Title: What a Fool Believes
Author: E.A. Week
E-mail: eaweek at hotmail-dot-com
Summary: River Song summons the Eleventh Doctor to the beautiful planet Vareda to celebrate the excavation of an ancient temple. A gruesome attack on the Doctor leads River to believe that someone on Vareda would do anything to keep her discovery buried forever.
Category: Doctor Who. Eleven/ River; Amy/Rory.
Distribution: Feel free to link to this story from another web page, but please drop me at least a brief e-mail and let me know you've done this.
Feedback: Letters of comment are always welcome! Loved it? Hated it? Send me an email and let me know why!
Disclaimer: Copyrights to all characters in this story belong to their respective creators, production companies, and studios. I'm just borrowing them, honest!
The story title is shamelessly stolen from the Doobie Brothers.
Datclaimer: This story is rated M for sex, language, and mild gore.
Continuity (PLEASE read this): This story occurs at some nebulous point after season five, but somewhat outside the continuity of season six, though I touch on some of the same themes and borrow a couple of general ideas. Think of it as a tiny little "bubble" universe, connected to the "main" universe of the sixth season, or a slightly alternate timeline.
Chapter One
Applause was the first thing they heard when the TARDIS doors opened—applause, and childish, happy laughter.
An adult voice called, "The storyteller's here!" A tall woman came to the Doctor's side. "We're so glad you could make it! Such a spectacular arrival!" She peered around Amy, trying to see into the ship's interior, but Rory blocked her view, pulling shut the door with a quick tug.
"Storyteller? Oh, yes, of course!" The Doctor's expression shifted from confused to comically idiotic. He pretended to stagger a bit. "Bless me, how could I have forgotten?"
The kids kept laughing. They sat in a large room, walls painted a cheery yellow, large windows allowing plenty of sunlight. But the brightness of the space couldn't mask the hospital sights and sounds and smells, nor could it disguise the conditions of the children, some of whom were clearly quite ill.
The tall woman led the Doctor to a large, elaborately decorated chair in the center of the floor, and a gaggle of kids surrounded him, some able to move on their own, others on crutches or in wheelchairs. Amy and Rory edged over to one side, watching the Doctor. Amy wondered how he would improvise his way out of this one. There was no sign of River.
"Well," the Doctor began. "So, you want a story?"
"Yes!" the kids shrieked.
"What kind of story?"
A chorus of different opinions rose up, but everyone seemed to want a story both adventurous and funny.
"All right!" the Doctor smiled, and Amy realized he was enjoying this turn of events. "Here's one for you! Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. This is a very special story—the story of a little girl named Amelia Pond and the Raggedy Doctor."
Amy gave a small start, and Rory squeezed her hand.
The Doctor launched into the story. "Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Amelia who lived in a big, spooky old house in the middle of the country. Amelia didn't have a mum or dad; she lived with her aunt, who used to go out a lot at night."
Amy tried not to giggle.
"Amelia was worried, because there was a crack in her bedroom wall. Now, this was no ordinary crack—it was a crack in space and time, and every night, Amelia fell asleep with dreams of the whole universe pouring through her mind."
By now, even the adults were bewitched, less by the story than by the cadences of the Doctor's voice. Amy stood listening to this unusual rendition of her childhood—well, one of her childhoods, anyway. She could remember one as clearly as the other, though sometimes she had to pause when trying to recall a specific memory. Had this or that occurred during her first lifetime, or her second?
Rory, of course, could recall three lives—his two lives in Leadworth, and his life as a Roman soldier. Although that identity, that past, had been entirely fabricated, it was no less real to him, and he would often startle Amy with some personal anecdote from the first century AD or a historical moment he had witnessed.
Rory looked around the big room, studying each child and wondering what illness or accident had brought them here. Nearby stood an auburn-haired woman of about forty, her gaze fixed on a small girl in a wheelchair. The girl was wizened and hunched over, completely bald, like a little old woman. And yet she was smiling, laughing at the Doctor's story along with the other kids.
In a quiet murmur, Rory asked, "Is that your daughter?"
Honey-brown eyes brimming, the woman nodded.
