Doctor Who

POLARITY

By R A Henderson

Episode II

Kevin Farrant was miserable.

He squatted on his mat next to a cup of coffee that he'd already allowed to go tepid and was contemplating allowing to go cold, his chin resting in his hands and his hood off, but a woolly hat pulled down protectively over his ears. It wasn't just frostbite he was worried about getting to them; he really didn't want to hear this. "You bunch of mutinous bastards," he exclaimed bitterly. "What have I ever done to you lot, eh? I got us this gig, persuaded the United Nations and the Finnish military to let us have first crack at it, and now you want to run me out and one of you lot take over? Y'am a set of bastards, the lot of you."

"It isn't like that," Chris Styles said calmly, struggling to dress the wound in Kevin's pride. "You know it's not. We've all agreed with you from the beginning, that blowing everything up is more about pyrotechnical macho willy-waving than archaeology and history, but this is a weird situation, and even though you got us first crack at it we're still in the pockets of the UN and the Finns, because this is their call and not ours."

"You treat me like I've got no right to protest, Chris," Kevin moaned.

Chris was about ready to lose his temper, and he'd done a really good job of keeping it so far. He took a deep breath and tried one more time. "No one said you didn't have the right to protest, Kev. But we're between a rock and a hard place, and you know that as well as any of us. Obsessing about history isn't going to get this job done. All right, it's why we came here, to find out about the civilisation that built the ziggurat, but I've just got the feeling that this business is bigger and nastier than we should really be having anything to do with."

"So you think we should just pull out?" Kevin inferred. "Forget the dosh and go home?"

"No, course not mate," Chris sighed with a shake of his head. "I'm saying we should just for once ignore the fact that we're archaeologists, help these army people find out as much as they can about the pyramid, collect our money and then go home."

"But we are archaeologists," Kevin reminded him. "If we weren't, we wouldn't be here."

Chris crouched beside Kevin. "Look, this whole situation is upsetting you to the point that your depression could put you at risk, and if a member of the team is at risk, then the whole team is at risk. We just want you to stand down until you feel better."

"And you think sitting here on my arse while you lot go off and learn about the oldest building that's ever been built anywhere in the world is going to make me better, do you?" Kevin demanded.

"You can still have your share of the money," Chris reassured him, hoping that it would help.

It didn't. "Ah, stuff your money," Kevin snapped, getting up and marching off across the snow. "Go on, draw straws to decide who takes over from me, and I'll just go and sit somewhere out of the way like the good little dog I am, and bollocks to the lot of you!"

Chris didn't bother to follow him. He knew it would do no good. Better to let him cool off (if that were the correct term in such a cold place) and the chances were that by the time he'd made it back to camp the rest of the team would be at the drill site. The others, who had been sitting in silence, cooperating with Chris's request that they stay out of it unless he asked them to back him up, were starting to chat amongst themselves about events. After a while, Hannah got off her mat and sat down on the one recently vacated by Kevin, next to Chris. "The rest of the team have suggested that you take over as team leader," she told him.

"Oh Jesus," Chris groaned. "That makes me feel even worse. How's that going to look? When Kevin gets back and finds out I'm team leader he'll think I staged a coup just to oust him so that I could take all the glory. I'm not going to be leader."

Hannah frowned. "Well someone's got to be."

"You do it then," snapped Chris. "I don't even know why I'm still doing any of this. I don't even know why I'm still at the North bloody Pole when I could be at home having steak and chips for dinner and watching London's Burning on the telly, with a view to getting the wife's knickers off later on in the evening."

"You think I should be leader?" asked Hannah.

"I don't care who does it," Chris grunted. "As long as it's not me."

Hannah stood up. "What about the rest of you?" she asked. "Any nominations?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Right then," Hannah nodded. "I suppose it'll have to be me." She walked back over to the heating unit, checking her watch as she moved. "Right, the breakthrough is expected in less than two hours and we've got to be ready to get down to the ziggurat," she announced. "Has everybody got their rations and equipment packs?"

Everyone murmured their confirmation.

Chris stood up and joined her. "I'm sorry, Hannah," he sighed. "I was harsh. Shall we do this together?"

"Joint leader?" Hannah smiled. "Suits me."

