Chapter 7: The Cavalry
Filtered through the lush canopy of the rain forest, beams of soft sunlight played upon the debris-strewn ground. Large stones, eroded and cracked over time, traced a path through the foliage. However, Jack's attention was no more on his surroundings than it was on where Atan was taking him. Instead, he worried.
He knew the Doctor. He could be hurt or dying – or dead, but he refused to acknowledge that possibility. Yet he would still fight and still struggle against the Silurians. He would do something foolish and trust in luck to save him.
How could luck save the Doctor, if he was not there?
The Doctor could be dead.
No. He would not think about it. It was not possible. He would know if the Doctor was dead, wouldn't he? He would know, because the world would skip a beat, or the sun would dim, or his heart would stop in his chest. He would know.
Right?
No. The Doctor was alive. He had to believe it. Despite the evidence, despite the fact that the TARDIS was not translating Atan's language. The Doctor was alive. He had to be.
But what if he wasn't?
He pushed aside the tiny, contrary voice. He had to think of something else.
He knew Rose. She would not stay in the TARDIS – if she made it. She would come after him and the Doctor. Armed, perhaps. Foolishly, yes. But she would come for them. And she would walk right into a trap.
He had to do something, but he was stuck. Surrounded by the painted warriors, he had no choice. But, while he was walking through the forest, Rose might be captured. She might be hurt. She might need him. The Doctor was probably hurt, might be dying. The Time Lord needed him, but he was helpless. His hands clenched into fists.
Unexpectedly, they walked into a clearing. People milled about the centre of what was a medium-sized village. Women shaped pottery, kneaded bread, or chattered with each other as they nursed their young. Their arrival seemed to be expected, as several of the women abandoned their chores to rush toward the newly arrived warriors.
"Tenaam." Atan told him with no small measure of pride, gesturing to encompass the entire village.
"It's nice," he managed, smiling tightly as he looked around. Maybe there was something he could do. He could try and convince Atan and his warriors to return to the ruins and mount a rescue mission. However, he could only hope that his miming skills were up to snuff – somehow he doubted 'you, lizard, pyramid' would do the job.
"Ni cutaal, piil inic! Ni Jack ca triil maasic." Atan told one of the women, who hurried deeper into the village. The blue-painted warrior then turned to him. "You, come. Tenaam si ga."
"Okay." How was he supposed to rally the locals when Atan's grasp of English was so poor?
"Ni 'u-c'aba' Morales." Atan said, gesturing toward one of the larger huts in the village. "Cutaal na mir'uk."
As if on some prearranged signal, a young woman stepped out of the hut. She was dressed the same as the natives, but something about her seemed out of place. When she saw him, she smiled. In the part of his mind that was not worried about the Doctor and Rose, he noted that she was rather pretty.
"So you're the American, huh? I'm afraid my English is not very good. Do you understand Spanish?"
He blinked. "What? Er, yes?" He understood her. How could he understand her?
"I'm Doctor Elena Morales. Jack, was it?" She extended her hand toward him and he took it automatically. He still couldn't believe that he could understand her.
Wait a minute.
He understood her.
She was speaking in Spanish. Had to be.
Which meant...
He fought the urge to grab Elena and kiss her.
The Doctor was alive!
He settled for a fierce grin. "Fantastic! It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Morales."
"Likewise, I'm sure." She smiled in return. Elena turned toward Atan as the warrior spoke to her.
"Cr'naal twis ni caam."
"Atan implies that you are an archaeologist?" she asked, peering intently at him. It felt as if she were reading his soul. He had thought only the Doctor had that particular ability.
"Yeah. I was with two fellow scientists when things went sour." He wanted to laugh. Saying that things went sour was a bit like calling water a little wet. "Wait a minute. You said Atan implied…you understand them?"
Elena smiled brightly. "I certainly hope so! I've been living with the Marsaalu tribe for the past six months. I'm working on a paper about their lives here, but to learn I had to find out how to speak their language."
Hope burned brightly within him as he stepped forward, pouring all of his charm into his mannerism and words. "Elena, I need your help. My friends are still in trouble. They're back there, at the ruins, and I need to get back to them. I need to rescue them. Would Atan and his people be willing to help?"
"I can ask." she replied. She seemed to have read his urgency as she immediately turned to the blue-painted man and spoke rapidly in the incomprehensible native tongue.
Atan shook his head. "Ni! Tal'ma'rak, atum ner tlicks!"
Elena looked apologetic. "He says that the lizards do not keep prisoners."
Atan did not know the Doctor. He did not know Rose. "They would've kept my friends. Please, I have to know. I have to…" He steeled himself from the compassion in Morales' eyes.