The laughter grew even louder now: the Doctor had gotten to the part about Prisoner Zero, and he was barking to impersonate the Rottweiler.
"He's good at this," Rory said to Amy. "He missed his calling."
An entrance to the room opened, double doors swooshing apart, and in strolled a tall, handsome black man in some kind of official uniform: white trousers and a tunic with a green crescent moon embroidered over the heart. He stared at the Doctor for a moment, looking flummoxed, then he smiled and stepped to the side, leaning against a wall.
Amy and Rory listened to the story, which the Doctor embellished to make more exciting and edited to avoid the more personal details. He made Rory sound dashing and heroic, and Amy considerably less temperamental. The story ended with Amy's parents returning through the time crack, where Prisoner Zero had been planning to feed them to his maggot-like offspring.
"Eew." Amy's nose wrinkled.
"And they all lived happily ever after," the Doctor concluded.
"What happened to Amelia?" asked a girl nearby.
The Doctor stood. "She married Rory, the brave nurse, and they raised dozens of children in a pretty little cottage."
"Dozens?" Amy snorted under her breath. "Do I look like a rabbit?"
The Doctor made his way through the gaggle of children, who were clamoring for more.
"Sorry—sorry—that's all for today," he told them.
The auburn-haired woman approached him. "Thank you," she said. "That's my daughter Miranda, there in that wheelchair. It's the first time I've seen her smile in months. I never thought I'd hear her laugh again."
"Oh, it was my pleasure," the Doctor said.
An orderly pushed Miranda's wheelchair over to her mother.
"Mummy, did you hear the funny story?" the girl asked.
"Of course, sweetheart. Did you say thank you?"
Up close, Rory could see the girl's dry, mottled skin, her lack of even eyelashes and eyebrows. She would have been a beauty, like her mother, but illness was devouring her from the inside out. Her limbs were thin, twig-like, legs twisted beneath her body.
"Thank you!" the girl said, smiling up at the Doctor with those same honey-colored eyes.
"You're welcome." The Doctor smiled down, sad but resigned. Rory could only imagine how much illness and suffering the Doctor had witnessed in his lifetime.
The woman offered a hand. "I'm Iris Escalus," she said. "This is my daughter, Miranda."
"Iris, Miranda, I'm the Doctor." The Time Lord introduced his friends. "These are Amy and Rory."
"Amy and Rory?" Iris inquired, lifting an eyebrow. "Or Amelia and Rory?"
"Amelia, in the flesh," Amy said. "Only without dozens of children." She gave the Doctor a poke with her foot.
The tall black man now approached. "Well, this is interesting," he said. "We just had a message that our storyteller has been delayed—something about a broken-down intercity tram."
The Doctor extended a hand. "I'm the Doctor, and it was my pleasure to tell the children a story."
"We're a pair of doctors, then," the man smiled, holding out his hand in return. "Dr. Hector Griffith, Director of Research and Chief Officer, here at Royal Hospital."
"Do you always attend storytelling hour?" the Doctor asked.
Dr. Griffith laughed, but his eyes showed no mirth. He side-stepped the Doctor's question. "What brings you to Vareda? I'm guessing you're from off-world, based on your clothes."
"I'm looking for Dr. River Song," the Doctor said, glancing around, as if he expected River to come crashing through a window. "I should have thought she'd find us by now—loves a spectacular entrance, that one."
"Professor Song is a guest of Queen Lavinia—excavating the Seventeenth Great Temple, isn't she?" asked Dr. Griffith.
"She sent for me," the Doctor said, his chest puffing out a bit. "We're… colleagues."
"In that case, we'll have someone escort you to the palace, where a steward can find Professor Song for you," Dr. Griffith said. "She's probably out at the dig site."
"Mummy, I'm tired," Miranda interrupted, probably bored by the adult conversation. "Can I go to sleep now?"
"Yes, of course—Nurse Perdita will take you back." Iris leaned down to kiss her daughter.
Nurse Perdita waited while Iris fussed over the sick child. Amy noticed three interesting spots over each of the female orderly's eyebrows: amber-colored and small, rather like moles. At last Iris straightened up with a sigh, watching as Nurse Perdita wheeled Miranda out of the bright room.