Chris smiled back. "Right everyone, pack up your tents and have your last refreshments within the next hour, and then we'll dismantle the heating unit before we move to the drill site. I want everyone ready to go by..."

"Twenty-one forty," said Hannah. "Any questions?"

Bex stood up. "Yeah," she breathed, pointing out along the crest of the ridge. "Who the bloody hell's that?"

Chris and Hannah looked up in the direction indicated by their teammate. Five black men in white coveralls were climbing over the ridge and heading down to the team. They were carrying rifles.

"It's just the investigators," said Hannah. "They must've arrived early."

"Then how come they didn't radio?" asked Bex. "They're supposed to keep in contact with us and the drillers. Besides, they're not carrying any packs or ropes. They're just trying to slide down the ravine like we do. Wouldn't soldiers be a bit better equipped?"

Chris sighed. "Bex, you're just being paranoid."

Bex didn't answer. She just crashed into the snow with a bullet hole in the centre of her forehead.

"Everybody down!" Hannah shouted, diving into the snow. The others did likewise as bullets flew over their heads. She glanced at Chris. "Why the hell are we under attack?" she demanded.

"Dunno," Chris said breathlessly. "Maybe it's the guys who took that geological team we were supposed to be searching for."

"Took?" Hannah repeated the word with some surprise. "You mean killed, I take it."

Chris shrugged. "Probably I do," he said. "Yeah."

The trek across the ice had taken quite some time and the snow was starting to fall. It was hardly a blizzard, but it was enough to get in the way. At least this was the last leg of the journey, the Doctor thought. The train had met another lorry and that had taken the UNIT group out of Rovaniemi, but there was only so far out onto the ice that powered vehicles could go before it became dangerous to have them, and large toboggans with teams of huskies had replaced the truck. They'd gone as far as their drivers would permit before turning back, and the rest of the journey had become a bracing evening walk, or rather trudge. The Doctor was still wondering what it was that the drill had come up against when he was talking to Cody, just before their conversation was cut short. He wondered perhaps if any more of the black ice had been found. That would certainly account for the sudden obstacle in the drilling, the black ice being different from the usual white, and possibly a little harder in its tensile strength.

Makkinen broke his train of thought. "We should be there soon," she announced, checking the small flip-up computer pad mounted on her wrist. It displayed a map with different coloured holograms labelling various locations. "If these coordinates are okay," she continued, "then the archaeologists' camp should be just over..."

Gunfire rang out.

"There!" the Doctor shouted and started running in the direction in which he'd just pointed. The UNIT troopers broke into a collective run and headed after him. As he neared the ridge he could hear shouting and more gunfire. Some of the people shouting sounded English, and the others... were they African? Nigerian, maybe? The Doctor was starting to worry. The language sounded extremely confrontational and the gunfire wasn't helping. He made it to the ridge and pressed himself against the ice, looking carefully over the rim, doing his best not to be seen.

In the dip below, amidst a cluster of small tents surrounding a large mobile heating unit, a small group of men and women knelt in the snow with their hands behind their heads, five other men on their feet pointing rifles at them. One of the hostages, the one carrying a large radio set on his chest, was arguing with one of the gunmen. He was trying to persuade the thugs to release their innocent victims. The gunman eventually lost his temper and shot the man. The Doctor was sure he heard a woman scream the word 'jukebox' as he crumpled. Probably a nickname.

In reaction to Jukebox's death, the UNIT troops gathered close to the Doctor on the ridge opened fire, cutting down the man who had fired that shot. The other four terrorists – or whoever they were – spread out and took cover wherever they could. The hostages started to scramble to their feet.

"Stay where you are, all of you!" the Doctor shouted. "Those of you who were taken hostage, if you try to run your captors may shoot you. Please keep perfectly still and we'll get you out of there as quickly as we can."

"Who are you?" called one of the men huddled near the heater. "Are you with the investigators?"

"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor called back to him. "And yes, I'm here with the army, Mr..."

"Styles. Chris Styles. Why didn't you radio to announce you'd arrived?"

"The drilling's encountered a problem and there's had to be radio silence in case our transceiver equipment is interfering with the drill's computerised remote controls. We were going to use short-wave radios when we got to the ravine, but we're past that stage now."

Another voice interrupted, one of the Africans. The Doctor looked into the dip but couldn't see him, and that meant none of the soldiers could see him either. "I have a clear target on the man who calls himself Styles," the African announced. "Put down your weapons and climb down into the crater unarmed. If you don't I will kill him."

