Chapter 10 - Graduation Day
"Where is the Herald rushing off to?" Procardinal Jonaris enquired, expertly balancing a full plate of food and a goblet of wine as he approached Prime Consul Varden. "Alone?"
Varden looked up from his communicator. "It's none of your concern, Procardinal," he growled dismissively, eyeing the cleric's plate. "The citizens are taking to the streets. But don't let it spoil your appetite." Varden turned to leave, then hesitated. "Where is Proctor Morovan by the way? Off on another of your little 'errands'?"
"I don't know what you mean," Jonaris spluttered, "and I have no idea where he is. He's your subordinate."
"Really?" Varden scoffed. "Sometimes I wonder. No matter, I'll find him. Now if you'll excuse me, I have urgent matters to attend to. Ensuring our future, for one."
"Are we in danger?" asked Jonaris, eyeing the doors warily.
"Not yet," replied Varden, as he turned away - "although you may wish to retire to a more secure area. The Consular Chamber upstairs, perhaps?"
Jonaris watched the Prime Consul as he moved off through the room, giving discreet but hurried orders to the nearest Fosters. The cleric looked around for his own staff. "Fenravic? Fenravic!"
The Highbishop quickly appeared at the Procardinal's side. "My Lord?"
"Gather my bodyguard. There's trouble outside - the citizens are roused. We're moving upstairs." Jonaris raised his goblet to his lips, his narrowed eyes focussed on Varden's retreating form as he took a hefty swig. "And Fenravic?"
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Activate the remaining Novices. It's Graduation Day."
"So no-one's been through here in the last ten minutes? A young woman perhaps, with long, curly hair? Or a shorter-haired woman, with a man?"
The kitchen staff shook their heads quickly in response to the question, their faces visibly terror-stricken at being interrogated by the infamous Herald. The Doctor sighed in exasperation. "Must have been the other turning then." He spun back towards the exit, shouting over his shoulder as he left: "I'd find somewhere safe if I were you, there's trouble brewing outside!"
The Time Lord shook his head as he ran back down the corridor. "Well," he muttered to himself, "that's not going to do anything for my reputation…!"
"What are we going to do?" cried Tegan, as she continued to desperately rattle the unforgiving doors. Turning to Suren, she looked over his shoulder at the ever-nearing crowd running towards them through the darkness and rain. "It won't open! And they're nearly here!"
The medic looked to where Nyssa stood, still frozen statue-like against the balustrade, then beyond her as a brief flash of lightening illuminated the citizens beyond.
"You stay here with the Lady," he said, taking a deep breath - "I'll distract them. Try to draw them off."
"Are you crazy?" Tegan cried. "There's hundreds of them! They might tear you to pieces!"
Suren hesitated for a split second, then set his jaw in determination and moved closer to her. "Well then, if these are my last moments on Serenity, I'd better make them count…" and with that, he took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately. Tegan's eyes opened wide in shock for a moment, before she closed them, wrapping her arms around him and sinking into the kiss with as much fervour as it was delivered. For a few short seconds they were oblivious to everything - the thunder rolling overhead, the ever-nearing crowd, and the sound of the doors opening behind them….
"Ah - I do hope I'm not interrupting anything?"
"Stop - just wait here, one moment."
At the sound of the whispering voice Adric came to a halt. They had arrived at the end of a darkened tunnel, the way sealed off by a mould-covered, heavy wooden door. Warm light blazed from the gap beneath, indicating an occupied space beyond. Adric's pupils constricted violently after what had seemed an eternity trudging through the darkness, and he raised his hands to his eyes. He was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed and shining with perspiration.
His grey-clad companion opened the door slowly, carefully easing the time-worn hinges open so as not to cause a sound in the room beyond. He disappeared briefly, leaving Adric swaying, his fists clenching and unclenching periodically. After a few moments Byrnus returned.
"This way, Adric. Not much further now."
They passed through the door into a large, dimly-lit cellar beyond. Before them stood numerous rows of people, all identically clad in the white robes of the Order. They faced the far end of the long, low chamber, backs to the recently-arrived pair, their attention seemingly focussed on the large set of double doors at the other end. Byrnus turned to the boy at his side, and took him by the shoulders.
"This is where I must leave you, Adric," he whispered. The boy's eyes flickered, unfocussed. The older man frowned, and shook him gently. "Adric! Remember your purpose here!" he hissed. Adric's eyes locked with his. "Follow the acolytes. Concentrate." Byrnus looked deep into the boy's eyes, seeking some small iota of understanding, a spark of recognition to reassure him that his whole life's work was not about to crumble around him into dust. He found nothing.
Sighing, he took Adric's face into his hands. "I have lived my whole life according to the principles of science and logic, and they have never let me down. Logic dictates, that constant shall remain." He smiled at the boy, and gently brushed the sweat-soaked hair from his eyes. "I have faith in you, my brother. When the time comes, you will know what to do. Good luck."
Byrnus turned and quietly exited through the door they had entered by. Adric stood at the back of the group of acolytes, quietly murmuring to himself.
"Br… brother…?"
"Doctor!" cried Tegan, looking in astonishment to where the Time Lord stood, his head poking through the previously locked doors. "Am I glad to see you!"
"Ah, yes…. so I see."
The Doctor looked at the two of them, then quickly cast his gaze around the terrace and into the gardens beyond, swiftly assessing the situation whilst Tegan and Suren hastily separated. "Good - you've found Nyssa. Now shall we get back inside before your friends over there arrive?"
"That's the problem," cried Tegan, raising her voice as the shouts of the rapidly-nearing crowd grew louder. "She won't move! It's like she's frozen to the spot!"
"What?" The Doctor moved to where his younger companion stood, hands rigidly clamped on the stone balustrade. "No physical injury that I can make out," he muttered, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. "Nyssa? Nyssa! Wake up!"
"We've tried that, Doctor, it's no good! It's like she's in a trance or something!"
"Yes…" the Doctor mused. "It could be a psychic overload - something's been boosting her latent telepathic sensitivity ever since we arrived. I'll have to try a mental link."
"There's no time for that!" Tegan cried, "They're almost here!"
Suren stepped forward, taking off his jacket and tie. "Right," he said, "time for 'Plan B'…" Before Tegan could stop him he jumped over the balustrade, and began to run towards the oncoming citizens.
"Suren! No!" Tegan shouted. The medic looked back over his shoulder.
"Get out of here! Stay with the Lady! I'll find you!" he called, then turned and sprinted on towards the crowd, waving his arms and shouting: "THIS WAY! HEY! FOLLOW ME - THERE'S A WAY IN OVER HERE!"
Tegan took off her shoes, muttering to herself as she hitched up her dress. "Flaming idiot! Why am I constantly surrounded by men with a death wish?" She started to mount the stone railing, but found herself pulled back by firm hands.
"Tegan, no! You can't help him - and I need you here!"
"But he's going to get himself killed!
The Doctor pointed out into the rain-soaked garden. "No he's not - look!"