Iris then turned to the three newcomers. She'd been maintaining a happy façade for her daughter's sake, and now it began to crumble. She appeared to be in some distress, which the time travelers could sense. "If you'll excuse me, I really need to speak with Dr. Griffith," she said. "But the royal palace is right across the city square, a five-minute walk. Ask for the Lady Bianca when you get there—she's my mother, the Queen's steward."
"Thanks," the travelers chorused. Amy wasn't sorry to leave children's ward behind.
"How can there still be cancer this far in the future?" she asked as soon as they were out of the room, walking through a long corridor.
"Cancer's caused by cellular mutations," Rory said. "There must be different environmental toxins everywhere—in the food, the water, the air… and cancer-causing viruses would probably just mutate and travel wherever humans go." Rory glanced at the Doctor. "Am I right?"
"Hmm?" The Doctor didn't seem to be really paying attention. "Oh, yes, of course."
Rory made a face; Amy smiled and reached for his hand. They took a lift down several floors to the main lobby, a space as white and vast as a futuristic airplane hangar. A pair of tall sliding doors opened to the outside, the frosted glass etched with the same green crescent moon Rory had noticed on everyone's uniforms.
Amy and Rory both gasped when they stepped outside.
"It's beautiful!" Amy exclaimed.
Rory agreed. "Now this is space travel."
"City square" didn't do it justice, a busy confluence of at least six major thoroughfares. The avenues were all broad, each running in two directions, with a row of magnificent trees growing down its grassy median. The trees grew to an incredible height, creating a leafy canopy wide enough to shade the roadways from one side to the other. Amy and Rory saw no private vehicles. Along each roadway ran sleek white trams, the cars emblazoned with the silhouette of that same tree.
"The palamon," the Doctor said, following their gaze. "The royal tree, the symbol of Vareda."
The streets could be crossed via pretty arched bridges, all of them planted with beds and boxes of flowers and small blossoming trees. Amy was so delighted that she grabbed Rory's hand and skipped ahead of him a couple of steps.
"It's so clean," Rory said, inhaling. He looked up, turning his head, staring at the immaculate buildings, tall and white, their windows gleaming silver, reflecting the light. An alien sun glowed overhead, and the clouds in the sky held an unusual ochre-colored tint. "Is the whole planet like this?" He peered out across the footbridges and thoroughfares.
"It's a model planet," the Doctor nodded. "Clean, peaceful, and efficient. Rather dull, really. People come here from all over to study the Varedans' engineering and designs."
The royal palace was more wide than tall, a collection of buildings whose architecture, while varied, engaged the eye with its grace and symmetry. Flags bearing an image of the palamon tree flew from many turrets.
"Can we see more?" Amy pleaded. "Please?"
"First let's find out what River wants," the Doctor said. "I'm sure she can arrange a tour for us, if she hasn't already sparked a riot or started a revolution."
(ii)
As soon as the visitors had departed, Iris followed Hector into a private lift and up to his suite of offices on the top floor. From here, they had a panoramic view over the entire capital, the buildings becoming more scattered as the city gave way to the rolling green savannas of Fleance, Vareda's principal continent.
Today the view didn't impress Iris in the least, nor did it give her any pleasure. "You have the results?" she inquired.
"Please, sit," Hector said.
She shook her head. "No. Tell me. Now."
"I'm sorry," he said. "The tumors have stopped shrinking."
"But the treatment was working!"
"Iris," he said. "It was a slim chance at best."
"You promised—"
"I said it was worth a try," he corrected.
"So, try again."
Hector ran hand across the top of his head; there were days he hated his job, and this was one of them. "It would only be more of the same," he said. "And look how sick it made Miranda—do you really want to see her go through all that again?"
"What else can we do?"
"Make her comfortable. Let her travel, play with other kids. She needs to be outside in the fresh air, not held prisoner in here, if there's no hope left."