"Who are you?" the Doctor demanded. "Who do you work for?"

"Not that it will mean a thing to you," said the African, "but my name is Azikiwe, and I work for whoever pays highest. Now put down all your guns and come into the dip if you want this man to live. I give you ten minutes."

Makkinen appeared at the Doctor's side. "I'm not negotiating with terrorists," she snapped, glancing over her shoulder. "You," she whispered to one of her men. "Move around the ridge, keep low but see if you can spot any of these guys. If you do, shoot on sight."

"Sir," nodded the trooper and he scurried off.

The Doctor grimaced. "They're not terrorists, Kati," he said. "They're mercenaries."

Makkinen screwed up her forehead. "What are a bunch of mercenaries doing here?" she snapped frustratedly. "What the hell do they want?"

"Obviously the same as us," said the Doctor. "They want the ziggurat."

"Well they can kiss my tight, toned behind," Makkinen snapped. "Our team was here first."

A shot rang out and several of the UNIT soldiers levelled their rifles, aiming them into the dip and watching for movement. One of the Africans ran out from behind a tent, waving his gun. A second later he collapsed with a hole through his skull into the ice, dyeing it red where he fell. "Hold your fire," the Doctor said urgently. "I won't have any more bloodshed."

"If we give ground now, you won't be able to prevent it," said Makkinen. "They'll kill those poor bastards down there. So somebody has to die, Doctor. Who's it going to be?"

The Doctor turned his back. He had to tolerate it, but he didn't have to see it.

Two of the Africans emerged with their hands behind their heads in surrender. One of the soldiers levelled his gun. "Hold your fire," Makkinen ordered. "Let them surrender. We're not murderers."

"That, at least, we can be thankful for," said the Doctor, turning back to look again at what was going on. The UNIT trooper who had gone around the edge of the crater and shot one of the mercenaries was now cautiously abseiling into the dip. Others nearer the Doctor were setting up grappling hooks, wires and harnesses and following. The Doctor watched the UNIT people secure the dip and carefully move the archaeologists back up the ridge, taking them out to safety before a last couple of soldiers finally harnessed up the remaining two mercenaries and started to take them up top. When the hostages reached the edge they were pulled over, swathed in blankets and given hot drinks from the soldiers' insulated flasks. As one of the mercenaries was hauled over the ridge, he made a show of tripping up, and when the soldier stooped to haul him to his feet, he had unclipped his harness and he whipped the line around the soldier's ankles, causing him to trip and fall in the ice. The snowfall was getting thicker now and the mercenary took advantage, vanishing behind the white curtain.

"Get after him, you idiot!" Makkinen shouted at the soldier that the bounty hunter had fooled and the trooper, without answering, turned and ran in the direction that his quarry had taken, disappearing completely in the blink of an eye. Makkinen huffed loudly. "Get the other one over here," she snapped. The trooper holding the last mercenary at gunpoint frogmarched him forward to face the Commander. "Who are you working for?" she barked at him. "What were you sent here to do?"

The African spat in her face. Makkinen retaliated with a solid kick to the groin, causing the man to fall to his knees, clutching at his nether regions and groaning in pain. She pulled back the hood of his coverall suit. "Ice," she demanded. One of her troopers started to scoop up clusters of ice and snow for her.

The Doctor took out his handkerchief and wiped Makkinen's cheek. "Do you really think torturing him is the answer?"

Makkinen shrugged. "I think it's a start." She took a handful of snow from her subordinate and smiled viciously at the mercenary. "Now, tell me a little about yourself," she said sweetly, as if she were a pleasant office administrator conducting a job interview. "Maybe you can start with your name, who you're working for, what the job is and how much you're being paid."

"Go and sit on an aubergine," the mercenary answered through gritted teeth.

"I like that one," Makkinen said. "I must remember it." She emptied the handful of snow into the hood of his coveralls, packed it down and took the next scooping, adding that in too. "Hold him," she said, and two of her troopers took an arm each, holding him firm on his knees. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me a few things?" she asked, giving him a last chance.

"Piss on you," the mercenary hissed.

Makkinen sighed. "I was so hoping we could do this the easy way." Then she smiled. "Ah, who am I kidding?"

