2: Receiving
'The curious mind that seeks adventure and wants to fully grasp profundity and the nature of self as controller will be drawn curiously and inexorably toward the intuited strange attractor vortex.
Once the mind starts thinking the
thoughts involved in the vortex, the will starts becoming traitorious
sic and starts drawing the mind, against the will yet by means of
the will, into the center. There are both positive and negative
aspects of this labyrinth as a puzzle that you try to solve that ends
in your metaphysical death. On the one hand, finding the route that
leads into the lair of the Minotaur is joyous successful discovery
and solving the great riddle of self as an imposter controller, an
imposter governor-sovereign. On the other hand, finding the route
that leads into the heart suddenly is revealed as something you maybe
don't really want to do after all…'
The halls spread out before her. The meditative rhythm of her tapping heels was comforting—for a while. Tegan walked. She knew how it was done. One foot at a time, and you would get somewhere. But to get where you wanted, that called for a different mastery. Tegan had never planned to get anywhere. She loved traveling and had hoped that the life of a stewardess would make her happy: city after city, a tumbleweed life. She would never have to depend on anyone to make her happy. Only herself, free; always free to choose her path.
And here—here, there were only paths to choose. Did none of these corridors go anywhere? She tried a door and found only a dusty little bedroom. It looked as if a girl had once lived there, a long time ago. Tegan felt like she was looking into a mausoleum. The meditative calm in her heart faltered. She closed the door and went on.
Her steps lost their rhythm, kept breaking into a run. It was all too strange, too lost, and too remote. It wasn't so much that she was lost in a dream; she was lost in someone else's dream. As fear jolted through her, she jogged a few steps back. The retrace was as deceptive as a hall of mirrors and the next door she opened looked into another hall. Tegan closed the door and leaned heavily against it. What was she doing here? Where were the elves come to lead her dancing under the hill, dancing her shoes to rags? Her feet ached, sure enough, but from the dreary repetition of pointless motion.
Survival training for airplane crashes instructed the crew to stay put and await rescue. Perhaps Aunty Vanessa had been right about waiting for a knight-errant! "Too impatient again. Think, girl!"
This wasn't the way to Narnia. That first room had been technological. Alien technology, surely? (But apparently they had heads human enough to need an ordinary hat stand.) Tegan warmed her heart with the thought of that hat stand. She wanted to meet its owner. She'd either shake his hand or break his neck.
So what did she need? A room. Rooms had purposes. Corridors went to rooms. Tegan started that half-jog again, and her heart sounded a tocsin. Where had the bell gone?
Whether lured or by happenstance, she came upon a kind of courtyard. It was laid out with ivy'd pillars and stone benches. Here and there were planters, and one open space was plain stone tiles under arches that rose into indefinite light.
"This place is unreal." The monastic surroundings kept her voice to church pew levels. What had happened to alien science? This was magical, or at least, mysterious. She sat down on a bench, forlornly clutching her bag. Passport, crew ID card, money, the vital odds and ends of a career girl's life, and they were as much use as the dead ivy leaves swept about the feet of the grey pillars. Less! At least the cluster of leaves hinted that someone came in to sweep up.
A swooping noise ground out of the air. The ivy tendrils stirred in an unaccountable breeze. Before Tegan Jovanka's staring eyes, a British Police Box appeared.
Not Aslan, then.
Isn't that where she'd come in? If she opened the door, would she be looking out on the Barnett bypass? Tegan was inside the box and the box was inside itself. She put her hand out towards the door, then changed her mind and walked past.
Missing the creak of the opening door may well have saved the young Australian's life. Tegan was behind the box when the floor heaved under her feet sending her staggering against its corner. "This is too much," she gasped, and heard the shrill note in her voice. Nervous nellie.
Hell's TEETH! Of course she was scared.
The next jolt dropped her to the floor. Anger flooded her. O lovely anger, burning in her veins, crowding out fear and uncertainty. "Crazy idiot of a pilot! Wait until I have a word with him." She slashed a dusting hand over her uniform tunic.
The velvety chuckle that filled the air froze Tegan on all fours.
Interlude: Minotaur
The Master had rematerialized his TARDIS in the cloister as it represented an area of stability in the Doctor's TARDIS. He was highly amused to find a new toy awaiting him—and such a pretty one. He remembered her, having made a memento of her kinswoman for the Doctor to find. Should he make another doll for the Doctor's collection? The Master unlocked the door of his TARDIS and waited for her to peep in. Would she retreat in terror? Was cowardice in her blood?
No. She went by. He kept watch on her prowling. She wasn't a threat, but she drew his eyes. Ah, yes, the urges of healthy flesh. Poor Tremas had never been destined to enjoy a happy marriage. Kassia had always loved the Melkur more.
The Doctor's TARDIS shook. The girl fell; through the open door he could hear her sour complaint. How appropriate was her posture: down on all fours like the hot-blooded little animal she was. It made him laugh.
"Who's that?"
Tegan climbed to her feet. Even someone who laughed like a pantomime villain was an improvement over endless corridors. The police box door was ajar. She put her hand to it and felt herself drawn in. A gloved hand clamped a steely grip around her wrist and she looked up into pale blue eyes.
"You will obey me." Blackness swallowed her mind.
Interlude: Ego-centric.
The Source of Traken had marked the Master forever. He could see the animal vitality shining through the flesh of the young woman. He held her mind lightly, considering her whole person. Such a temper she had! One tiny part of her mind, a neuron's worth, held pure rage. If he extinguished that spark, she would die. One thus indomitable yet so fragile was a rare find. Yet she was dim-witted like all of her race. Here she stood before him, dressed in a servitor's livery and thinking she'd chosen a life of freedom.
He conceived an idea, and put it instantly into action. The Master did not hypnotize his toy beyond merely holding her captive. Hypnosis would leave traces that would spoil his fun if detected. He need merely allow nature to take its course. Circling her, he murmured words leavened with the truth, rooting them in her psyche. "You are trapped. The pilot of this craft has been reckless beyond imagining. How could you ever trust this gad-a-bout? He wears his foolishness proudly yet sulks if he's doubted. You're a strong, independent young woman. Your life is in your own hands. How will you ever get home?"
As he spoke, the Master stroked the woman's body lightly with gloved fingertips. He watched with clinical interest how his stimulation fired off cascades of biochemicals. Fear, anger, and arousal: he could smell them on her and see the dilation of her pupils. She would be beautiful, for a human, if she were befittingly adorned instead of being garbed and painted as an inferior. The chemical reactions taking place in her brain provided a fertile environment for the ideas he'd seeded there. All true, all obvious, but he didn't count on a foolish human brain to see the obvious. She needed all his help. "Don't mind me, my dear, I shan't harm a hair on your curly head." He shooed the human out.
A being such as the Master did not giggle (he did.)
"Oh, Doctor, you will rue this day." Of course, he was about to kill the Doctor anyway, but it was still a good joke. He would have to give it a little room to play out.
end chapter two