Tegan squinted out into the darkness. A brief flash of lightening illuminated the scene, revealing that, by some miracle, the front runners in the crowd had changed direction, and were veering off to the left towards the medic, following him away from the terrace into some unseen part of the grounds, the main host following behind. "I don't believe it! He did it!" she cried in disbelief.
"Yes, well, that's the easy part," replied the Doctor - "it's giving them the slip before they realise you've led them on a merry dance, that's the tricky bit. Now, help me with Nyssa please."
"What's wrong with her, Doc?"
"I don't know, Tegan. As I said, I'm going to have to establish telepathic contact with her to find out." The Doctor closed his eyes, and took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths.
"So what do you want me to do?" asked Tegan.
The Time Lord carefully arranged his fingers around Nyssa's temples, before turning back towards his Australian companion. "Be ready," he said, then closed his eyes once more.
"Ready for what?!" cried Tegan.
"Cont…aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!"
No sooner had the Doctor established his mental link with Nyssa than he cried out in agony, his face contorted in pain but his fingers still inexorably linked to his companion's pale skin.
"Doctor! What's wrong?" Tegan rushed to his aid; she stopped short of touching the interlocked pair of aliens, fearful of whatever was telepathically harming them rushing through her like an electric shock seeking the ground.
The Doctor gritted his teeth, visibly trying to fight back against something unseen. "Too many voices….." he gasped breathlessly, his face shining with sweat.
"Voices? What voices?"
"She's…" The Doctor fought to get the words out. "She's….ah!… she's opened her mind to….to…"
"To what?" Tegan cried.
"To… to the whole planet!"
"But that's impossible!" gasped Tegan, incredulously.
"Not impossible," the Doctor groaned, "but very unwise… not even a Time Lord brain could cope…. ah… cope with that level of telepathic feedback." He broke off, panting. "I've got to shut it off somehow, but I…. I can't get close enough to - to rebuild her mental defences…. or even just sh-shut down the connection… aaaahhhhh!" he cried out, anguish written across his flushed, perspiration-soaked face.
"Doctor!" Tegan cried, "What can I do? How can I help you?"
The Doctor didn't reply, all his energy now seemingly entirely focussed on the imperceptible battle he was waging within Nyssa's psyche. Tegan felt powerless to help either of them. She looked around the darkened terrace in desperation, but it was entirely empty, save for the clothes that Suren had discarded before he had left.
"Rabbits!" she cursed, aiming a vicious kick at the crumpled jacket by her feet. She frowned as her toe unexpectedly connected with something hard within the heap of fabric. "What the…?" Tegan picked up the jacket, searching through the pockets to find the object within. She smiled as she pulled it out into the scantly lit gloom of the terrace. "Hold on Doc, I'm coming!"
The Doctor barely registered her voice as he was pulled deeper and deeper into the maelstrom of Nyssa's psyche, the innumerable voices of the population of Serenity sending his telepathic senses into overload, paralysing his physical form as his muscles spasmed into rigidity under the intense strain. He tried to extract himself from the turmoil, using every last vestige of his willpower to make the tiniest movement and lift the tips of his fingers the barest nanometre from his companion's skin, but it was no use - the sheer weight of the countless millions of thoughts centred on their shared mental being was completely overwhelming. He could feel his vital organs beginning to shut down under the stress, his lungs struggling to expand, and knew it wouldn't be long until one, or both, of his hearts arrested…
Then suddenly, the mindscape changed: the torrent of noise and emotion becoming almost instantaneously eclipsed by darkness. He cried out as he felt his mind being violently ripped from his connection with Nyssa's, then panting, he opened his eyes to find himself back on the terrace, falling painfully to his knees on the cold, damp stone. He gasped for breath as his synapses fizzed and fought to rebalance.
"Well, that did the trick!"
The Doctor heard Tegan's breathless voice close by, and turned to see her sat back on the floor, holding Nyssa's crumpled form in an awkward embrace.
"Tegan - what did you do?" The Doctor sat back, rubbing his temples in an effort to calm the pain reverberating around the inside of his skull.
She held up a dull metal object in her hand. "Hypospray, complete with sedative," she gasped, out of breath. "Otherwise known as 'Plan B'." She put the object down, grunting as she shifted her unconscious friend into a more comfortable position. "She went down like a stone - I was lucky to catch her."
"And I'm lucky you didn't rip my mind to shreds," the Doctor complained, before noting Tegan's baleful glare in his direction - "but of course you did the right thing, in the circumstances… thank you." He was relieved to see her expression soften, as he thankfully avoided a scolding that he wasn't sure his throbbing head could currently handle. He moved over to them, tentatively reaching out to check Nyssa's pulse. "Breathing and heart rate normal," he said after a few moments - "at least I think it's normal, for a Trakenite. Let's hope her mental faculties are similarly unimpaired. Come on," he grunted, rising to his feet and moving to lift the unconscious girl and release his other companion, "Help me get her inside."
The white-garbed acolytes stood silently in their underground chamber, heads bowed in silent reflection. They numbered in the hundreds, arranged perfectly in countless identical rows, patiently waiting before a set of double doors at one end of the hall. There was barely a reaction as the doors opened, and a trio of cloaked figures walked in.
"Here they are," said Highbishop Fenravic, wringing his hands nervously, "Ready for duty, as ordered by his Holiness."
Proctor Morovan cast his eyes over the host before him. "Excellent," he breathed, "and just in time. The rabble in the Square has started to break through; we'll need reinforcements to keep the building secure."
"But aren't these novices?" Foster Drevus stepped forward from behind his superior officer, and surveying the robed throng filling the room.
Morovan raised his eyebrow. "And?"
"Well, sir, I appreciate the Order trains each Brother at some level for ceremonial guard duties, but if these novices are still wet behind the ears from their initiation then they're not going to be much use as reinforcements for combat-trained Fosters, are they?"
"They'll do well enough," growled Morovan. "The ability to follow orders is all we need, and that's been ingrained into them from day one."
"Oh yes," agreed Fenravic, "they are very compliant. Allow me to demonstrate. Er… NOVICES - ATTEND!"
At the Highbishop's order, the head of every acolyte in the room snapped to attention, their heels clicking together in perfect unison.
"MARK TIME!"
The host immediately began to simultaneously march on the spot, their precisely timed steps ringing out across the chamber. Proctor Morovan walked back and forth, his experienced eyes scrutinising each file. He nodded, approvingly.
"HALT! And, er…. STAND EASY!" The acolytes obeyed, the immediate silence allowing Fenravick's trembling tones to echo around the room. Foster Drevus was clearly taken aback.
"It's an army…" he breathed, moving closer to the Proctor, who was arching his neck, straining to see something towards the back of the company. Drevus lowered his voice, out of earshot of the nearby cleric. "Does the Prime Consul know of this, Sir? I think–"
"Your job is not to think, Foster, but to obey!" snarled Morovan, turning to face both of them. "Now, here are your orders. Highbishop, take a third of this company and report to Foster Novak in the main hall - they are to reinforce the security of this building. Drevus, you are to take the remaining two thirds outside into the square and gardens to push back the rabble and regain order. You'll find weaponry upstairs, brought over from the Penal Wing. Make sure each man is armed."
"We're arming the Order?" spluttered Drevus, "But - but this could mean civil war!"