She pulled up his hood and pulled the cord tight. Drill or no, the riggers half a kilometre away could probably hear his screams.

New data streamed from the main computer. Long-range scanner sweeps concluded and the results were delivered instantly to the ship's crew. The pilot checked the data, logged it and prepared its report for the Leader. Then it changed some of the scan settings, the frequency and coordinates, and initiated the running of the second scan. There was fresh information that would be absolutely vital to the new mission, and this had to be reported at once. "Leader," the pilot buzzed. "Our surface scans detect the presence of organic life forms within range of the coordinates, moving closer to the target area."

"Have the life forms been analysed?" the Cyber Leader asked.

"They are human, Leader," reported the pilot. "The computer has also analysed their technology. They have a surface penetration device and are drilling in the direction of the target artefact."

The Cyber Leader considered for a moment. This information changed matters somewhat. Humans of some basic technology had started drilling down to buried Mondasian technology, technology that its hereditary proprietors wanted back. It cut down the amount of available time considerably. The Leader reached a decision. Measures would have to be taken. "Prepare the emergency capsule," it ordered. "Contact the ancillary fleet and advise them of the situation. Instruct them to move in immediately."

"Yes, Leader," buzzed the pilot. "Also we are now within sufficient range to attempt a subspace power transfer from this ship to the artefact."

"What is the probability of a successful transfer?"

"Eighty-six point eight seven per cent, Leader."

"Establish a subspace link with the artefact and transfer power to its security systems," the Cyber Leader instructed. "If the artefact is self-defensible it may afford us time to reach Earth and acquire it with little or no resistance."

"Yes, Leader," the pilot confirmed. It returned to its work without another word, programming the new details into the computer and preparing to make the call to the ancillary fleet. The Cyber Leader in the meantime left the command deck and proceeded to the Emergency Capsule Launch Unit, collecting three of its comrades along the way.

A knock came at the parlour door.

"Enter," Lomax called, putting her book down again.

The door opened and Forrester walked in. "Good evening, Madam," he said courteously. "I'm afraid we have some bad news. We've received a telephone call from our man at the Pole. Mr Azikiwe has been captured and three of his men killed. The fourth is missing somewhere in the Arctic wasteland, I understand."

Lomax exhibited a most unladylike smirk. "That was to be expected," she said coolly.

"Madam?" asked Forrester, surprised to discover that this was one of Lomax's masterplans and she'd been exploiting Mr Azikiwe all along.

"The UNIT people aren't murderers," Lomax explained casually. "Occasionally assassins, but certainly not the kind of people who just execute their prisoners without so much as a trial, whatever the local laws might allow. Our UNIT contact isn't much help in himself, because there's only so much he can safely get away with without arousing suspicion. Azikiwe, on the other hand, is already the object of suspicion because of his recent condign behaviour, and therefore the UNIT people will be keeping an eye on him."

Forrester was trying to think the strategy out for himself. "I think I see, Madam," he nodded. "The UNIT people won't be able to spare anyone to stay on the surface and guard this man, especially with his comrade missing and at large to potentially rescue him, and so they'll have no choice but to take him down into the ziggurat with them."

"Exactly," Lomax smiled wickedly. "And with the concealed recording equipment he can keep us in the picture without anyone realising what he's up to. Schedule my helicopter for takeoff in one hour."

Forrester smiled and nodded. "Very good, Madam." And he turned to leave.

"And Forrester," Lomax called softly, stopping him. "Pack a suitcase."

"Yes, Madam," Forrester grinned. "Immediately."

