7
"Don't carry that thing out in the open, Sark! It's silly. And it-"
"Makes me look like some sort of warmonger, I know. But I don't want to look like an easy meal, either, Bari. At least with a blitz-gun, they'll think twice before trying anything."
"A blitz-gun that belonged to your great-grandfather. Who used it to scare coolies out of his crop field."
"Says who?"
"My
great uncle on my mother's side. Remember Tarlari? Him. He helped
your great-granddad with planting. Had to take that stupid thing away
from him once too. Bet it doesn't even fire anymore"
"I hope it does. This may be a time to test it."
Barsali stared at him. Then her ears drooped. She glanced down at the mug in front of her, the look in her eyes making her mate feel like slime. Why couldn't he leave well enough alone? He'd brought them to this café with the express purpose of breaking the tension, cheering everyone up. Instead, they sat huddled together like others in the room, talking in low voices. It was as if the entire city was afraid to make too much noise, to draw attention. Cerak, a friend who had joined them when they came in, put her elongated neck around Barsali's shoulders.
"Perhaps it won't be needed." she said, quiet and soothing. "They're still in session. Still talking with the Triumvirate."
"An amazing step in itself." Thak nodded.
Sarkari looked up.
"When I went out to get the ammunition for this blitzer- don't look at me like that, Bari!- anyway, a cousin of my aunt's little daughter told me that the Mirans were explaining their plans to the delegates. Imagine that! The nightmares brought into the light! I don't think I've ever heard even a simple description of what Mirans do on the planets they claim. And here they are, making a full explanation. Or at least, a discussion."
"That's what it said on the combox too." An acquaintance said, passing their table.
Sarkari glanced at the combox situated at the far end of the room. It showed more pictures of the Triumvirate House. Nothing new there.
"Quite." Thak inclined his head."A definite first. And I have heard- " he paused, his long neck lowering to bring his head eye-level with the two Fanti-"I have heard that it is the Walker's doing."
Ears perked forward. Tails stood taunt. Others nearby were suddenly jostling to get nearer to their table.
"The Walker!"
"She's a
legend!'
"She is not!"
"Oh, Thak! Tell us!"
"Is she really here?"
Thak inclined his head slightly.
"Here and fighting for us, by all accounts. Speaking for us, rather. I had words with Triumvirate delegates who are acquaintances. They overheard several Mirans complaining of the fact that we called the Walker. Save that-"
"We never call her." Barsali said
"She just shows up when we need her, yes yes!" Sarkari finished.
Thak snorted. A Fanti could never finish a sentence. Or let someone else finish. But his friends were better than some. Their voices sped up as they spoke, chiming in with others.
"If the Walker's here, if she's here, we'll- "
"We'll be all right! She saved three worlds in one day, and then still came home-"
"Came home and went dancing with the Sar in the Crystal Sea! She can knock anything flat!"
"Flat on its tail!"
Fanti hurried to other tables, spreading the word. And suddenly, the room was not quite so dismal. The voices were still low. But they had lost the edge of fear. Someone turned up the combox.
"In two hours, the Triumvirate will disseminate the exact information, and request a planetary vote on this possible alliance."
"At least I know how to vote on this!" someone said. Laughter rose; sweet, relieved laughter.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Rhia-or the Walker, Rose supposed- strode back into the console room. For a second, looking at her, Rose was a little afraid. The girl's dark eyes were red-rimmed, and she held herself as her grandfather did when he entered a battle. Those eyes fixed on Rose.
"Come with me."
"Is the Doctor okay?"
"He is not. But he is still alive. And I won't lose him a second time."
She strode across the console room, and out the door. After a moment, Rose followed.
Outside, the Walker had stopped in front of a small lacquered-wood pagoda that stood a few meters from the TARDIS. Rose watched her. The structure was no different from any other pagoda that Rose had seen in the city. But she knew it hadn't been there when they'd landed.
"Is that-"
The Walker said nothing. She opened the door, and stepped inside. Rose followed her.
Behind the pagoda door was something that looked like a comfortable sitting room, save the elegant column rising to its ceiling, filled with thin glass spires that shone blue-white.
"Come this way." The Walker's voice called. Rose followed it, past several overstuffed armchairs and a lamp designed in the shape of a tree.
"In here. Through the door."
Rose stepped into a library. Row upon row of honey-colored shelves circled the wide room. The Walker was several shelves down, running a hand over the spines.
"Come and help
me."
Rose hurried over.
"Travel books…botany….memoirs…" The Walker murmured to herself, shaking her head.
"Not here. Down further." She raised her voice.
"We're looking for something called the Book of Balance. It's fairly treatment specific."
Her long hand darted out.