Morovan grabbed the Foster by his shoulders, pulling him in close until their faces were centimetres apart. His expression was grave, his voice low, yet earnest.
"It's always been coming to this, boy. All that remains... is to choose the right side."
Tegan led the way back to the main hall, opening doors for the Doctor, who carried the unconscious Nyssa in his arms. Upon entering the hall, Tegan came to a sudden halt, the Doctor barely managing to avoid crashing into her.
"What the–?" he spluttered.
"Is this the same party?" Tegan gasped. The feast they had left not so long ago had been a civilised affair, with soft music, refined dancing and polite conversation. The chaotic scene that now greeted them could not have been more different: the dancers had been replaced by armed Fosters, rushing to barricade doors and windows, as the elite of Serenite society ran screaming in panic. The Doctor took in the chaos for a moment, then hitched up his burden and started forward.
"It appears things have escalated in our absence," he said, before nodding towards a staircase on the other side of the hall - "Up there, I think. When in doubt, always best to head towards higher ground."
They ran across the floor, dodging past fleeing dignitaries in a dance that owed more to chaos theory than their previous, geometrically defined efforts. At the foot of the stairs they almost collided with Highbishop Fenravick, who was entering the hall from a stairwell below, followed by what appeared to be a large group of white-robed acolytes.
"Ah!" the cleric jumped in shock at the sight of them, clearly perturbed by the scene in the hall. "My - my Lord Herald, many apologies!" His eyes widened at the sight of Nyssa, motionless in the Doctor's arms. "My Lady!" he gasped, looking back at the Doctor in horror. "What… what have you done?"
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Nothing, Highbishop, I assure you!" he retorted. "But we must get to safety. Can you suggest anywhere?"
"I'll deal with this, Fenravick." Proctor Morovan appeared from the lower stairwell, which was still packed with acolytes, marching into the hall in an orderly fashion in complete contrast to the mayhem surrounding them. He strode past the Doctor and Tegan, heading purposefully up the stairs. "The Consular Chamber has been secured - you can tend to the Lady there. You lot - with me!" A group of around a dozen acolytes broke off from the main force and arranged themselves behind the Doctor and his party, in a clear indication that there was no choice in the matter. The Doctor looked at Tegan.
"An offer we can't refuse, it seems. Shall we?"
Mist swirled in the dim light of a conservatory, stirred into motion by the warm air currents and the wake of a shuffling, hunched figure. Rain pattered on the glass roof above, the heavy drops breaking the silence in a staccato rhythm. Every so often the sky beyond the panes was electrified with lightening as the storm continued to rage; the brief but intense illumination causing the benches filled with exotic plantlife arranged around the room to erupt into a glorious mix of bright colours, before returning to the somber monotones of the shadowy space.
The figure shuffled forwards, dousing the nearest blooms in a spray of fine mist. The Seer's breath mask hissed with the effort, as he stopped to caress the petals of a particularly fine orchid.
"Such perfection…" he whispered, the syllables tortured through the mask into an electronic rasp, "but all too brief a life. It seems an ironic universal constant, I feel, that those called to beauty and glory must all too often sacrifice their longevity in return, whilst the cruel and base enjoy far too lengthy an existence." He shuffled further along the row, stopping here and there to remove withered foliage or dying petals. "There are always exceptions to such constants, I suppose," he muttered to himself. "Life tends to find a way… the Keeper, being a most pertinent example of altruistic longevity! Such power, and all selflessly devoted to the wellbeing of others…" The Seer shook his head, a wry chuckle bursting through the mask in a burst of static. "Not powerful enough to save the billions of lives in his care though, was he?"
The old figure hobbled on, orchids giving way to another species not unlike the roses that bloomed on Earth and other human colonies throughout the galaxy. He swapped the spray bottle for a pair of secateurs.
"Of course, if we're talking longevity, then one must also take species such as the Time Lords into account… another race with almost limitless powers at their fingertips; however their indefensible apathy rather tends to support the constant, rather than disprove it - with one or two notable exceptions, of course," he rasped, as the secateurs snipped, severed foliage falling to the floor below. Somewhere in the room beyond an alert beeped distracting the Seer from his botanical activities.
"Speaking of which," he said, "I have an appointment to keep…" He snipped off the head of the nearest rose with a swift clip of the secateurs, then turned toward the insistent beep of the alert.
"…with an old friend."
Procardinal Jonaris paced the worn wooden floor of the Consular Chamber, his face set into a heavy frown. Periodically, he stopped to check the ornate fob watch concealed in the many folds of his robes, huffed to himself, then resumed his journey around the room. Prime Consul Varden watched him from his chair, his expression languid.
"Expecting someone?" asked Varden.
Jonaris stopped and stared at the Prime Consul, his brooding concentration broken.
"Not at all," huffed the cleric, "I'm just wondering how long we are to be confined in such uncomfortable surroundings."
Varden looked around the room. The Consular Chamber was large, but relatively sparsely furnished; the walls were covered in tired wood panelling, decorated with numerous small tapestries, each one depicting the name and insignia of former Consuls and Prime Consuls from the past three centuries. The room smelt of age rather than opulence, a heady mix of varnish, old fabric and dusty parchment reminiscent of a library, museum or other such custodian of ancient tradition and thought. Items of furniture were few and far between: a few upholstered benches and chaise-longues were arranged around the edges of the walls, but the room was dominated by two long wooden pews, semi-circular in shape, placed facing each other in the centre of the chamber, forming a broken circle. The breach in the circle was filled by the large, unembellished desk at which Varden sat, his fingers steepled in front of him.
"'Uncomfortable'?" he said, feigning hurt. "Well, I suppose it's nothing compared to the accommodations enjoyed by the Order, but it serves its purpose. The Consuls of Serenity have no need for lavish surroundings to conduct our business - in fact the humbleness of our environment keeps us in mind of the people we serve." He smiled at the cleric, "The Keeper himself had no need for cushions and furs on his throne of office."
Jonaris reddened. "You are not Keeper, Varden!" he blustered, "And you never will be!"
"Quite right, my dear Procardinal. Besides, even if I wished to be, what is a Keeper without the Source?"
A pair of doors at the back of the room led out to a balcony overlooking the Civic Square, through which the sounds of the trouble below leaked in - the dull rumble of the crowd, interspersed with shouts, screams and cries, all against the ominous backdrop of the continuing storm. Jonaris looked to the open doors, distracted by the noise.
"Are you sure we're safe up here, Varden? It sounds like all hell is breaking loose down there."
Varden sat back in his chair, idly checking his wrist device. "Not to worry," he said, "the building is secure, my men are at the door, and everything that can possibly be done has been done to ensure our continued safety."
"Yes, well, we'll see about that," Jonaris muttered.
"Relax, my friend," soothed Varden, "you and I have been at this game for a long time. All will be well, eventually… as always."
"The game has changed - you know that as well as I, Varden! New players bring new risks," the cleric replied. "Perhaps this is the final hand."