The door closed behind Forrester and Lomax crossed to the sideboard. She poured herself a drink from the decanter and swallowed it in one go. She turned to the wood-panelled section of wall that ran the length of the room at the back and carefully reached between the cleavage of her ample breasts, taking out a tiny key. Finding the concealed keyhole, she clicked the key in the lock and pushed at the panels. They folded in a zigzag like dressmakers' screens, revealing a black jumpsuit, a rucksack and a utility belt in brackets, surrounded by an impressive array of guns, grenades and explosive and detonator packs. She reached for her back and unfastened the clasps of her long dress. The dress fell to the floor. Taking the rucksack from its bracket, Lomax opened it and took out a small roll of white cotton, carefully unravelling it. Her fashionable feminine underwear was pretty, but it would only get in the way in a combat situation. A quick change from her purple satin set, suspender belt and black stockings to a plain white vest and shorts made her feel more ready for the right kind of action. Sports socks replaced her stockings, the figure-hugging jumpsuit replaced her dress and tough boots replaced her stilettos. She loaded up the rucksack with grenades, bombs, a couple of spare guns and plenty of ammunition magazines, hooked a couple more guns on her belt and tied her reddish brown hair up and put a clip in to hold it. Satisfied that she was ready to go, Lomax returned to the table beside her chair and pressed one of the buttons on the intercom panel. They weren't all for the communications system. She heard the other wooden wall panel roll back slowly and she turned rapidly, snatching a pistol from her holster as she moved. When she stopped, she fired a single round, exploding the dummy's head magnificently. "Still got it," she smiled to herself.

"Well, I've seen some spectacles in my time," the Doctor said slowly. "But that would take quite some beating, even by my standards." He continued to admire his new surroundings as he was lowered down on the safety line into the open end of the borehole. On the way down through the circular tunnel created by the drill there had been no sign of black ice, and so the reason why the drill had fouled up near the end was still a mystery, and one that needed investigating now it was clear that there was no geological reason for it. He was thankful that Makkinen had agreed to his proposal of being the first to make the descent, but Kati was a reasonable woman and she wasn't incapable of listening to a sensible argument. She'd accepted that the Doctor had more experience of unusual phenomena than she or anyone on her team had and therefore he'd be more likely to be able to handle the situation if anything cropped up. However, she still had one area of her mind that was locked in insular military mode, and therefore there was a rifle strapped to the Doctor's back and a handgun in his pocket, neither of which he had any intention of using. He continued to report into the radio set they'd managed to strap to his chest. "I'm in a cavern constructed entirely of ice, and I do mean constructed. The curvature of the ceiling forms a perfect dome. There are the usual icicles, but they've formed long after this section of ice was hollowed out."

Makkinen's voice buzzed through the radio. "Can you see the ziggurat, Doctor?"

"At the centre of the nave there is a massive pillar of ice, like a frozen waterfall," the Doctor continued. "It's beautiful. It looks like an enormous tree trunk carved out of ice and it's lighting the entire area. It's quite bright in here and I don't need my torch to see. The column must lead right up to the surface and refract the light of the sun and moon as they pass by the Pole. It's gloomy enough to indicate that the only current light source for it to refract is the aurora borealis, but you'll be able to see clearly enough when you get down here."

"The ziggurat, Doctor," Makkinen insisted.

"It's magnificent," the Doctor announced. "Seated directly in front of that column on top of a raised circular platform of ice, like a giant frozen dining table. It's black and has five storeys, and I'd say it was formed completely of black ice."

"Black ice?" Makkinen repeated. "Like the specimen the geologists found?"

"Probably," the Doctor confirmed. "I'm going to try something. Hang on a minute." He pulled the handgun from his pocket and aimed it at the apex of the ziggurat. The bullet ricocheted off the gleaming black surface with a resonant ping. "Not so much as a scratch," the Doctor announced to Makkinen. "And if that were any ordinary ice I'd have at least made a small hole, if not blown a chunk out of the wall."

Makkinen audibly gasped. "That's incredible." She quickly composed herself. "Is there any way to reach the ziggurat from the floor, Doctor? You said it was on a dais of some kind."

"There are metal steps," the Doctor nodded.

"Metal?" Makkinen exclaimed. "Are you certain?"

"One hundred per cent," the Doctor confirmed. "And it's a manufactured polymer too. Not just iron or any other natural substance. But I wouldn't be too surprised. This ziggurat is definitely evidence of advanced technology. The sheer mathematics of its construction would be enough to take up an entire rainforest's worth of exercise books."

"Who the hell made this thing, Doctor?"

"It's still too early to be certain, Kati."

"I'm coming down."