"Here"
Opening the book, the Walker began to read, riffling the pages at an impossible rate. Rose had seen the Doctor do this as well; he'd read War and Peace in three minutes, to check a detail. She wished she could get a bit of that for herself.
The covers of the book
snapped as the Walker closed it. She laid it back on the shelf,
staring at the nondescript brown of its binding. That wasn't a good
expression.
"Did it say?" Rose asked.
The Walker looked at her. And there was pain in her eyes. More pain than anyone should hold.
She swallowed convulsively.
"Yes. It did." She turned.
"Not that it's much good."
Rose wrinkled her brow.
"Why?"
The Walker drew a long, shaky breath. When she spoke, her voice came as if from far away.
"The cure doesn't exist anymore. It's… gone."
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
He was dreaming. Further and further back. He was ninety-five again, a boy with fine black hair and quick, dark eyes. He breathed in the spicy smell of the vala, squeezing red blades between his fingers. His friends lolled in the vala around him, all together; Rana with her quick smile, Shas, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Theta was on his back, staring up at the Red Sun. Kappa and Zed passed around the bottle of methanol they'd sneaked out of the Dreamer's office.
"C'mon, Delta! Have a bit!"
He shrugged, and swigged a bit of the fiery liquid. Before his vision blurred, he pulled up a handful of vala and chewed it, swallowing in a gulp. It did not taste as nice as it smelled.
Everyone took a swig, followed by the vala that kept them strong. Across from him, Sen failed to eat enough, and fell back, laughing as orange sky spun above him.
"Whoa, Sen!" he
joked, "I thought you could master anything!"
"Except
drinking!" Zed put in.
Sen struggled to sit up."I'll be a master of that, too! Just let me get some practice!"
"Well, eat more then. I don't want to take your notes in stellar thermodynamics. Though you might get a better grade if I did!"
Sen glared at him.
"Aw, Delta!" Theta said, "Quit trying to be our physician. Besides, I'd top you both in stellar studies any day."
He grinned. "Nah. You spend so much time staring at the suns, your eyes are burned out. You couldn't even read the paper!"
The others fell about laughing; bright red vala in their hair, the scent in their clothes.
He opened his eyes. Darkness.
"Vala. Red grass."
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
"It was Vala. A Gallifreyan herb. The Gallifreyan plant, really. It grew anywhere. Everywhere. Must be why the books assumed the cure was known. Vala!" The Walker laughed, high and sharp.
Rose had seen enough with the Doctor to recognize hysteria when she saw it. She frowned. Whatever else the Walker was, she was a girl who might be losing her grandfather.
"Could we find something like it?" Rose asked. The Walker shook her head.
"Not in time. Not with the little that I know."
She laughed again, her head tipping back.
"Vala! It used to turn all the hills red in the second season!"
Rose stared at her. Had she said…
"You say red?"
"Yes. Bright red. Like-like earth grass. And…Rose! Where…"
But Rose didn't answer her. She was running.
"C'mon, Walker!"
Rose skidded down the halls of the Doctor's TARDIS, hoping like mad that the room was in the same place as last time. The Walker careened after her. "Where are you going?" she called out.
"The Doctor's room!"
"His room?"
"Just come on!"
This had to be the right door. Finally. Rose pushed it open, releasing the spicy scent. She rushed inside, dropping to her knees, pulling at the grass. She glanced back at the doorway, where the Walker stood as if she was frozen.
"Get in here and help me!"
Soon they'd gathered enough of the long red grass to fill the Walker's skirt.
"What do we need to
do with this?"
"Boil it." The Walker replied, "Into a
tisane."
"Kitchen. C'mon!"
They dumped the grass into a pot, filling it with water.
"It needs a little pressure-" the Walker said, "put the lid on. That should do it. How soon will he awake?"
"Twenty minutes or so."
The Walker grinned.
"Good. It will be ready."
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The pilot kept the ship at a high speed. They had been told to make haste; it had already taken them ninety-two days. She turned at the movement of her copilot.
"Check the offspring."
He left his chair to comply. She switched on the screen that monitored the first deck.
The offspring were still, for the most part. There were scuffles near the automated feeding machines. But nothing serious. Even small Mirans had tough hides. And these were eight-month-olds, half the size of an adult.
On-screen, one of the offspring turned, and bit into the leg of a litter mate who had tried to steal a chunk of meat. The injured party returned with a snap of jaws to the throat.
The spines on the pilot's arms rose. If offspring killed each other on her vessel, she would be punished. She sprang for the control panel.
Fortunately, her copilot had reached that section. He pressed the switch that released relaxation pheromones into the air. The offspring stopped fighting.
The pilot relaxed. Danger removed.