The warrior looked at him curiously for a moment, before nodding. "Jack."
The sound of his name made him focus on the native rather than on his own thoughts.
"Tomiciyal ni Jack, praal na caluum. tZ'aaletalaab na in wac'tZiyal Marsaalu." Atan held his fist over his heart and smiled. "Help."
Help? Atan said help. Could it be?
"He says that he can tell that you are a warrior who has seen much. In honour of your warrior spirit, and that you ask for the help of the Marsaalu tribe, he has agreed to help." Elena translated.
They would help. Hope burned brightly within him.
Atan's smile faded as he held out his fisted hand toward him. "Caluum ni tomiciyal nik'tal."
"He also adds that he, too, has lost friends to the lizards. He will do what he can."
"That's all I can ask," he replied. It was. They could provide a distraction, perhaps. Then he could rescue his friends, and once that was accomplished…well, he had a bit of a vendetta against the Silurians at Naachtun.
Alistair hated military transports. It never seemed to fail. No matter how much technology had advanced over the interim years between his presiding over UNIT in Britain and now, the military seemed to obtain its transportation from the lowest bidder. The seats were uncomfortable, the ride was bumpy, and the transport tended to reek of both sweat and gasoline.
The leg from London to Flores was, thankfully, shortened by the use of an experimental aircraft designed by the scientists who had worked on Torchwood. However, the ride from Flores to Naachtun had to be via ground transport. Humvees were never the most comfortable of vehicles, but they were made only more so by the bumpy ride over muddy and eroded paths through the jungle.
Time was of the essence. He silently cursed himself for not finding out what time it was for Rose when he had talked to her last, but he knew that should he try to contact her he would be playing a lottery – he could get a past, present, or future version of her. He mentally willed the caravan to travel that much faster. Time was running out.
As if his thoughts were a signal, the driver slowed to a stop. "Sir, Naachtun is three klicks away."
"Very good, Corporal. Captain Royce, assemble your men. Harding, stay here and guard the caravan." He climbed out of the Humvee, followed by the two Captains. Another reason that he hated military transports was their effects upon his aging body. He was definitely not a young man anymore.
"Yes, sir." The two captains saluted. Royce headed toward the back of the caravan, while Harding stayed at his side.
"Harding," he said after a moment's thought. "Get the artillery prepped. On my radio signal, I will need you and this caravan to come the rest of the way to Naachtun. It may be necessary to raze the ruins to the ground to deal with the Silurians." But it was only a maybe. He might not have to destroy the ruins, but something told him that that may well end up being the solution.
Harding nodded. "Of course, sir. Yeager, Pierce, with me." The captain signalled to his subordinates, and the three men headed to the other side of the Humvee to discuss tactics.
The soft squelch of the too-soft earth heralded the arrival of Royce and his men. "My team is with you, Brigadier," Royce reported.
He was pleased to note that the men's eyes were clear of any trepidation – they knew their duty. However, he knew the Silurians. Their clear eyes would not remain so for long. Yet, he trusted British military training. His men would keep their wits about them.
"No time like the present," he said and led the men deeper into the jungle.
The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as they worked their way through the jungle, heading ever closer to their destination. A bead of sweat trickled down his face, but he controlled the urge to wipe it away. The jungle was thick, which had its benefits and its detriments. Movement was restricted to short spurts before a branch, a vine, or a bush had to be brushed out of the way. But, the foliage provided his men with cover should a Silurian happen to be looking their way.
Ah, there it was. Naachtun was, if one ignored the sinister undertones of an alien invasion, a beautiful place. But, he was first and foremost a soldier. It did not matter how many years had passed since he was full time, that did not change. It might be a beautiful place, but for the moment it was a war zone for a battle that had yet to be fought.
He searched what little he could see of the city from this side of the pyramid, but he could not see the TARDIS or any indication of human or Silurian habitation. There was only one choice for it, he had to move closer. He turned toward the closest of the soldiers and signalled his intentions with hand movements. Unsurprisingly, the soldier told him with his own hand movements that he was not going alone.
So be it.
He looked in both directions before breaking cover. When he could, he avoided stepping on the stones and rubble strewn about the ground for the sake of silence. Somehow, he and his companion reached the edge of the pyramid without incident.
That was when he felt it.
Thirty plus years, and it felt exactly the same.
It was only through his iron will that he managed to control a rapidly developing sense of panic. Fear stretched its icy tendrils through his soul, but he ignored it. He was better than it. He knew exactly what this was.
The Silurians.
They were here.
