The alien cloud was still visible in the night sky. It obscured the stars and was lit from within by occasional lightnings.
The fires in the fields were dying out. Those which remained now merely added to the smoke of the fires in the village, where the women and children had gathered outdoors to comfort each other and encourage hope for the return of their fathers, brothers and sons.
The singing of the women and children could be heard from a distance as the wives of Tob, Dak and Tor approached the ships which surrounded the ziggurat. The seed-shaped pods emitted a faint glow in the darkness, and every now and then bright searchlights scanned the shallow crater within their boundary and the area just beyond it. The feared metal cables were exploring the ground on all sides, dark lines curling around rocks and boulders. A number of them could be seen tracing from the silver pods across the ground and disappearing through the broken portals of the ziggurat. Either the women had not been detected, or more likely, these beings simply weren't interested in them.
The women turned to go when suddenly the sounds of men were heard, presumably from inside one of the ships nearest to them. They were screams, perhaps the sounds of torture, yet they ended as abruptly as they had begun.
The wife of Tob started to run towards the ships, but one of the cables reared up before her to keep her away. The other women retrieved her, and together they made for the village in a state of helplessness and horror.
.
.
It was now almost a full day since the men had entered the mine shafts. Without Tob's radio connection to the Doctor there was no means of navigation, and it had become clear that the mine was actually a network of similar tunnels joined by almost identical junctions.
After assuming a sort of leadership by default, Dak had split the group into two parties when confronted with a forked junction where either tunnel could have been the correct choice. Two men were given the responsibility of gathering together a small mound of rocks every fifty feet in case the groups needed to locate each other or retrace their steps to the ventilation pipe.
Dak had mixed feelings about discovering another shaft to the surface: though a quick climb would allow him to get his bearings, it was likely that the Catchers had located and were monitoring every possible means of escape. Besides that, It was very unsettling being unaware of the exact time of day. The light of the gold worms was a blessing but this underworld was oblivious to the cycle of day and night.
Dak's party was now faced with another junction, a choice between a wide tunnel which led deeper into the ground at a challenging incline, or a narrower shaft which led upwards but offered only a very low ceiling.
"Which way do we go?" asked Dak, with an unexpected and perhaps unwanted democracy.
"We'll have to crawl if we go up there," said one of the larger men, "and we were told not to touch the worms."
"It may be another pipe to the surface," offered Dak. "We should at least check it out. The water we have isn't going to last another day."
Dak turned to make his way up the narrow shaft but a strong hand took his shoulder and held him back.
"We can't afford to lose you, brother," came the quiet but firm voice of Tor. "Let me go first. I'm the oldest here, anyway."
Tor made his way into the smaller shaft while Dak instructed the rest of the party to wait for their report.
The size of the tunnel decreased until they were scrambling on their bellies, carefully avoiding the tangles of worms which filled even this narrow shaft, whose incline was now only slight.
"We should go back," said Dak, coughing in the dust raised by Tor's progress.
"I think I can see some light up ahead, but I can't be sure," said Tor.
"The shaft's getting too narrow," warned Dak.
Tor looked back to reply to Dak face to face, but his head made contact with the worms. Before he could speak, his body convulsed and the shaft was filled with a glare as sharp and unbearable as a welding torch. A sputtering, electrical hiss was followed by showers of sparks, from which Dak was forced to shield his eyes. The worms directly above Tor were frenzied, untangling and descending from the low ceiling. They wrapped themselves around his body, which was being slowly rotated and lifted up into the shining network of glowing chains.
"Tor!" Realising there was nothing he could do, Dak started a scrambling retreat. As he withdrew, he watched Tor's body being released again to the floor, silent but still writhing. From only a few feet away, illumined by the worms which, if disturbed, threatened him with a similar fate, Dak noticed that Tor's skin was taking on the appearance of gold. As it did so, his body stiffened and stilled. His exposed limbs were now a mottled mix of human flesh and gleaming metal.
His eyes now wide in wonder more than terror, Dak continued his backwards crawl until Tor's semi-transformed body was out of sight.
In the warm light of the glow worms, Tor's face, veined with gold, suddenly contorted and his eyelids opened. His eyeballs were now blank orbs without pupils or irises, like the eyes of the marble statues of Greece and Rome, but completely golden.
.
.
