than stay in the grip of the Alliance."
"I'm sorry," sighed the Doctor. He genuinely was. "Go on."
"When we first linked the tap to the cerebrum there was an accidental discharge of energy that fed right back into Aleks's brain. He was in a coma for four days and then he woke up filled with wisdom. More, he said he had seen into Time and he knew the future. He predicted things and they happened."
The Doctor's eyes widened in horror. "What things?" he asked urgently.
"He told us that the Minister of Justice Magnus Greel would destroy Brisbane," Kirland answered. "And as you know, Brisbane was sterilised of all life this afternoon, just about sixteen-twenty. He warned us about the destruction of the Americas less than three hours before the entire continent was as good as wiped clean. He also predicted some of the rebel triumphs, like the fall of Chad and the reclamation of Siberia. Chad was a huge Alliance processing centre filled with people being tortured and abused before we liberated them, and Siberia, once one of their defence installations, is now a bastion of our army."
"Oh my word!" the Doctor exclaimed, mortified. He stood up quickly, tossing his still half-full cup aside. "But don't you see what's happened?" He looked down at Kirland, who appeared nonplussed. "Aleks's brain has been exposed to the forces in the space-time vortex. It's accelerated his brain about forty years, hence his old-man-like wisdom and his flash premonitions. His brain has actually had contact with particles of future Time, converted and stabilised by the Zygma Beam."
Kirland stood up. "Exactly, and he saw you, Doctor. He saw you come in the rain and flood. He saw you tear down the Alliance and defeat the Administrator Marshal, leaving him powerless so that Aleks himself could destroy him. And he saw that vile, diabolical creature Greel vanish, screaming, in a ball of fire. He saw you save us all!"
"But his prediction must be wrong," the Doctor shouted back.
"Why," Kirland begged, her eyes moist.
"Because I can't do it," the Doctor replied. "I can't interfere with the Zygma Experiment. The saving of one race could cause the collapse of the entire universe if it's done this way. The price is too high."
"I am so, so sorry to hear that, Doctor," a soft male voice croaked from behind the Doctor, who turned to face Aleks. Aleks's face was tear-stained and his eyes looked hollowly into the Doctor's. "Because I really didn't want to have to do this."
The Doctor looked down at the blaster in Aleks's hand. "Don't be a fool!" he exclaimed. "You could end up destroying everything!"
Aleks shook his head. "No. I have seen better and seen you a part of it. Whether you were or were not willing I did not see, but I wished that you would choose to be our saviour. But even with that wish unfulfilled, our saviour you shall be."
"Whether I like it or not?" the Doctor snapped. "I cannot condemn every species in creation to destruction, Aleksander!"
"Have faith, Doctor," Aleks said. "With faith in yourself you can succeed. Please don't make me do this. Join us."
"I can't," the Doctor said solemnly, shaking his head.
"The please," Aleks wept, "I beg you Doctor, forgive me."
And he squeezed the trigger.
TO BE CONTINUED…