Iris had been dreading these words now for seven years, ever since Miranda was first diagnosed. Denial fought with the deep weariness inside her. She threw herself at Hector, screaming and pounding him with her fists. He caught her arms and drew her against him. Then her grief won out, and she gasped in long, anguished sobs. Hector said nothing, just held her and let her cry.
Over her shoulder, he saw one of the many computer monitors begin to blink with a flashing red light. The intercom gave a soft ping.
"Dammit," Hector muttered. Keeping one arm around Iris, he leaned closer to the desk and tapped a small button. "Yes?"
"Dr. Griffith, a visitor leaving the hospital registered as species unknown," announced a smooth female voice.
Hector shifted his gaze to the monitor: the storyteller and his two friends were exiting through the hospital's main entrance.
"So, widen the search parameters," he said.
"I did, sir—still nothing."
Iris disentangled herself from Hector's arms and joined the conversation. "Did you include the Outer Belt and the Klamper-Tahahiki asteroid cluster?"
"Yes, ma'am," the voice responded.
Iris glanced at Hector. "We'll need to run a full bio-scan, then." She sat at the desk. "Valeria, I'm switching you over to Dr. Griffith's terminal."
"You don't need to do this," he murmured.
"Are you forgetting who designed this program?" she shot back.
"A full scan will take hours."
"I don't mind," said Iris, passing her hands over the smooth desktop until the keypad emerged, glowing a soft green. She began tapping buttons, entering her security code. "It'll give me time," she said, not looking at Hector. "Time to… to decide."
"All right," he said, and since she wasn't interested in further conversation, he left her there to complete the work in privacy.
(iii)
The Grand Foyer of the palace was an impressive place, beautiful and businesslike, like an exceptionally posh bank. Flowing water tinkled into a wide marble pool surrounded with statuary. The Varedans' love of green, growing things extended to their interior design: Amy saw plants and small potted trees. Fresh flowers, massed by the dozen in vases and bowls, cast color onto the pale walls. People milled about, brisk and purposeful—on errands for the queen? Amy admired how people dressed: the men in loose trousers and knee-length tunics, the women in flowing robes. Most of the people wore their hair long, tied back in a single plait, though some of the older Varedans had cropped their hair short. Amy saw a lot of colorful jewelry on both genders.
A functionary was trying to be shirty with the Doctor. "I'm sorry, sir," she said in a snide tone. "The Lady Bianca is quite busy—you can't just walk into the palace and request an audience with her."
"Dr. Griffith sent us over," the Doctor said, giving the woman his most winning smile. "And Iris Escalus told us to ask for her mother."
The functionary wavered; she looked like she didn't believe this, but the Doctor's smile and endearing young face won her over; also, the names of Hector and Iris seemed to carry some weight. With a sigh, the woman stepped back from her desk and spoke into a device on her wrist, her voice a quiet, deferential murmur. A moment later, she said, "Please have a seat. The Lady Bianca will be down in a moment."
The three travelers took a seat on a smooth marble bench. "What do you think River wants?" Amy asked under her breath. "It doesn't look like anything weird's going on."
"That's what I'm afraid of," the Doctor murmured back.
Less than ten minutes later, a small woman whirled into the foyer. The azure of her robe matched her eyes, and her silver hair was cropped very short. A pair of beautiful earrings in gold filigree brushed her shoulders, and her nose was pierced with a tiny blue stone. Amy and Rory could see in her face the flawless bone structure shared by her daughter and granddaughter. Like Iris, Lady Bianca was a lovely woman.
"Doctor?" she asked.
The Time Lord stood, offering a hand. "Lady Bianca?"
"So pleased to meet you all." Lady Bianca shook hands with Amy and Rory. "Professor Song said she's expecting you, but that you'd be arriving in a… a blue box, she said."
"It's in the children's ward at the hospital," the Doctor said. "Could someone perhaps bring it over here for me? Stow it somewhere safe?"
"Very good," the woman smiled. "Come with me—we can take the royal tram to the dig site."
"So, what's River up to?" asked the Doctor as Lady Bianca led them through corridors and passageways.
