Prologue

The Lord President did not like to be disturbed.

Of course, a leader's work never ended, and there was always something going on in some corner of his realm which required his attention.

But be that as it may, the Lord President would gladly put the Castellan's head on a pike for bustling him away from a meal with his granddaughter. On the one night he had set aside, to honour her graduation from the academy, away from the stifling ritual of family and friends. Rituals of the very culture he was meant to represent, and did so only begrudgingly. Surely the council must understand that a man must have time for rest, for fun, no matter the position he holds.

Although, with hats like that, he doubted it.

His robes floated angrily in the breeze made by his haste. The Seal sat majestically on the over-elaborate headpiece, set into the gold and deep red cloth. That silly helmet or hat or whatever it was supposed to be lay forgotten back in his chambers. He allowed the air to flow through his greying hair, rebellious even in the highest office. Already he could hear the protests of the uptight council members. But his support from the Shobogans was sure to rise.

"What is it? What do you want?" He demanded, bursting through the doors into the empty hall of the Panopticon. The lavishness of the interior stretched out around him, voice echoing eternally with those of Presidents before him. Those words would be held in the Matrix for all time.

Three of his highest advisors stood patiently in wait. They expected his crotchety mood, his anger at being called away, but they each felt they could justify it.

"Lord President, we have heard the most disturbing news." The vice-president, Koschei, reported, bowing before his friend and leader. They had known each other since childhood, and while Koschei had been somewhat reckless in those days he had learnt to curb his behaviour into a well-rounded personality. Charming, clever, loyal. And not afraid to point out the stupidity of the President's decrees.

"There's always disturbing news, lad." The Lord President responded, pulling Koschei back to his feet. There was something different about him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. "Well, what is this news? My food is getting cold and there are games to play. Arkytior has an Earth one in mind… Monopoly, I think it's called."

"I'm afraid, Lord President, that your dinner may have to wait." Mortimus added. He was still young and thin, not as assaulted by the stress that hounded the other ruling members daily. "We have news from Karn."

"Karn?" The Lord President repeated questioningly. "Those witches? I thought they were too busy guarding the Eternal Boredom."

"Well, they were roused from their isolation by horrible visions." Mortimus continued. "And there are similar reports from the Celestial Intervention Agency. Apparently the Ood-Sphere is equally panicked. And the Nivoli have been troubled lately, making more incursions to Polarfrey in protest. Even the Gelth have expressed fear."

The Lord President meandered up to the throne as he was told this. He sat down heavily, wearily. It would be a long night.

"Mortimus, it's all very well you telling me races across the cosmos are distressed. If you could tell me why they are distressed, that would be better." He said, twisting a ring on his finger. A gift from his wife, on the occasion of his first child's looming.

Mortimus faltered, before looking to the others. Ushas was similarly vacant for the answer. She, after all, was head of the Health Service. No one seemed to know why she had been called here, including herself. Magnus stood off to the side, seemingly uninterested in the news. And Morbius was not even present to give his views.

Only Koschei appeared forthcoming with the answer.

"Sir, we do not know. None of those species would tell our agents. Not a single word has been spoken by any of them." He said, standing tall where others shied. "Only the remnants of the Pythia have proven cooperative. Ohila said one of them willingly entered the Sisterhood's halls."

"Splendid." The President said dryly. "Are they still using blood magic and sacrificial traditions?"

"They're not sterilising entire species anymore." Ushas commented, somewhat bitterly.

"Nevertheless." Koschei continued. "I took the initiative, and the Pythian is being transported here as we speak."

There was uproar amongst the other council members. Several voices conveying the same ill opinions in a hectic and uncoordinated fashion. They could decide the path of a planet, but were unable to decide who spoke first. The irony of friends.

"Quiet down." The Lord President said, his calm and low volume command silencing his fellows. "I am less keen to have a Pythian lie-weaver enter this hall than any of you. But if the hag can shed any light on this evening ruining conundrum, I will happily take it. After all, as Mortimus said, my dinner is getting cold."

The doors to the Panopticon were flung open as Morbius marched grandly into the chamber, flanked by two Castellans dragging a huddled figure in chains. She looked like nothing but sticks and rags, the tattered cloth becoming all the more desperate compared to the finery of the people around her. Her bare feet slapped ungracefully against the marble floor. Those sounds too would also be archived by the Matrix. Whatever haggard face she had was masked by the long, lank hair which curtained her eyes as she stared down.

She was thrown unceremoniously at the feet of Koschei.

"The filth you ordered." Morbius spat, nudging the girl with his feet cautiously.

"Thank you, Morbius." Koschei replied almost too kindly. "Do post your men outside the chamber. We have high business going on."

Morbius narrowed his eyes, before waving the Castellans away. He stood at attention behind the Pythian, hand at his belt, itching for his sword. Koschei nodded to the President, indicating the point where he took over the role of investigator.

"Name?" The Lord President sighed, almost guilty at the state of the young woman. It was not her fault she had been born to the Pythia, but then again, any child born was despised on this world.

"No name." She sang quietly, face still to the ground.

"No name?" The President asked.

"No name." The Pythian repeated.

Looks were cast between each of the council members.

"In the hall of Rassilon, Omega and the Other; for enquiry and to be recorded forever in the Matrix as you speak, do you agree to tell us the truth of what your people have seen?" The President recited, still uninterested. Any cosmic disturbance could be handled pretty quickly.

"Dances." The Pythian whispered.

All eyes were now on her. A pin could be heard dropping in that silence.

"I beg your pardon?" The President asked, eyeing her with interest. Half-mad, but interesting.

In a sudden flurry of dirtied garments, the Pythian swept upwards, skinny body supported by skinny legs and waving her skinny arms insanely. Still no one moved, except Koschei. He stepped back in mild fear.

"He dances in the vortex!" She cried happily. "Trots through time and the universe! A true Lord!"

"Who?" Koschei asked, looking at the President's studious gaze.

"That is the question!" She replied. "The only question worth answering! The oldest question. Who dances through the vortex. The miracle man, the one to save us all."

"Shall I have her removed, sir?" Morbius asked spitefully. The wraith of a girl had no right being here.

"No, no." The President said. "Let her speak until she says nothing new."

The Pythian's eyes focused on the President now, flinging beams of madness into his own vision.

"He will save us all. That miracle man." She didn't move another muscle. "Reality is his garden as the temple is his home. When the insects and creepy crawlies try to devour the garden, and every garden besides that, he will stand tall. His life is bound to ours. And ours are bonded to his. But the crawlies, they will harrow him. They will tarnish the garden. Fight with themselves and others until time is sere, until we are sedge and that man falls."

"I see." The Lord President said after a moment of silence. "And what is this miracle man called?"

"No name!" The Pythian yelled, leaping back and down the steps. "Who is the question!"

"The question?"

The Pythian nodded manically.

"Then who is he? The miracle man." The President pressed. "'The man to save us all'. A god? A gardener? A weed killer?"

She hunched over slightly, timidly motioning him closer with a finger, as if she was frightened to approach him. Against his better nature, he stood and approached her. He leant down when she urged him closer, to whisper in his ear.

"A Doctor." She breathed.