Foster Drevus stood at the main doorway of the Civic Hall and surveyed the scene before him, his face set in a scowl. The doors were barred and secured with the weight of thirty fosters holding them fast, but still they creaked and buckled with the pressure of the masses outside bearing down on them. The sound of the crowd beyond was formidable; from the depth of the dull roar Drevus guessed that hundreds, if not thousands had swelled the citizens' ranks since he had left his post. The nearer sounds of the agonised gasps and screams of those at the front of the crush were similarly blood-chilling. People were undoubtedly dying, and it seemed Drevus had little choice but to act. He turned to the neatly-arranged ranks of white-robed acolytes behind him.
"Right. We're going out. Your orders are to push back the crowd and restore order. Set your rifles to stun, and use the minimum force necessary to regain control. Remember, these are the citizens of Serenity and therefore our kin - loss of life is to be avoided at all costs." He turned to the tall, grey-haired Foster beside him.
"Take them out, Foster Telemas. You have command."
"What? You're not coming with us?"
Drevus sighed heavily, his expression grim yet determined. "No, brother. There's something I must do… before it's too late."
The doors of the Consular Chamber burst open with a loud crash, causing both Varden and Jonaris to look up in alarm. They were relieved to see the familiar face of Proctor Morovan burst in.
"Morovan!" cried the Procardinal, "Thank the Lady! But what in heaven's name–"
The Proctor was followed by Tegan, flushed with exertion and carrying her shoes in one hand. She indicated the benches in the middle of the room with the other.
"Here you go, Doc, you can put her down over there."
The Doctor entered, similarly red-faced, with Nyssa in his arms. He hurried to the benches and deposited the still-unconscious girl on the nearest one, before sitting back on the floor to regain his breath.
The party was completed by a dozen armed acolytes, who silently filed in and arranged themselves against the back wall. Prime Consul Varden got to his feet.
"What is the meaning of this, Proctor?" he growled, "There are no arms to be borne in the Consular Chamber, you know that!" Before Morovan could answer, the Procardinal got to his feet.
"This is my private bodyguard, Varden, and I think you'll agree that desperate times call for desperate measures!" Jonaris turned to the Doctor and Tegan. "What ails the Lady? If you have harmed her, Herald–"
The Doctor interrupted, his voice suffused with irritation. "I haven't done anything! Now, if you would just be quiet for one minute, I need to concentrate…"
The Procardinal began another blustering rant but the Doctor ignored him, focussing instead on his unconscious companion before him. He knelt next to Nyssa's head, smoothed back her curly hair, and placed his fingers around her temples, closing his eyes. Tegan looked on silently, her face concerned.
Varden watched the scene intently, until his ears pricked at an unfamiliar sound from the direction of the hallway. Raised voices, muffled by the closed doors, were followed by the louder and unmistakeable sound of laser fire. The doors burst open once more, and a Foster staggered into the room, gasping in agony before collapsing to the floor. Two acolytes could be seen beyond the doorway, their crumpled forms lying motionless on the carpet. The Foster groaned, his hands reddening as he clutched his stomach. Varden moved to help him, recoiling momentarily as he recognised his face.
"Drevus! What's happening? Can you hear me? Drevus!"
The young man stilled at the sound of the Prime Consul's voice. "My Lord… I had to tell you…" His face contorted in pain with the effort of speaking.
"Lie still, Foster," said Varden, cradling the young man's head, "we'll get you a medic. Conserve your strength; whatever it is, it can wait."
Drevus shook his head. "N-no, my Lord… it can't!" He took a deep, rasping breath, his blood-stained hand grabbing the Prime Consul's robes. "It's a - a coup, my Lord! An army," he gasped, "of acolytes… hundreds of them, all armed…" Drevus broke off, coughing, his lips shining with blood. Varden grabbed his hand as the young Foster struggled for breath.
"Be still, Foster. Your job is done. I'll deal with it from here."
Drevus took one last, shuddering breath. "No! M-Morovan… can't… don't t-trust…" The Foster's head lolled, his last effort expended. Varden lowered him gently to the floor.
Proctor Morovan looked down at the lifeless form of Drevus, and shook his head.
"Wrong choice, boy," he said bitterly, as he calmly levelled his pistol at the Prime Consul's head.
Tegan touched the Doctor's shoulder. The Time Lord opened his eyes, blinking as his vision readjusted to the physical plane.
"Excellent! That should do it." He looked at Nyssa, who now appeared to be sleeping peacefully. "I've rebuilt her mental defences myself. Much easier thanks to your efforts in severing the telepathic connection. She should be fine, once she wakes up."
"Doctor, there's something going on here," said Tegan in a low voice, "I'm not entirely sure what it is, but I do know someone just got blasted, so whatever it is, it's not good. If you ask me, we need to wake Nyssa up, find Adric, and get the heck out of here!"
The Doctor got to his feet, and dusted off his hands. "Now, now Tegan, let's not be too hasty."
"What's wrong with hasty?" hissed Tegan. "There's a dead man over there, and I'm not anxious to join him, so hasty's the way to go as far as I'm concerned - the hastier the better!"
"That may be the case, Tegan, but the fact is that Nyssa has been sedated, and we don't know what dosage you gave her or indeed have any idea about Trakenite biology, which means we don't have a clue as to when she will wake up. So until that happens, I'm afraid we'll have to stay here, and while we're here, we might as well try and help the situation." With that, the Time Lord got to his feet, dusted his trousers off, and headed over to where the stricken Foster lay. Tegan looked down at her sleeping friend.
"Nyssa, if you can hear me," she whispered, her voice quavering with trepidation, "please wake up soon, before the Doctor gets us all killed!"
"Showing your true colours at last, Morovan?" Varden looked calmly down the barrel of the pistol, then up into the eyes of his subordinate. "What took you so long?"
"A good soldier considers all options, my Lord," the Proctor sneered, "I am nothing if not prudent." He stepped back as the Prime Consul slowly rose to his feet, wiping his blood-stained hands on his robes.
"Prudent?" scoffed Varden, bitterly, "Your 'prudence' smacks of self-interest, my friend. I knew you were a soldier, Morovan… I never had you down for a mercenary."
Morovan stepped forward, snarling, his pistol raised at Varden once more, but found his way suddenly blocked.
"Now now," said the Doctor with a placating smile, "I'm sure this is something that can be resolved without resorting to violence."
The Prime Consul let out a cynical laugh. "Once again you demonstrate scant knowledge of our past, Doctor. The pages of our history are written in blood."
The Doctor drew breath to respond, but his words were masked by the sound of gunfire from outside.
"What the-?" cried Varden. He turned and rushed to the balcony, oblivious to the Proctor's weapon still aimed at his head.