"Professor Song's been working for nearly two years on behalf of the royal family," Lady Bianca said. "She's excavating the Seventeenth Great Temple, one of the wonders of Vareda. It's taken almost three decades, and Professor Song came on board to oversee the opening of the innermost chamber. She's catalogued all the artifacts they've found so far for the Royal Museum, quite a job, as you can imagine."
"Are there any problems?" the Doctor asked.
"What kind of problems?"
"Did she say she'd found anything odd, anything she couldn't understand?"
"No." Lady Bianca looked puzzled. "Why—did she indicate to you she was having troubles of some kind?"
"Aah, this must be the royal tram!" the Doctor exclaimed, ignoring Lady Bianca's question. "Look at that! Lovely! It's so… so tram-y."
They'd descended to a lower level, where one of those electric trains waited on a platform. A male guard in a tunic and trousers stood at attention as Lady Bianca swept into the car with her guests.
"Take us to the dig site," she ordered.
"Yes, Ma'am," the guard responded, closing the doors and taking the controls of the vehicle. Inside, the seats were plush, upholstered in deep green velvet.
"Anything to eat?" asked Lady Bianca. "We'll be close to half an hour getting there."
"Please and thank you," said Rory.
"Is there a loo?" asked Amy.
Lady Bianca pointed to the rear of the car. "Right there."
A female attendant brought out trays of food—real food, too, some kind of small bird, roasted and stuffed with a mixture of grains and nuts, and glazed with a sauce both pungent and sweet. The utensils presented a challenge: long, funny-looking things. Rory noted with some disgruntlement that the Doctor handled his odd two-pronged fork and strangely-shaped knife with fluid expertise; Rory and Amy did their best to copy him. Accompanying the meal was a mixture of roasted vegetables, crunchy and tart, and a delicious white wine. For dessert, there was bread and soft cheese.
"That was amazing," Rory said, too full to take another bite.
"The royal chef prepares all the food for the tram," Lady Bianca smiled.
Outside the windows, scenery had been blurring past at an unfathomable speed as the tram whipped over the grasslands on an elevated track. Great flocks of birds would fly up, startled, and a moment later they'd be black specks in the distance. Once, Rory caught a glimpse of a herd of fantastic-looking horned animals, something between a giraffe and a giant horse, but the tram went past the herd so quickly that the creatures were out of sight before Rory's mouth could even form a question. He hoped there would be time later to ask River about the planet's fauna.
"So, where's this temple?" asked Amy.
"Outside the city, on the savanna, near the site of an old Moschatan settlement," said Lady Bianca.
"The what?" said Amy.
"The Moschata," said Lady Bianca. "They were the original inhabitants of Vareda—all the Great Temples were built by them, centuries before the Mollisians arrived."
"And where'd they come from?" Amy pressed.
"Mollis—a planet over five million light years from here."
"Why'd they leave?" asked Rory.
"The sun of Mollis was growing old," the Doctor provided. He'd been looking out the windows, but now he turned his attention back to his friends. "Within another few generations, maybe two thousand years, it would go supernova. The Mollisians had already escaped from Earth, and they fled to the nearest habitable planet—Vareda."
"Escaped from Earth?" asked Amy, fascinated.
"Remember the Starship UK?"
"How could I forget?" Amy laughed. She squeezed Rory's arm. "You missed that one."
"They were colonists from the first wave that left Earth because of the solar flares," the Doctor went on. "Starship EU, with quite a lot of Russia and a bit of north Africa in the mix, the greatest of the Earth starships."
"They really were a long way from home," said Amy.
Rory frowned, "So what happened to the Moschatans when the Mollisians arrived?"
A painful, embarrassed silence descended over the tram car. The Doctor returned his gaze to the green blur outside the window.
After a few moments, Lady Bianca said, "Reparations were made after a few generations, beginning with Queen Lavinia's great-grandmother. All Moschatan children receive a free education, right through university. A few have risen to prominent positions in government and society. The director of the temple excavation is Jacquetta-tarq-Volsica, daughter of the First Clan Elder—she's working very closely with Professor Song on this dig. In fact, Jacquetta was the one who sought out Professor Song and recommended her for the position."