"All right. I'm nearly on the floor anyway. I'll make for the steps." The Doctor swung a little in the direction of the steps, took a deep breath and disconnected the safety line from his harness. He let go of the line and landed in a soft pile of snow about two hundred feet from the steps. The blue light of the cavern cast eerie shadows over the virgin snow of the floor. The Doctor heard a scrape from above, the sound of the safety line being taken up to be attached to Kati. She'd be down in ten minutes, then. The Doctor looked at the metal steps. They were millions of years old, tens of millions of years old, but they looked as sturdy and solid as they must have done when they were newly erected. They even gleamed, showing no signs of the rust or fatigue that any Earthly metal should have suffered in such a damp place. Cautiously the Doctor placed his foot on the first step and stamped down hard. The clang echoed around the cavern, but nothing else happened. He risked hopping up onto the step, and the staircase did not shake. It didn't even quiver or creak under the first weight that had been applied to it in millennia. Shrugging, the Doctor looked ahead. About two hundred steps, he estimated, and he started to climb.

Kevin was lost.

It had been a good hour since he'd decided that he'd overreacted and been awkward and unreasonable and made up his mind that he would go back and apologise to Chris and the others, offer to stand down as team leader on the condition that he could still at least participate under the guidance of whoever took over. But by now the snowfall had thickened and he'd walked quite a distance in the snow and couldn't see. It was so cold and he could feel the soreness around his eyes, and he was starting to feel scared. What if the snow didn't stop for hours? He might die of malnutrition and hypothermia and be buried here, and his body might never be found. Anything could happen out here. Whatever happened to those geologists could happen to him. It was upsetting him and slowly mixing in with his other upsets, threatening to turn slowly into all-consuming madness.

Someone ran past. It was all a sudden blur and Kevin couldn't be sure, but it looked like a black bloke in a snowsuit. There was no one black on the team. Maybe this was one of the investigators, asked to look for Kevin in the snow. "Oi, mate!" he called. "Oi, I'm over here! Oi!"

The black bloke vanished as quickly as he'd appeared, but then suddenly another man appeared, colliding with Kevin and collapsing with him into the snow. The pair flailed wildly and eventually Kevin found himself on his back, a fist whooshing down to his face. He blacked out.

When he came round he could smell strong coffee and someone helped him to sit up. He was dazed and confused, uncertain as to why he'd been jumped, who had done it and what the hell in general was going on.

"I'm sorry about that," a voice said. He sounded Scandinavian. Probably one of those soldiers off the investigation team from Finland. "I thought you were somebody else. Here." He offered a tin mug off steaming coffee.

Kevin took it gratefully. "The black bloke," Kevin said. "That's who you were after. He ran right past me and then you turned up and thought it was me. Snow blind. Anybody could've messed that one up mate." He sipped at the coffee.

"I'm Marko Aaltonen," the soldier said. "I'm on the investigation team. Are you one of the archaeologists?"

"Kevin Farrant," said Kevin. "Yeah. I was team leader."

"You were? You're not now?"

"There was a sort of mutiny. They all decided I was too screwed up in the head to be in charge of the dig."

"Unlucky, my friend," Marko sighed.

"You make a good cup of coffee there, mate," Kevin smiled. "Do you know the way back to our camp?"

"I have tracking equipment," Marko nodded. "We can start moving as soon as you've finished that if you want. We'll be passing the camp, though, heading straight for the drill site. The borehole's ready to go and our guys will be moving down there right now."

"I'm sorry I missed that," Kevin said with a half-smile. "It'll be great to see the ziggurat though."

Marko drank his own coffee. "Should be pretty interesting, yeah."

Kevin glanced warily over his shoulder and then looked back at Marko. "Did you hear something, Marko?" he asked quietly.

"Apart from the wind and you," Marko shrugged. "I don't think so. Did you?"

"I'm sure I heard something crunch the snow," said Kevin. "Like treading in it or something. I dunno. Maybe it's that black fella come back."

Marko got to his feet and pulled the rifle from over his shoulder. "I'll go check it out."

"Not on your own, you don't," Kevin spluttered, putting down his cup and scrambling to a standing position. "If anything happens to you and I can't find your body and get your tracking gear I'll be right back where I started before you turned up."

Marko laughed. "Your concern is touching, my friend. Come on."

The two of them crept in the direction from which Kevin had been sure he had heard the crunching sound. It wasn't long before the sound came again, and this time they both heard it. Carefully they closed in on the source. It sounded again, and then again. It was repeating quite frequently, sounding less and less like a footstep each time. Marko spotted a tall, dark shape looming out of the snowstorm. "Freeze!" he shouted, and then checked himself. "I mean, stand still. I am armed and combat-trained. If you move, I'll be forced to open fire."