She returned her attention to her ship. Much less trouble than offspring. Ferrying them out to distant worlds was a position full of risk. But she would succeed. Continue to succeed for three years. Then she would have a guide ship, and a crew of her own. A mature crew of fellow sixteen and seventeen year olds. She would no longer risk on every journey. Leave this work to a younger Miran. Perhaps, in eight years, this ship would be piloted by one of the offspring it now ferried. Though at the moment, they showed little of the intelligence they would gain.
The pilot checked coordinates. She could not remember her years on four legs. The years before her frontal brain had matured. But occasionally she dreamed of hunting and fighting like a two-year old.
These offspring would have good hunting grounds. The planet on her course was said to be rich.
On the screen, her copilot moved down the row of pens that stretched out of sight. It would take him several hours to check the hundreds of pens, hundreds of offspring.
And they would still need to check the lower deck.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Waiting for the stove timer to go off was torture. Rose sat on the counter, kicking her heels against the cupboard. The Walker leaned against the opposite wall, her eyes closed.
The Walker. Why didn't she just give Rose her usual name in the first place? Rhia. The Doctor had called her 'lah Rhia.' Then, of course, 'the Doctor' wasn't his real name. It was just who he was, what he did. What was it with Time Lords and names?
The silence was oppressive.
"So," Rose said, "What was the fake name for?"
"Hm?"
"Rhia. Isn't that
just, well, just 'walker' in your language?"
Her eyes
opened. "How did you know?"
Rose shrugged.
"Heard the Doctor say it when he switched languages."
The Walker dropped her eyes. "I am sorry. I…picked up a few bad habits concerning humans. One of them is a tendency to tell them-you, what you expect to hear. Give a name that doesn't challenge any ideas. "
Rose snorted.
"I've been travelling with the Doctor for a while now. I expect anything."
The Walker smiled, slightly.
"You have a point there. When I traveled with Grandfather, I was always eager and nervous, in equal measure. Well, perhaps not nervous enough. But I did have such fun!"
"You traveled with the Doctor?" Rose asked. The Walker nodded.
"A hundred years of wandering. It was lovely. Mind you, Grandfather was rather sour at first. Took him time to warm up to the universe."
She glanced at the stove.
"Ten minutes."
Silence.
"So how old were you when you went off?"
"About eighty-five." The Walker replied. Rose wrinkled her brow.
"How old's that, in human terms?"
The Walker ran fingers through her dark bob.
"Ten… or perhaps eleven. My father nearly dropped me in a vortex when he heard."
Rose chuckled.
"Yeah. My mum had trouble letting me go too. Put up a right fuss."
The Walker met her eyes, and they shared a smile. The timer went off.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The Doctor was awake. But he kept his eyes closed. They hurt. Everything hurt. His head rang. His hearts were pounding. Throat raw. His muscles felt as if they were being unstrung.
At least the dreams were gone, for now.
He coughed. He couldn't breathe. Drowning. His breathing grew ragged as his respiratory bypass system kicked in.
Calm down. Breathe.
He tried to relax. To let the pain go. Heat and darkness nearly drowned him. He fought to stay conscious.
Just. Breathe.
He couldn't feel his TARDIS. He reached out for her. Pain lanced through him.
Not now. Just breathe.
There was the sound of a door opening. Light and heat seared into him.
Go away. Leave me alone.
He must be dreaming again. He was falling.
Suzz was calling him. Suzz needed him. His eyes opened. Little Suzz, smiling down at him.
"You were right, Grandfather. I found it."
Something touched his lips.
"Drink."
And there was the girl, leaning down beside him. Romana! No. Not Romana. But she was blonde and bright. He knew her. She smiled.
"Down the hatch, Doctor."
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The word was running through the streets. Everyone needed to go to one of the Vita Houses. Needed to vote. Needed to listen to what the Mirans wanted.
They were asking for Fanti-Havi to foster five million of their children. Their meat-eating children. They had suggested that the Fanti-Havians could use their dead to feed the creatures, as other planets had done. They'd also recommended that the people accept population restrictions to balance the new strain. In exchange for this service, they'd give the planet new technologies, new ways of doing things. New tools to make life easier. Faster ships to replace their own, which got them to the end of their solar system in eight hours.
Few were tempted by the offer. Words ran through the homes, the shops, the cafés.
"They're not asking us these things. They're telling us."
"We could take a few of their young. But not millions."
"Foster their children, and not our own?"
"They're not compromising on their terms at all. Did you hear that?"
Four hours. The Fertile City's vote was tabulated; a no. Votes were coming in from the Blue City, the Crystal City, the White City too. Rural votes were being flown in.
Seven hours. No. No. No. The votes were tabulated.
