This chapter is short, but revelatory. If I didn't end it here, it would go on for another 7,000 words! ;-)
Chapter 6
Once again, he came down on the moving ramp and saw her sitting on a bench near the lobby door. She had chosen to stay here, rather than return to the vapour room with him. This time, he did not hurry down the ramp.
"Well?" she asked, looking up at him as he approached.
He resumed his place beside her on the bench. He leaned back against it and rested his elbows on the back, stretching out his legs. He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, contemplating.
"Doctor?"
"I went up there to research the painting."
"I figured."
"The only information that was contained in the vapour was the fact that the painting's existence here was documented two-hundred-ninety-eight years ago. No one really knows what happened to it after that."
"Okay. So, does that change the game for me, like you said?"
"I'm afraid it does. Because here's what I learned when I was in the vapour room the first time: the planet Azu began to flood with magma two-hundred-ninety-eight years ago as well. Within an hour, it became clear that within another hour, all solid ground would have essentially melted or become part of the liquid inferno. So, all the inhabitants who were able, they hopped onto space buses and got the hell out of there."
"Can't fault them for that."
"Nope. But it was a they-left-with-only-the-clothes-on-their-back sort of situation. They were instructed specifically not to bring anything with them, in order to save space on the buses. They barely escaped with their lives. Then they all came here, and the Guferians were nice enough to take them in, provide them with shelter, food, and any necessary personal effects that had been left behind. And there is absolutely no indication that any refugee from Azu disobeyed that order for any reason. They were thoroughly searched as they boarded the space buses. Even the royal family came on-board with nothing in their hands."
Martha turned her entire body to look at him. She stared for a few moments, and he stared back. "So, if they brought nothing with them, not even things they held very, very dear..."
"Yep, I know what you're thinking, 'cause I'm thinking it too."
"...why would anyone risk smuggling that painting on-board? A painting that had previously been hanging in a cold, dank, grey file room?"
"They wouldn't. They didn't."
"So, what, the painting hitched a ride here, all on its own?" she asked, more loudly than either of them would have liked. Her voice reverberated in the large space around them. Fortunately, there were very few others around, and no-one seemed to notice.
"That, I do not know. It could be that the timing is just a coincidence. The painting was documented around the same time as the exodus from Azu, but maybe it had been here since before that, and no-one noticed it."
Martha smiled at him reluctantly. "You don't really believe that, do you?"
"No, I really don't," he answered.
For lack of a better idea at this stage, they decided to do some research in their own archives. The Doctor had an entire library consecrated to Time Lord texts, written in Gallifreyan, and all about the history of planets, peoples and cultures. They were interested in chronology, of course, and the library was seen as a place where time, when all else failed, could be reconciled as an intellectual pursuit, rather than a visceral one. A sequence of events and facts. Most TARDISes had had such a library, but very few Time Lords had ever used it for its intended purpose, which was to help see the big-picture. Many of them had used it for just this sort of occasion: other types of research are getting us nowhere, time to crack a book.
"The Life and Times of Oliris the Leisure Planet," Martha said, pulling a surprisingly concise book from a shelf, basically at eye-level to her. She took a few steps backwards and perched upon a table, opening the book to a random page. The Doctor took a seat in a nearby armchair, and waited for her to impart some startling information.
"Here we go," she said, after staring at the page for a minute or so. "The citizens of Oliris have a long history of siphoning resources from other planets. Short, unverified accounts from officials of victimised peoples exist - please see Appendix C. There are occasional reports in the oral history of Oliris paying fairly for the things they want and/or require, but most indicators point to thievery or other practices which are, perhaps, technically not illegal according to galactic law, but which flout the spirit of the law just the same."
"Siphoning off resources? Enough so that the Time Lords would take notice and bother to put it into a book? Blimey. How did I not know about this?"
"Well, contrary to popular belief, Doctor, you can't know everything," she shrugged. She dived back into the book. "There are indicators within the short accounts that some planets and peoples that might otherwise be called victimised may have worked in tandem with authorities on Oliris. Some of the aforementioned reports of Oliris' payment for resources may be the result of illegal transactions on the individual planets in question; planetary authorities selling off its own resources for monetary gain, with or without the knowledge of commoners."
"Like the Azuros beast," said the Doctor. "Paid for, kidnapped in the middle of the night, secret files."
"But at least files do exist," she commented. Then, she read, "How many of these transactions result from corruption (the need for personal gain) is not known - perhaps cannot be known - and it should be noted, these stories could not be considered the fault of Oliris anyhow. However, it is still possible that the funds do go toward the good of peoples, and/or may be the result of desperation on the part of the individual governments."
"Does it give examples of what kinds of resources?"
She pushed her fingertip against the page. "Let's see... water, nitrogen reserves, certain fruits, erm... oh, here, it says, The people of Oliris have an uncanny interest in other sentient beings, and their talents. Much as they might acquire (however one chooses to read this) a natural resource, they may try to acquire a talent. Full records on the extent of this voracity (if it is to be called such), of course, do not exist. Without full accounts it is difficult to take them to task."
"Yeah, tell me about it," muttered the Doctor.
Martha was silent for another couple of minutes, then her jaw dropped and she looked at the Doctor with wide eyes.
"What?" he asked.
"They are extraordinarily adept at dampening psychic waves," Martha read. "This is curious because their faults lie in the hunger for acquisition, not in any inclination toward destruction (which may indeed be the reason why their crimes have gone unchecked). Their interest in the powers of other beings may have dark implications indeed, but it is not understood why psychic talents in particular would be quelled on Oliris, when other abilities are allowed to exist unimpeded. Hm, sounds like the Time Lords were beginning to suspect what we already know."
"It does sound like it, yes," the Doctor muttered, still sitting, thoughtful, in an armchair. "And I'll tell you something else, now you mention it: in the entire showcase of tricks and trade at that carnival, I did not see one soothsayer or fortune-teller. No-one reading cards or palms or tea leaves, no crystal balls or mind-reading. "
"Yeah, even on Earth at least some of those things would appear in a carnival like that," she commented. "Although, on Earth, most of it is rubbish."
The Doctor laughed mirthlessly and stood up. "Oh, that explains so much."
"Yes, it does."
"Martha, I saw at least two or three..." he said, then stared off into space for a moment, and seemed to be tallying something on his fingers. "No, at least five... no, six different species there, that have some sort of psychic bent. And we just saw a small fraction of what's actually there! There must be hundreds of psychic species there! Of course, all of them have something else they can do that makes Oliris interested in them..."
Martha hopped down off the table, still with the book in her hand and she took a few steps forward toward him. "Oh, I see. You think..."
"I think that whoever runs that carnival is dampening psychic abilities on purpose to keep the slaves quiet. Prevent them from communicating telepathically with each other, from conspiring, or even calling out for help! Oh, because, think about it! If you were a psychic being, wouldn't you try and send out a distress call if you were in danger?"
"I am a semi-psychic being," she reminded him. "At least temporarily, and yes, I did try to send out a distress call when I was in danger."
"Mm-hm," he nodded. "So, if you were running a highly illegal slavery ring with a myriad of different sentient beings from all over the universe, some of whom have varying degrees of psychic power, wouldn't you want to dampen it with... with..."
"...some kind of invisible dome?"
"Yes!" he exclaimed.