The shape kept perfectly still. Kevin and Marko advanced and after a few minutes found themselves facing a pillar of ice. It was about eight feet tall and three feet in diameter, a perfect cylinder, smooth and misted and glistening. Kevin stared at it for a moment and then crouched down, carefully running his fingers around the pillar's base. "There's a gap here," he said in amazement as he probed. "This thing's risen up out of the ground."

"I can see that," said Marko, pointing to the top of the cylinder. It was piled high with snow from the ground that it had forced up. "And that explains the sounds we heard."

"But what the bloody hell explains a pillar of ice rising up out the ground?" Kevin asked, flabbergasted. "What's it even for?"

With an ear-splitting snap, a massive crack shot down the centre of the pillar.

"I think we're about to find out," Marko breathed, backing away. "Get away from it, Kevin!"

Kevin darted away to join his friend as three more cracks appeared. "There's something in it," he gasped, shaking.

The pillar shattered.

"Vitun helve," Marko whispered. "What in the name of Almighty God is that?"

The thing was enormous, a massive bulk with arms and legs almost like a man, but only almost. Instead of a face it had some kind of cloth mask like an old World War One gasmask, except with a sort of silver-lipped mouth instead of a filter nozzle. There was a kind of lamp on top of its head held in place with pipes that terminated around the ear area of the head. There were metal plates on its shoulders and gleaming clamps on its elbow, wrist, knee and ankle joints. The entire body from its neck to the metallic boots it was wearing was covered with some sort of plastic suit, except for the hands, which were recognisably human, and it carried on its chest some sort of huge mechanical apparatus. For a moment it seemed disorientated, as if snow blind, but suddenly it seemed to register the two men and started to approach them.

"I don't care a kipper's dick what it is, Marko," Kevin stammered. "Shoot it!"

Marko shot it. He shot it about eight times.

It just kept coming.

Everyone gathered outside the ziggurat. It was certainly an impressive piece of architecture, gigantic and black, its apex towering a good five hundred feet above where they stood in front of a broad, dark square depression that indicated a doorway but showed no indication of yielding one. Everyone was chattering excitedly about the discovery, UNIT troops mucking in with the archaeologists and the drill riggers. A guard held the handcuffed Chimela Azikiwe in check, the mercenary hanging his head so as not to show the face now disfigured by severe frostbite. He'd told Makkinen his name and lied about his employer, knowing that even now Miss Lomax would be on her way with a crack team of ex-special service mercs and would rescue him in return for the information he'd gathered. He'd admitted that his intention was to lay claim to the ziggurat for her and just shrugged off Makkinen's mocking about achieving that with just five men. He'd managed to keep secret the fact that his five were just the scouting party sent to secure the archaeologists' camp and get the files containing information about the dig for Lomax and her squad. He'd also managed to keep quiet about the pinhole camera and microphone system in the collar buttons of his snowsuit and the fact that he was still gathering information for Lomax by way of them.

The Doctor was inside the central alcove, examining the opaque featureless black space where there should really have been a door. He was banging on it with a toffee hammer, moving the hammer from place to place and muttering to himself. Makkinen joined him. "Are you getting anywhere?" she asked impatiently.

"Possibly," the Doctor murmured. He banged again. "Ah!" he exclaimed and shoved the hammer back into his pocket, producing from the same place his sonic screwdriver. "I'd stand back if I were you," he warned Makkinen. "This could be dangerous."

"What about you?" asked Makkinen.

The Doctor grimaced. "My arms are only this long. I can't get any further away." He froze for a second, raising an eyebrow. "Déjà vu," he muttered, and pressed the head of the sonic screwdriver to the wall in front of him and activated it. The entire wall section slowly receded into the floor, revealing an entrance. "Voila!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Everybody down!"

Everyone hastily dived to the floor as a swirling cloud of energy rippled out from the entrance, crackling violently as it expanded. One of the riggers wasn't quick enough, and the pinkish cloud touched him. He disintegrated to a skeleton, which became a cloud of ash as it crashed onto the ice platform. Having done its work, the cloud drifted on into the cavern, expanding and thinning until it finally dispersed.

Makkinen scrambled to her feet. "Typical of a pyramid to be booby-trapped," she grunted. "It's like I'm in one of those goddamn Indiana Jones movies." She glowered at the Doctor. "Any more surprises?"