"No! That's what we say!"
A Fanti slammed his fist on a nearby table. There were several cheers.
"The Mirans have lost for sure. It's been constant on the news. They should have compromised."
Sarkari nodded to the Sar, agreeing with the comment. Barsali was leaned against his shoulder.
"Told you it would be all right, Bari." He said. She nodded into his neck.
"S'pose you won't need that silly blitz-gun, after all."
"Here's to the Triumvirate!" somebody shouted, as another negative vote was transmitted on the combox. A cheer went up.
Outside, light flashed. Heads turned.
"Stay here." Sarkari said. He lifted Barsali's head from his shoulder, and stepped out with a few others.
They glanced about. Everything seemed right. Sarkari was about to step back inside, when his eyes fell on the message to the side of the café door.
It was longer than before.
Blinking, Sarkari read the message again. Now there was a statement beneath the greeting; You have officially voted to join our federation. You will be alerted when your charges arrive.
What?
"But votes are still coming in!"
"Got to be a mistake."
Sarkari turned to the house across the street. There were words on its wall as well.
In order to provide adequately for all inhabitants, this household is allowed three offspring.
He looked next door. Every house had such a message.
Sarkari ran down the street. Back to his own house. He skidded to a stop in front of his door. There it was. On the wall. In order to provide adequately for all inhabitants, this household is allowed one offspring.
The fur on his arms, his neck, the ridge along his back stood on end. This was wrong. The votes had been negative! How dare they dictate the number of kits he and Barsali could have! They had no right.
He glanced at the blitz gun, shoved into his sarong. Pulled it out. Hefted the grip, getting a feel for the weapon.
"Maybe I will be needing this. Yes. Maybe I will."
All around the world, other weapons were readied. Other tempers flared.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Eight hours and ten cups of vala tea. Rose and the Walker sat in the console room, reading Marnal Gates's books to pass the time. The Walker had finished most of them already, drinking them in.
Rose was poring over a
picture of the City of the High Council.
"You ever go there?"
she asked.
The Walker stopped riffling pages, and glanced over.
"The high council seat? Yes, once. Wasn't very enjoyable."
"Oh?"
The Walker shrugged.
"A conclave of eight and nine-thousand year old elders, waffling along in their ceremonial robes, ignoring anyone under a thousand. They didn't approve of Grandfather. Said he interfered too much, ought to stay more objective. We didn't stay long. But the city was lovely."
Nine thousand. Rose had read that Time Lords lived around twelve thousand years. But those numbers had trouble registering in her brain.
"Where did he get these?" the Walker asked. Rose shook her head.
"Search me. They look like old paperbacks."
She flipped a page in The Song of Ages.
"Says this one was printed in 1962."
"They're amazing." The Walker said, softly. She stared at the cover of a book which showed a bright city, floating high over a ring of mountains.
Rose smiled.
"Yeah. And now I know about all your mad biology. Honestly, you lot get all the advantages."
The Walker raised her head, looking Rose in the eye.
"Not all the advantages. Not all."
Then her pretty face turned away, back to her book.
Rose didn't know what to say to that. She turned a page.
There was something distracting her, though. Something like a tickle in the back of her head. The sound of riffling pages had stopped.
A door creaked.
"Oh. This a private study session?"
Rose's head shot up. And there was the Doctor, leaned against the doorframe, smiling.
Books went flying as granddaughter and companion ran to embrace him. They were a jumble of arms and legs and laughter.
Rose punched the Doctor's arm.
"About time you were up, slug-a-bed!"
"Ooh! Lesse how much I take care of you next time you get the flu!"
"It should be a lot, Grandfather! You owe her!"
They jabbered together, laughing. Then the Walker said he'd better have one more cup of vala. Arm in arm, the three of them were about to head down to the kitchen, when a pounding came on the TARDIS door.
"Hello! Who's knocking?"
The Doctor disentangled himself, striding over to the door, followed by both girls. He swung it wide.
A small crowd of Fanti-Havians stood outside. The Fanti in the lead blinked at the Doctor-then caught sight of the Walker. He made a little bow, hands held out.
"My Lady Walker. Someone said they'd seen you step into-" he waved a hand at the TARDIS, "this."
The Walker stepped forward.
"Yes?"
"The Triumvirate asks for your aid, My Lady. The Mirans have ignored the vote we took. Diplomatic communication has ceased. They're sending out edicts in our city."
The Walker sighed, turning to the Doctor.
I thought I'd sorted this out.
He smiled.
"Bring everyone inside, where we can chat for a bit. By the way…" he glanced down at the white linen pajamas, then from his granddaughter to Rose.
"Can I have my suit back?"