The scene that greeted him from the Civic Square below was like a window into hell. The Prime Consul's eyes narrowed as he took it all in: the square was packed with thousands of people, the crowd roaring and boiling like the waves of a storm-tossed sea. As thunder rolled in the black clouds overhead, the citizens below surged forwards, their voices echoing the angry storm above. The turbulent mass filled the square entirely, and as the rain drilled down the heat from the multitude of bodies caused steam to rise lazily from their sodden clothes. As Varden looked further back he could see the streets leading into the plaza were similarly crammed with people, as far back as the eye could see, like a network of tributary streams and rivers flowing into a seething pool. Directly below the balcony, the perimeter of the Civic Hall was secured by a thinly-stretched line of Fosters, the long barrels of their laser rifles interlocked as they grimly fought to hold back the throng before them. Their guns were silent; the laser fire came from behind them, where a mass of white-robed acolytes seemed to be firing into the crowd indiscriminately, each blast giving rise to pockets of horrified screams and cries, causing ripples to radiate out like stones cast into water. Panic had taken hold at the front of the square, as frightened citizens turned to run, pushing back away from the gunfire, but they had nowhere to go; those at the back and in the streets beyond were still pushing forwards, oblivious to the carnage before them. The inexorable pressure from fore and aft left those in the middle trapped, slowly being crushed in a human vice. As their agonised screams reached Varden's ears he turned away and headed back into the room, his face a mask of fury.
"What in the Keeper's name is going on, Jonaris? There are members of your Order down there, and they're firing on the citizens!"
The Procardinal shrugged. "Desperate times, my friend, remember?"
Varden rounded on the Proctor. "And what have you to say about all this, Morovan?" He pointed to the balcony behind him. "Is this your choice? Anarchy and slaughter? I'll see you stripped of office for this day's work!"
Morovan stood impassive. "I act, my Lord, as I have always done: with my conscience."
A loud burst of gunfire echoed around the Square outside, followed by the panicked screams of the Serenite citizens.
"And this is what your conscience commands, is it?" Varden shouted incredulously, "The needless deaths of the innocent? To what end?"
Morovan smiled grimly, raising his pistol once more. "Why, yours, my Lord," he said, and pulled the trigger.
Tegan watched in horror from across the room as Prime Consul Varden was thrown backwards by the force of the blast, landing in a crumpled heap at the foot of his desk. She quickly ducked down behind the bench occupied by Nyssa's supine form. Things were escalating much too quickly for her liking.
"I'd have been safer facing that angry mob with Suren," she muttered to herself, "At least then I would have known who the enemy was!" She was surprised to be answered by a groan from the bench next to her.
"Nyssa?" Tegan looked at her friend. The Trakenite's eyelids were fluttering, her smooth brow creasing into a frown. Tegan put a hand on her arm, whilst keeping a watchful eye on the events across the room.
"Listen, just stay quiet a minute, ok?" she whispered, "I'm not sure you waking up right now is the best idea after all..."
"There was absolutely no need for that!" shouted the Doctor. The Time Lord moved to where Varden lay, hurriedly checking his pulse whilst simultaneously keeping a close eye on the muzzle of Proctor Morovan's pistol.
"On the contrary, Herald," replied Procardinal Jonaris, "there was every need. "The Prime Consul must be removed, if we are to safeguard the future of Serenity."
The Doctor looked down at Varden - who thankfully seemed to have been merely stunned - then stood and looked over to where the less fortunate figure of Drevus lay, his eyes still and lifeless.
"So Drevus was right," he said, accusingly, "this is a coup! But tell me, Procardinal, how does replacing one tyrant with another help the people of this planet, hmmm?"
Proctor Morovan stepped forward, moving his gun in the direction of Tegan and Nyssa. "Because this leader will be backed by heavenly appointment."
The Doctor frowned. "You don't mean-"
"Yes," interrupted Morovan. "And it's all thanks to you, my Lord Herald. You brought our Lady home to us."
"Not for this! Not to be used in your petty power games!"
"This is no 'game', Time Lord!" Jonaris thundered. "This is my life's work! The culmination of years of planning and effort!"
"To what end, Procardinal? To satisfy your greed and lust for power?"
"To return Serenity to its proper place in the heavens! To reinstate our sacred purpose, with the Order back in its rightful role as custodians of the spiritual wellbeing of the people!"
The Doctor laughed scornfully. "With you at its head, no doubt! You megalomaniacs are all the same!"
The cleric smiled, shaking his head. "No, Doctor, you overestimate my importance. I am simply an instrument of the divine."
"Nyssa will never capitulate in this, you realise that, don't you? She will never willingly subject the population of this world to tyranny!"
"Well, it doesn't have to be 'willingly', does it?" snarled Morovan, hefting his pistol meaningfully.
Adric swayed, sweat breaking out across his forehead. He was alone again, lost in a world of confused, swirling images and surging emotions. The clarity that had come from his erstwhile guide had gone, his lifeline back to sanity severed. He felt himself sinking into the dark pools of the Alzarian marsh once more, a single word echoing through his mind as the fetid waters soaked his long-parched gills and slowly covered his upturned face...
Brother.
Brother.
Brother. Brother. Brotherbrotherbrotherbrother...
"Adric?"
Adric's eyes snapped open. He could see the weak, misty light of the sun through the water above him.
"Adric?"
The sound of his name shot through him like an electric current. He looked around, but he was utterly alone, the dank pool around him empty and devoid of life.
"Adric!"
Suddenly a hand ripped through the surface of the water above him, scattering the sun's faint disc into a million points of light as it reached towards him, grasping fingers outstretched, searching. Instinctively he reached up and grabbed it, his gasp escaping in a torrent of bubbles as he felt himself inexorably pulled up towards the light...
Adric's face broke the water's surface, eyes momentarily blinded by the brightness; he coughed, spluttering as his lungs struggled to cope with the sudden transition from water to oxygen-rich air. He felt his feet scrape the silty marsh bed beneath him as he was dragged through the the shallow water at the edge of the marsh, his legs catching on reeds and tangling in riverfruit vines, pulling at his limbs as if keen to draw him back into the murky water. At last he lay panting on the gritty shale at the water's edge. After a moment he turned, and found himself looking into a familiar pair of eyes.
"V-Varsh?"
His brother's anxious face broke into a smile, water dripping from his tousled hair. "I couldn't reach you before," he said, panting. "You were too deep. But then I spotted you close to the surface, and I managed to grab you." He looked at his younger brother intently. "You've been down there for a long time. Are you sure you're ok?"
Adric frowned, shaking his head. "I... I can't... don't know how - " He stopped, raising his clenched fists to his face and growling in frustration as his words eluded him.
Varsh laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't worry Adric, you were always better with numbers than words anyway!" He got to his feet, dragging his brother up with him. "We'll work it out on the way."
"Way?"
"This way," Varsh replied. "I'm taking you home."
"I might have known," exclaimed the Doctor, eyeing Proctor Morovan's gun with disgust - "it always comes down to this, doesn't it? If in doubt, point a gun at someone! It's becoming quite tedious, really."
Morovan raised an eyebrow. "I have always found the method to be efficient."
"So what are you going to do? Hold Nyssa at gunpoint for the rest of her life? Force her to sanctify your dirty work? How long do you think you can keep that charade up for, hmmm?"
"As long as necessary to secure our position and free Serenity from oppression!" Procardinal Jonaris stepped forward, his face reddening. He pointed to the Prime Consul, laid on the floor at his feet. "We have suffered long enough at the hands of this tyrant," he spat.
"So you're replacing him with another one. Marvellous!" scoffed the Doctor. "And when you're 'secure'? What happens to Nyssa then?"