"Show the Doctor due honour as a seer," said Kovah, his face still hidden under the hood of his white robe.
The Sons of Terror allowed the Doctor to stand, and he stepped from the platform to the floor of the Great Hall.
"Thank you," he said, and the projection of Avram continued its speech.
"I chose the Doctor as my legal representative. He has been tried and found faithful. You will listen to him and follow his instructions or you will be immediately destroyed."
"He has no power over us," challenged the spokesman.
"Well, actually I do," explained the Doctor. "You boys have just been put on hold, temporally-speaking, for an entire day, and you didn't even notice it. Check back with your ships. I'd give you the time of day personally, but somebody stole my watch."
There was a pause, and the spokesman asked, "How did you achieve this?"
The Doctor strutted before them with the glee of an attorney explaining his watertight case.
"This box is my ship, the TARDIS, and it gives me power over time. I used it to reverse the time distortion created by the Protos and contain it within my control room. While you spent only minutes inside the TARDIS, an entire day has passed inside the Protos and out here."
"Why did you do this?"
After a thoughtful pause, the Doctor smiled, "We just wanted to make sure everything was prepared for your welcome."
"So you'd better behave yourselves," added Avram from his chair, with a frown upon his brow and pipe smoke threading upwards from his nostrils. "Firstly, you must prove your identity as my children," he waved an open palm at another of the blue beams, "at the Tree of Life, the only tree on Protos." The tube of light containing the silver globe representing the planet Shabar immediately brightened, and a sapling-like shoot sprouted from its top. It quickly formed into a small tree with seven branches. Near the end of each branch appeared a burning light. These lights together dulled to reveal the forms of seven planets, each apparently composed of a different metal. They were all similar but each unique, rotating slowly and shimmering in the dark space around the silver tree.
"Receive your worlds," commanded the image of Avram, now standing before his chair.
One by one, each of the Sons of Terror stepped forward and grasped a planet, as though each orb were a designated piece of fruit. As each did so, the world in his hand quickly became the blinding light of a star and then died away to nothing.
Avram, seemingly satisfied with their identities, sat in his chair once again and retrieved his pipe. "Thank you. You have represented your houses correctly."
"We desire to see the grave of Avram," said the spokesman with a hint of impatience.
The Doctor signalled to Kovah, who disappeared momentarily into the darkness and returned with a golden urn. He bowed before the spokesman and lifted its lid. The urn was filled with ashes. The spokesman turned his masked face towards the Doctor, who wasn't sure if this was an expression of suspicion, exasperation or joy.
The Doctor clapped his hands twice and called for refreshments and entertainment. Burning torches on golden stands suddenly brought the hall to life, and the Doctor motioned an invitation for the sons to be seated at a banqueting table with six chairs.
The sons did not move, and the spokesman clenched both his gauntlets into fists. In response, the Doctor walked to the TARDIS and announced,
"Together, the TARDIS and the Protos represent complete power over time, space and matter. You could seize them now, just as you took hold of those planets, but they would be useless to you. You could spend an eternity studying them and still be none the wiser concerning their operation. Or, you could be a little patient, honour your father's memory by submitting to these official proceedings, and you might just get what you came for handed to you on a platter."
After a few seconds, the spokesman led his brothers through the beams towards the table and they sat down. The Doctor leaned over and spoke into his ear,
"I'd advise you to play along. You have no idea whom you're dealing with."
"Nor do you, Doctor," was the measured reply.
Kovah brought six golden goblets, placed them before the armoured figures and poured out the king's wine in generous amounts. He disappeared once again and returned with freshly-prepared delicacies on platters of gold: exotic fruits, carefully arranged displays of sliced meats, and bowls of sweet delights.
As he did so, Regel removed her white robe, and the shape of Jood was revealed, barefoot, wearing a two-piece costume covered in golden coins. She bowed before the sons while Kovah brought a silver stool and a lyre and began to play. Gog and Bel ran from behind the curtains which obscured the throne, carrying small drums, seated themselves on the floor and began to accompany the lyre. Their admiring eyes were fixed on Jood as she danced in and around the torches. The coins and her swinging beaded braids caught the light, and her golden bangles and anklets jangled in time with the drums. It was a captivating display of talent … and beauty.
"Let me take this opportunity to don some more suitable attire," announced the Doctor, who bowed and disappeared between the curtains.