His hand tightened reflexively on the barrel of his rifle. Unexpected movement behind him caused him to turn quickly. The solider that had insisted upon coming with him was not as successful at fighting off the effects of the Silurian's power. The other man's eyes were wide as he backed away, stumbling over a loose stone.
He cursed silently as he stepped forward, grabbing the soldier's arm. He prayed that the jungle noises would cover his next actions. Through gritted teeth, he spoke in a harsh whisper. "Steady on, man. It's not real."
The soldier trembled beneath his grip, but through willpower he managed to reclaim some control. "I'm all right, sir."
"You can go back," he offered, though he suspected the man would refuse.
"No, sir. I'm with you."
He was suddenly struck by how young the officer seemed. Soldiers were getting more youthful each year. Alistair gave the other man a searching look before nodding. "Very well."
With a few short steps, he was at the edge of the pyramid. The expanse of what must have been a courtyard of some kind stretched before him, broken by debris and brush. There was nothing...
No. There.
He could see the back of a Silurian. The creature was crouched over something on the ground.
Good. It was distracted. It was the perfect opportunity.
He was being hunted.
He forced back the fear, keeping his grip on the rifle steady as he aimed.
It was coming for him. Just behind him, just around the corner, beyond the wall. It was coming. Hunting him. He was its prey and there was nothing he could do.
Alistair was above the fear.
He was being hunted.
He did not care.
The weapon was primed, the silencer in place. All he had to do was fire. His finger tightened on the trigger.
The creature was firmly in his sights.
Just a little further.
Just...
The Silurian stood and in its grip he could see the slumped form of a woman.
No. Not just any woman.
Rose.
It was a good line. One of his best. 'No second chances.' He had been known to cause rulers, megalomaniacs, and generic villains to quake in their boots when he uttered those words. Well not necessarily those words, but something similar. He had a way with these sorts of things.
However, Morka was proving to be exceptionally difficult. All his best lines, his best annoying habits, and his best lists – and all he got out of the Silurian was a threat to destroy all of the humans on the planet and then kill him. It was almost disappointing. He was hoping for something more original. Like sharks with laser beams on their heads. Wait, that was Austin Powers.
That also did not answer where his jeopardy-friendly companions had got themselves to. This was, after all, the point in the story where the dashing hero – played by him – was rescued by his equally dashing sidekicks – Jack and Rose. Then again, he suspected that they might object to being called sidekicks. Maybe they were more of a superhero group. Like the Time Lord Avengers. Nah, that was too camp.
And none of these thoughts were getting him any closer to either a) annoying Morka into making some sort of mistake or b) escaping through some cunning and clever plan. Nor were they helping him to find out where Jack and Rose were. Captured? Escaped? On the run? Hiding? Hurt?
Dead?
You cannot threaten me.
Morka's voice was unexpected and caused his musings to stop rather suddenly. If he were to use a euphemism, since he was that sort of man, he would describe it as his mental train derailing. Quite spectacularly, really.
He smiled. "No? Thought I just did."
Typical. You shout, you threaten, you whine, and yet you cannot do anything. You are captured, Doctor. You are mine.
"Yours?" he repeated in an affronted tone. "Yours? I don't see a certificate of ownership anywhere. Don't have your name tattooed on me anywhere – and, no, sorry, I'm just not going to do it either. I'm afraid I just don't think of you in that way. Hope you understand." Really, he belonged to Rose and Jack. And they belonged to him. It was somewhat complicated, now that he thought about it.
Must you keep babbling?
Ah. Finally. The Silurian was getting aggravated with him. Good. Might make things a bit easier that. But only a bit. Ish.
"Yes." He beamed at Morka, flashing as much of his pearly whites as possible. They were new teeth, after all. Well, sort of new. And he rather liked them. And the mole. More the mole really. "Won awards for that, you see. I'm aiming for the gold this year. Think I'll make it?"
Unlikely. Enough of this. It is time, Morka replied and turned toward the door.
"Remember what I said, Morka. No second chances."
Is that supposed to scare me? The Silurian turned his head and met his steely gaze.
"In a word? Yes." He stalked forward, wrapping his hands around the cold bars of his cell.
"You've heard of me in this universe, Morka. You know who I am. At the risk of repeating myself – or a previous version of myself – allow me to introduce myself. To the Sontaran Empire, I am known as the Bringer of Darkness. To the Cybermen, I am the Deceiver. To the Daleks and the Draconian Empire, I am the Oncoming Storm. I am an enemy of evil, Time's Champion, defender of the defenceless and the hopeless. I am the Doctor. And you do not want me for an enemy."
To be continued...