"The Lady will remain as our spiritual inspiration. She will be treated with the respect she deserves," said Jonaris.
The Doctor sighed exasperatedly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "So, a prisoner then. You realise, of course, that I can't allow this to happen?"
"Oh, really?" Morovan squared up to the Doctor, resting the muzzle of his gun under the Time Lord's chin. "And what exactly are you going to do to stop us?"
"Stop."
"Everything in my power!" cried the Doctor. He stared Morovan in the eye, unflinching.
"Stop!"
Morovan laughed. "Ha! You might be the Herald, but you're only one man. If you hadn't noticed, we have an army at our disposal!"
"STOP!"
The shout from across the room halted them mid-flow. They turned to see Nyssa, awake and upright, her head in her hands.
"I'll do it," she said, quietly. "Whatever you want of me, I'll do it. Just please, stop this madness."
"STOP!"
Varsh and Adric had left the marshside, the older brother leading the way through the dense forest. They had moved at a steady run, but now Varsh turned as Adric shouted from a few metres behind him. The boy was doubled over, gasping for breath.
"Come on Adric!" said Varsh, "We're nearly there - look!" He pointed to where the dark, angular shape of the Starliner jutted through the trees.
"No - must stop…" Adric panted, sweat dripping from his face into the lush grass below.
"But we're nearly home!" Varsh looked back through the trees from where they'd come. He shivered, chilled by a cold breeze that had suddenly picked up. "We've got to keep going!"
Thin wisps of mist started to creep through the forest behind the two Alzarians; Varsh's eyes widened as he saw the fog's icy white fingers begin to caress the trees closest to them, inching slowly nearer. He turned back to his brother, grabbing his tunic and hauling him upright.
"Adric, it's Mistfall! Come on, we're so close to home! We've got to move - now!"
Adric snarled, pushing his brother away. "No! You're dead!" he cried. "You're all dead!"
"Nyssa? Are you alright?" The Doctor pushed Morovan's gun aside, and went over to where she stood, Tegan hovering at her side. He gently touched her chin, tipping her face upwards and looking into her eyes. "How are you feeling?"
Nyssa took his hand from her face, shaking her head and frowning. "I'm fine, I think… apart from a terrible headache."
"That was a very dangerous thing you did, young lady," he began to lecture, "Attempting telepathic communication on that scale could have fried every single one of your synapses!"
Nyssa held up her hand - "I realise that now Doctor, thank you! But there's so much pain and suffering here… can't you feel it?"
The Doctor closed his eyes momentarily, breathing in deeply through his nostrils, before expelling the air via a sigh. "Yes… there is something there, in the background…" He opened his eyes once more, "Funny I haven't noticed it before, but I'm afraid I've been rather distracted."
"You can both sense what the people of this planet are feeling?" asked Tegan.
"Yes," replied Nyssa. "Which is why I have to help. In any way that I can." She took a deep breath, and stepped towards where the Procardinal and Proctor Morovan stood watching the conversation with interest, the latter's gun still aimed in the trio's direction. Tegan grabbed her arm, pulling the Trakenite back.
"You can't be serious!" she cried, "These people are maniacs! They've already shot the Prime Consul, and their soldiers are busy blasting the citizens to smithereens as we speak! Who's to say what they'll do next?"
"Tegan's right," agreed the Doctor. "You can't trust them, Nyssa. They just want to use your position as the Lady to give their coup legitimacy - you can't just play into their hands!"
"And what's the alternative?" asked Nyssa, calmly. "We're already being held at gunpoint - if I refuse, they'll threaten to kill me, and if I still refuse, then the gun will be pointed at you and Tegan. Besides," she continued, "the chaos outside must be stopped - irrespective of who ultimately benefits - before more needless deaths occur."
"A wise decision, my Lady," leered Jonaris, stepping forward to take her arm. Before the Doctor could react, he steered her in the direction of the balcony. "This way, if you please. I need you to make your first address to the people. And don't worry if you're lost for words, I just happen to have a script all prepared…"
"Adric, what are you talking about?" cried Varsh, coughing as the first tendrils of cold mist hit his lungs. "I'm right here! Please - the mist is almost on us! We've got to go!"
"Get away from me!" Adric's voice broke, tears running down his face. "You're not real! You died!" He staggered back from his brother's outstretched arms, back towards the gathering fog and the marsh beyond.
"You died and left me alone!"
Thunder rumbled overhead as Nyssa stepped through the doors and out onto the balcony off the Consular Chamber. Thankfully the rain had all but stopped, but the black clouds still hung ominously overhead. She tentatively moved closer to the edge, Procardinal Jonaris at her elbow, urging her on. Looking out at the boiling mass of people a hundred feet below, the altruistic conviction she had felt a moment ago began to rapidly dissipate, and she began to wonder how she could even begin to make a difference to the chaos before her. As she stared, a burst of gunfire broke out from a squad of white robed acolytes toward the front of the melee, rapidly followed by the screams of the surrounding citizens as they pushed back, trying to flee, but with nowhere to go. The cries of pain were more than she could bear.
Nyssa tried desperately to imagine what her father would have done in this situation, but the still-raw sense of loss that his memory evoked merely added to the waves of misery and panic emanating from the citizens below. She realised that Tremas had already done all he can, by instilling in her an unshakeable sense of justice and a desire to help those in need in any way she could. In living by his example, she couldn't go wrong. With a determined expression, Nyssa turned to the Procardinal.
"Tell your men to ceasefire and pull back to the perimeter of the building," she demanded. "I won't speak to people held at gunpoint, whatever threats you make."
Jonaris narrowed his eyes, considering the slight girl before him. After a few moments he called to Morovan. The Proctor approached the doorway, still covering the Doctor and Tegan with his gun. After a whispered conversation, he withdrew back into the room, barking orders into his communicator. Whilst he was distracted, Tegan turned to the Doctor.
"Alright Doctor, what's the plan?"
The Doctor didn't answer. He stood staring at the acolytes arranged around the room, absent-mindedly fiddling with the contents of his coat pocket.
"Doctor!" Tegan hissed.
"Mmmm? What?"
Tegan rolled her eyes. "The plan, Doctor! What are we going to do?"
"Plan! Ah, yes! Well said, Tegan. We really must get one of those... any ideas?"
"I'm an air stewardess, Doc, you're the nine-hundred year old Time Lord, remember?" She punched him on the shoulder. "Doctor! Are you even listening to me?"
"Ouch!" The Doctor rubbed his arm, then wandered over to where the nearest acolytes stood. "There's no need for violence, Tegan!" he admonished. "I was just wondering about these chaps. Notice anything strange?"
Tegan looked at the identically-robed guards arranged around the room. "They've all got guns, that's what I notice! Now come on Doc, Morovan's bound to finish any minute!"
The Doctor was barely listening to her. "No, I mean about how they're all exactly the same height..." He walked along the line, tapping his finger to his lips as his mind worked overtime. The acolytes ignored him, their hoods partially covering their faces.
"Yeah? So what?"