"Oh, I've no idea," said the Doctor. "Shall we see?" And he marched through the entrance.

Makkinen beckoned to the others, who were still getting to their feet, as she followed him. The riggers and soldiers filed in behind her and the archaeologists slipped through last. The entrance led straight into a large hall with a vaulted ceiling. The interior, unlike the exterior, wasn't made of black ice. Instead the walls were metal and the floor was stone. The room was square and in each corner there was a small recess that held a dark rectangular doorway. In the centre of the room there was a large circular mosaic, around the circumference of which were arranged twelve stone sarcophagi set at the clock points. Makkinen moved over to one of the sarcophagi, the one at the seven o'clock position, and examined it. It had a stone lid covering it. "I wonder what's in these," she pondered.

"Hey," Nielsen said, looking down at the mosaic. "Look at this. It's a mosaic of the Earth."

Makkinen stepped onto the mosaic herself and looked at it. The land masses were certainly familiar, but she spotted instantly what was wrong with it. "If that's the Earth," she said darkly, "why are the compass points inverted?"

Nielsen looked down. "We're probably just looking at it the wrong way up."

Makkinen shook her head, producing a compass from her belt and checking it. "No," she said, showing the compass to Nielsen. "The needle points north. North is that way." She pointed northwards and then pointed to the mosaic. "And that, in alignment with the north, is the Southern Hemisphere."

The Doctor overheard. "What?" he snapped, darting to the mosaic.

Nielsen laughed. "Maybe the artist had a little much to drink, did the picture upside-down."

"We've got to get out of here," the Doctor said urgently.

"What's the matter?" asked Makkinen.

The Doctor pointed at the mosaic. "That's not Earth. It's Mondas."

Makkinen felt her blood run cold. "I've heard that word before," she said in a chilly tone. "It came up in my research into the circumstances surrounding my father's death."

The Doctor nodded. "And I should have realised what this ziggurat was all along," he replied, seeming deep in despair. "I'm so sorry Kati."

A rumbling sound echoed around the chamber.

"Everybody out!" Makkinen screamed.

People ran to the door. It wasn't there anymore.

The Doctor darted over to the place where the door had been and produced his sonic screwdriver, pressing it to the wall.

"What about the booby trap?" a woman from the archaeological team asked. "That killer cloud? Will it fire if the door's opened from the inside?"

"I don't know," the Doctor groaned. "But I can't take the risk. I'll have to find the source and shut it down before I open the door." He darted frantically across the room to the far wall, drawing his toffee hammer.

Makkinen interrupted him. "Doctor," she said in a worried tone. "The sarcophagi are opening."

The Doctor whirled round. "Get away from them!" he shouted. "Everyone stand clear!"

"But this is what we came here to see," said Chris Styles, rushing to the side of one of the large stone objects. "Hannah, look!"

The woman who had just advised the Doctor about the booby trap ran to the side of another sarcophagus as the stone lid rolled back to reveal its contents. She looked up at Chris. "What are they?"

"Get away from them!" the Doctor growled.

It was too late. From both sarcophagi there sprang an array of metal spines with sharp ends and knuckle joints like spiders' legs or spindly mechanical fingers. They wrapped around the bodies of Chris and Hannah and whipped them quickly into the sarcophagi. Soldiers rushed to their aid, but they weren't quick enough. The lids ground to a close and the two full coffins sank into the floor, metal shutters closing over the apertures into which they vanished.

Makkinen looked to the Doctor. "What just happened to them? Another booby trap?"

"Worse," said the Doctor. "They've been taken for processing."

"Processing?" said Nielsen. "What the hell kind of processing?"

"The worst kind of processing you can possibly imagine," said the Doctor, "isn't nearly as bad as what's going to happen to those two. Now stay away from those things."

The remaining ten sarcophagi were still open, lying in wait for someone to come close enough to activate them. People started to congregate by the walls.

Another rumbling sound filled the room. A couple of people fell over.

"The walls are moving!" Cody Prince shouted. "They're closing in!"

The Doctor stared at the walls in horror. They were definitely moving. They were pushing the people in the room closer to the centre, closer to the yawning sarcophagi. "Two down," he whispered. "Ten to go."

To be continued...