The Doctor hurriedly put on his shirt and trousers while Clara returned to the gap in the curtains to watch Jood's dance, which was getting wilder every second.
"Boy, can she dance."
"Yes," said the Doctor. "Really not the occasion to be standing in public in one's underwear. Help me with my bow tie."
Clara swayed to the music as she adjusted his collar, and said, "And our friend plays a mean harp."
"It's a seven-stringed lyre, actually," corrected the Doctor.
They both put their heads to the gap in the curtains, then Clara turned to the throne.
"Are you prepared, your majesty?" asked Clara.
"Yes," came the deep reply.
"Clara, have you noticed that not one of them has touched the food or wine, and they seem to be paying no attention to Jood at all?"
"They're wearing masks, Doctor."
"Yes, but they're not even turning their heads to follow her. They don't seem entirely human. Immortals are usually up for anything. That's why I rarely go to their parties. Absolute shockers. A bunch of immortals moves in and there goes the neighbourhood."
Clara glared at him and he glared back at her with one eyebrow raised, as if to say he wasn't joking. Then he returned his eyes to the Great Hall and remarked, almost to himself,
"I was really hoping they'd take those masks off."
.
.
After a terrifying description of Tor's fate, and stern warnings concerning the gold worms, Dak's party had taken the shaft which led deeper into the ground and come across an exposed section of an underground river. They refilled their canteens while the rear guard completed a suitable pile of rocks.
They then moved into a large chamber, a junction of four or five tunnels. It was filled with abandoned mining machinery. Helmeted, humanoid forms were visible inside the machines, but they were still. On closer inspection, it was clear that they were also machines, androids.
Dak was the first to jump into one of the open vehicles. Once he was sure that the android pilot was inactive and not likely to fight back, he pushed it out without ceremony, sat in the pilot seat and began to test the controls.
As he did so, loud shouts were heard coming from the tunnel where they had filled their canteens. Ten to twelve men appeared, running and waving their hands. Dak jumped out and ran to meet them.
"You found us alright, then? What's happened?"
"The guardians have slain the rest of our party," cried one.
"Deimos and Phobos!" roared another, out of breath.
"How do you know?" questioned Dak. "We haven't seen them for a thousand years."
"They have the third eye, like the dragon, and silver horns. And they walk like the living dead."
"They are right behind us!"
Dak pushed the men aside so he could see down the tunnel. Two lights were visible, twinkling in the darkness below the glow of the worms. They were approaching fast.
.
.
"Enough of this time wasting" thundered the spokesman. He stood up abruptly and as he did so he tipped the large metal banqueting table over without any perceptible effort. Food and drink tumbled onto the floor. He stepped forward and took hold of Jood, twisting her arm and forcing her to the floor before him. The terrified children abandoned their drums and ran behind the curtains.
'We do not believe that Avram is dead," he bellowed. "Either he will teach us how to pilot the Protos or he shall be imprisoned in it once again. We shall slay you all one by one until Avram shows himself."
"I know how to pilot the orb," came a deep, authoritative voice from behind the decorated veils.
"Show yourself."
The curtains opened, revealing a figure on the golden throne. He wore the seventh silver mask and the now familiar suit of white linen. However, there were white tubes attached to his arms, legs and torso, and black veins visible on his neck, wrists and feet. Above his linen coif, a metal surgical frame crowned his head with a circular light attached to the front. It glowed with each syllable he spoke.
"Jason!" spat the spokesman.
Clara, decked in gold and robed in silver stood to Jason's left, and the two children were seated on the steps at the foot of the throne. Together, the four suggested a royal family posing for a portrait.
"Bow to your king. I am already a dynasty," ordered Jason without emotion.
"Little brother, we would not to bow to you then. We will not bow to you now."
The figure on the throne rose and walked down the steps. He stopped several paces from the spokesman, lifted both hands and carefully removed his own war mask. The Doctor watched attentively, and witnessed not the revelation of a distorted human face, but merely more of the thick, alien linen which covered Jason's body. The only accommodations made for his face were two black circles for his eyes and a black rectangle for his mouth.
"Cybermen?" whispered the Doctor to himself.
Facing Jason, the spokesman removed his own mask, revealing an identical visage beneath his gunmetal helmet. His mouth opened only once, and remained open while his voice uttered a chilling yet familiar statement,
"You belong to us. You will be like us."