"Well, it's a very limited population, Tegan, and given the relatively small proportion of that population that are likely to seek a vocation within the Order I think it very improbable that there could be sufficient numbers of identically-sized acolytes with which to form a sizeable guard, don't you? Plus the fact that they seem to have raised a rather large army in a rather short space of time. Which means..."
"Er, Doctor…!" Tegan stepped back as Proctor Morovan, having finished his communication, turned back towards them. The Doctor, caught up in his train of thought, was oblivious to her warning. Morovan closed in on the Time Lord, his gun pointed directly at the back of his head.
Adric snarled, raising his clawed hands as he backed away from his older brother.
"Adric! Come on!"
"No! Keep away from me!"
"Please!" Varsh pleaded, "you're not alone! Everyone's waiting for you on the Starliner! Please Adric, just a bit further!"
The younger boy shook his head, tears and confusion clouding his vision. "You're not real," he growled, "none of this is real! There's no one… just the voice in my head… it won't stop!"
Varsh held out his hand. "Trust me, brother." Adric recoiled at the word, but Varsh persisted: "They're all waiting. Tylos, Keara, Login and the others…"
"No…" Adric backed away further, the cold mist circling his legs.
"And the Doctor's there waiting for you…"
The mist reached Adric's torso, enveloping him in its cool embrace. "I can't…" he sobbed, "I - please… make it stop!"
"…with Tegan and Nyssa. Remember Nyssa?"
Adric stopped dead in his tracks, synapses firing involuntarily in his brain like fireworks. The wind picked up suddenly, swirling the white fog around him. The surrounding world dissolved: the forest, the Starliner and Varsh melting away into nothing, until there was just the spiralling mist, with Adric at the epicentre, battered by the raging currents that tore his screams from his throat and sent them hurtling into the maelstrom, his tortured voice reflecting back at him and reverberating through his consciousness…
"Kill…. Kill…. KILL…!"
"Clones!" The Doctor turned round triumphantly, his smile fading rapidly as he realised he was now face to face with the muzzle of Morovan's gun. He composed himself almost instantaneously. "Isn't that right, Proctor Morovan? You've got yourself a little cloning factory in that basement lab of yours, haven't you?"
"I knew you'd been through those doors!" cried Morovan triumphantly.
The Doctor ignored him, revelling in his realisations. "Complex amino acid solutions, synthetic enzymes, nutrient baths… I should have realised before! Classic ingredients for cellular mitosis and artificial embryogenesis!"
"I think you've just signed your own death warrant, Herald," snarled the Proctor.
"But the real question is…." the Doctor span away from Morovan's aim, quickly moving along the line of acolytes before his assailant could react, before stopping suddenly before one in particular - "…if they're all clones, then why is this acolyte so much shorter than the rest, hmmm?"
The Doctor reached across and pulled the acolyte's white hood back from his face. Tegan instantly let out a gasp.
"ADRIC!"
Nyssa took a deep breath, and stepped forward into the intense pool of light at the edge of the balcony where a series of spotlights converged. She looked down at the crowds below, her heartbeat racing. The gunfire had ceased, she noticed thankfully, the white-robed acolytes having withdrawn to the perimeter of the building. The crowd still pressed forwards, the cries of the hungry and desperate drifting up to her like smoke from a smouldering volcano.
"As agreed, my Lady, my people have disengaged," said Jonaris, hovering at her elbow. "Time to keep your part of the bargain."
"Thankyou Procardinal, I am aware of my obligations," Nyssa replied, rather primly. She cleared her throat, hesitantly moving closer to the microphone that would convey her words - no, she thought, the Procardinal's words - to not only the people before her, but the entire population of the colony. It was a sobering thought, but not one, she reflected, that she had any choice about, not if her friends were to remain unharmed. With that in mind, she raised her arms.
"Citizens of Serenity!" Nyssa was momentarily taken aback by the sound of her own voice reverberating across the square and beyond. The tone of the crowd below altered, the sudden awareness of her presence rippling across the sea of people like a stone dropped into a pond.
"Citizens of Serenity," she repeated, "I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for this extraordinary welcome. Please, be at peace." Nyssa paused, and the people gradually hushed. "My name…" She hesitated, aware that she had come to the point of no return. Her next sentence would alter the course of her life forever, for good or ill, and the significance of that fact caused the words to catch in her throat. She felt Jonaris shifting his considerable weight beside her, subtly reminding her of his presence. There was no alternative but to speak the words she had been given.
"My name is Nyssa, and I… I am the last daughter of Traken." The crowd erupted into cheers and roars, the whole plaza suddenly alive with sound. Nyssa waited for the noise to subside slightly, before continuing.
"It has been a long journey, but I am finally home. I carry the spirit of the Union of Traken within me, and I am here to share its blessings with you all. But I bring not only a blessing, but a promise. Serenity has seen hardship over the centuries, and I feel the pain and suffering of each and every one of you. My promise is to bring an end to that suffering. To end the hateful tyranny you have all been subjected to, and to return peace to the last remnant of our beloved Union."
The mass of citizens cheered once more, voicing their shared approval. Nyssa looked at the Procardinal, who nodded his endorsement, his thick lips peeling back into a satisfied smile. She turned away, nauseated by his expression and the part she was playing in his triumph. One more sentence, she thought, and his victory would be complete.
Adric swayed where he stood, his face pale and sweaty, his eyes ringed with red, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. The Doctor gently took his shoulders, peering into his face.
"Adric! Thank goodness you're safe." The Time Lord shook the boy's shoulders, frowning at his lack of response. "Adric? Are you alright?"
Tegan stepped forward, concerned. "What's wrong with him, Doctor?"
"I don't know," he replied, snapping his fingers in front of Adric's face. "Some sort of metabolic poison perhaps, or more likely… he's been drugged." He turned to Proctor Morovan accusingly: "What have you done to my companion, Proctor?"
"His condition is nothing to do with me," replied Morovan, matter-of-factly, "my men have been searching for him, if you recall."
"Yeah, right!" said Tegan, "Didn't do a very good job, did they? He was right under your nose!"
"Quiet, Tegan!" interjected the Doctor, before Morovan could retaliate. "I think he's coming round. Adric? It's the Doctor - can you hear me?"
The Time Lord's voice seemed to spark a sudden recognition in the boy. He blinked, frowning, and focussed on the Doctor's face. Without warning, he grabbed the Doctor's arms, and pushed back violently, his voice an indiscernible snarl. The Doctor, taken by surprise, fell to the floor.
"Adric? What the-"
"No!" cried the Alzarian, standing over his erstwhile mentor. "You're not real! None of you are real!"
"Adric, what are you doing?" cried Tegan, moving towards the boy.
"Tegan, stay back! There's something wrong!" the Doctor shouted, quickly regaining his feet. Adric snarled, swinging around towards her, hands raised menacingly. The Doctor leapt behind him, locking his arms around the boy's torso, pinning his arms to his sides. Adric began to struggle wildly, forcing the Doctor backwards. They veered towards the consular benches, bound together in an incongruous dance, until the Doctor's legs collided with the low bench and he fell backwards, taking Adric with him. The Doctor was momentarily stunned, but Adric rolled and got to his feet quickly, his face a mask of savage fury.
"Leave me ALONE!" he screamed, clutching his head - "I can't… it's not real! You - you left me!" He rounded on the Doctor, who was rubbing the back of his head, struggling to get up from where he lay, sprawled on the floor.
"Adric, NO!" Tegan shouted.
"I'll deal with this," Morovan growled, and he raised his gun, training it on the centre of Adric's back.
"Oh no you don't!" cried Tegan. She barrelled into the Proctor, spoiling his aim and sending him hurtling across the room. The laser blast he had intended for Adric missed the boy by a fraction of a centimetre, exploding into the wood panelling of the far wall. The gun flew out of the Proctor's hand; Tegan immediately dived upon it, frantically flicking switches and pressing buttons on the handle. Adric, distracted by the blast sizzling past his head, turned to face Tegan with a growl of rage. Across the room, Morovan leapt to his feet, lurching towards the earthwoman, his face twisted in anger.
"This has been a monumental day," proclaimed Nyssa, her voice ringing out across the plaza, "that shall long be remembered in the annals of Serenity's history. It has seen the return of your Lady and… and also the end of Prime Consul Varden's imperious rule. I…" she paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I commend to you my new government, headed by those closest to my person. Henceforth, Procardinal Jon-"
Nyssa stopped suddenly, her head whipping round to face Jonaris. "What was that?" she asked, distracted by the strange sounds emanating from the room behind them.
"It is nothing! Resume your address!" cried the cleric, desperately trying to turn Nyssa back towards the microphone. The unmistakable sound of a laser blast crackled through the air.
"That's not nothing!" shouted Nyssa, and stormed towards the doorway to the Consular Chamber.
"Stop!" Tegan held the gun out before her, her hands shaking. "I'm not sure what setting this thing is on, so don't make me use it!"
Proctor Morovan stopped, raising his hands into the air. "Now, let's not do anything rash… you are surrounded by a dozen armed acolytes, girl. One word from me, and they'll blast you to oblivion. So put the gun down, and we'll say no more about it."
"Don't 'girl' me," spat Tegan, "I can pull this trigger before you've even drawn breath, don't think I won't!" She turned her attention to Adric, who was advancing towards her. "Adric, stop, please! I don't want to shoot you!"
Morovan used the distraction to lunge towards her, but Tegan spotted him, and swinging the pistol round she fired, hitting the Proctor full in the chest. He crumpled like a rag doll, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Adric barely registered the Proctor's fate, his advance towards Tegan continuing unabated.
"Please Adric," Tegan cried, tears clouding her vision, "please stop! Don't make me shoot - I don't want to hurt you!"
"Let me go, Procardinal!" The voice came from the balcony, and Nyssa burst into the room - closely followed by a red-faced Jonaris - tearing her arm from the Procardinal's grasp. She took in the scene before her in an instant, and gasped: "Tegan! What's happening? Is that… Adric?!"
The Doctor, still dazed, struggled to rise from the floor. "Nyssa! Stay back!"
Adric had swung round at the sound of Nyssa's voice. He looked at her, then shook his head, as if something were causing him pain. "No….!" he moaned, his voice guttural and filled with despair. "I can't… she's not real! Don't make me…. NO!"
"What's wrong with him?" asked Nyssa, regarding her friend's internal monologue with confusion. "Is he unwell?"
"The boy is obviously deranged!" cried Jonaris. "Acolytes - seize him!"
The previously motionless acolytes suddenly sprang to life and closed in, their rifles trained inexorably on the boy before them.
"No!" shouted Tegan - "Stay back!" She waved her gun in the acolytes' direction, but they continued regardless of her threat. Their movement drew Adric's attention, and he started to back away towards the balcony doorway, growling like a caged animal, his bloodshot eyes filled with anger, his prior confusion lost in base instinct.
The Doctor had managed to get to his feet, but found himself cut off behind the white-robed wall of cloned soldiers. "Jonaris! Tell them to stop!" he shouted - "There's nowhere to go! You'll be trapped!"
The cleric spluttered, realising too late what he had done. The acolytes were closing in, pushing Adric back towards the only available exit - the balcony doorway where he and Nyssa stood. Hemmed in by their menacing advance, Adric turned and launched himself towards the Procardinal with a roar of anger. Jonaris screamed, trying in vain to fend off the youth, his plump, bejewelled hands held up to protect his face from the onslaught.
"Adric, stop!" The Doctor tried to fight his way through the ever-contracting line of acolytes, as Tegan, having worked out the controls of the laser pistol, started stunning those closest to her. Nyssa, however, found herself nearest to where Adric and Jonaris wrestled, locked in an ill-matched struggle.
"Please, Adric - let him go!" she shouted, but the boy was oblivious to her words. Left with little alternative, Nyssa grabbed Adric from behind, one arm locked around his neck, attempting to pull him away from the wailing cleric. Suddenly knocked off balance, Adric staggered backwards, taking Nyssa with him. The Doctor and Tegan watched helplessly as their two friends fell through the balcony doors and out into the cold night air.
The hunched figure of the Seer shuffled into his workshop, searching the benches with shaking hands as an alarm sounded on an instrument panel to one side. He pushed aside reams of ancient paper, electronic components and delicate glassware; some of which rolled off the surface, smashing on the stone floor with a delicate tinkle. A tortured chuckling sound emanated from his breath mask as he finally located the items he was looking for.
"Not long now…" he breathed, holding up a long, silver cylindrical object to the light. He turned the object, checking it over, before placing it back on the bench in front of him. "I do so love reunions," he whispered, picking up another item.
The Seer pulled on a pair of black leather gloves, his harsh, electronic chuckle echoing around the room.
Nyssa gasped as she fell to the floor of the balcony, Adric landing on top of her. She managed to wriggle out from under him, hurriedly regaining her feet as he rolled on the floor, moaning and holding his head. She could hear the Doctor's voice from the inside of the Consular Chamber, telling her that he was on his way, but already she knew he would be too late. Adric was on his feet again, breathing heavily and looking at her with eyes full of unfathomable rage.
"Adric? Please - it's me, Nyssa!"
Adric staggered forwards, not a single spark of recognition in his eyes, nothing that she could talk to. He shook his head at the sound of her voice, grimacing in pain. Tears rolled down Nyssa's face at the sight of what her friend had become.
"We're friends, remember?" she pleaded, backing away from him slowly. She bumped into the railing at the edge of the balcony, and realised she had nowhere left to go. "Please, Adric - you don't want to do this. Let me help you."
"NO!" Adric cried, his fingers desperately clutching his head as if trying to keep something contained. "Not… real," he gasped, "Everyone dead… dying, must… can't…!"
Nyssa looked behind her, over the edge of the parapet to the crowd hundreds of feet below. She realised she was in the spotlight once more; the people, having noticed her return, were cheering and chanting her name. The sound grew louder; she turned back to Adric, who seemed strangely intoxicated by the noise. He swayed to and fro for a moment, in time with the chanting, before calmly uttering a single word:
"Kill."
Nyssa screamed as he launched himself at her. Locked together in a deadly embrace, they tumbled over the edge of the railing, plummeting headlong towards the ground below.