Rory made a small noise in his throat that Amy recognized as derision. She knew what he was thinking: reparations or not, the Mollisians were clearly the ruling class of Vareda, and the native Moschatans, for all the advances they may have recently made, were no doubt second-class citizens on their own planet. Still, Rory wouldn't openly criticize the Mollisians; God only knew, Earth didn't have a stellar record when it came to the treatment of indigenous peoples. There wasn't anything Amy or Rory could say without looking like the worst kind of hypocrite.
The tram had begun to slow. Lady Bianca stood, smiling, her body language and expression indicating the unpleasant matter was no longer open for discussion.
"We're almost there," she said. "Look—you can see the temple."
As the tram rounded its final loop, circling the flank of a hillside, the temple came into view. Amy's jaw dropped.
"It's huge!" she breathed.
"My God!" Rory added.
"Isn't it marvelous?" Lady Bianca beamed. "Wait 'till you see it up close."
The tram had pulled into a small town of sorts, incongruously high-tech out here on the open plains.
"Township Seventeen," Lady Bianca said as the doors swooshed apart. "Established to support the work of the dig. And look, Professor Song is waiting."
(iv)
"Hello, sweetie. You took your time."
"Hi, River!" Amy said, springing across the platform to hug the older woman. River looked like a female Indiana Jones in her khaki trousers, short-sleeved shirt, and multi-pocketed vest. She wore dusty work boots, and her mane of unruly curls was pulled back into a tail. Her face, neck, and arms were tanned a deep bronze.
"How are you, Amy?" River smiled.
"Great! You?"
"Always happy to be working on a dig. And hello, Rory."
"Hey," he said, leaning down to give the archeologist an awkward peck on the cheek.
"What about you?" River teased the Doctor. "No hugs or kisses for me?"
The Doctor leaned toward her, but instead of kissing her, asked quietly, "What's all this about, then?"
"Come and see." River took the Doctor's arm, steering him out of the station and into the town. Amy and Rory followed behind, with Lady Bianca bringing up the rear.
The walls of the temple towered over the small buildings of the town, and when the travelers left the main thoroughfare, the looming shape of the limestone walls lay in full view. Amy felt tiny, like an ant.
"How'd they do all this?" Rory asked.
"Muscle," River said. "Human muscle. It took hundreds of years." She was still arm-in-arm with the Doctor, Amy noted. "The Moschatans never domesticated animals, and they'd only invented the wheel a couple of centuries before the first temple was built."
As they approached, the temple seemed to rear up even higher, until Amy thought she'd twist her neck trying to take it in.
River had shifted into full professorial mode. "All the Great Temples of the Moschatans fell into ruin when the Mollisians colonized the planet," she said. "It's only been in the past two or three generations that the temples have been excavated. This was the last temple to be built, and some artifacts found at the other sites suggest the Moschatans sealed something valuable in here."
"Cool," said Amy. "Buried treasure?"
"We're hoping for something a little more interesting," River said. "Interesting to academics, anyway. Carvings on the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Temples refer obliquely to something called 'the Codex of the Final Days,' as near as we can translate. If so, it would be an amazing discovery—the Moschatans didn't leave any written documents, and it's only through the temple carvings that we know they'd even developed symbolic language."
"Final days?" said Amy, latching on to the bit that most interested her. "A doomsday prophecy? Love those."
They were following a path in the shade of the great wall as it curved around, and without warning, another wall appeared in front of them. River veered over to the right. Amy saw it was a stone corridor, leading into the temple itself.
"The temples were all built around the same plan: three concentric rings of walls, enclosing an inner sanctum," River said. "Come on." She lightly hopped down five steps into the stone tunnel. "This leads to the outer ring, called the Circle of the Stars."
Amy didn't see how River had been able to work here for two years: she felt suffocated and claustrophobic from the moment she crossed the threshold. The wooden roof over the tunnel, the deep trench of the floor, and the lack of daylight made Amy feel buried alive. She tightened her grip on Rory's hand, and they passed from the entry corridor into the temple itself.
Inside the first ring, the travelers saw nothing except the packed dirt floor and the dun-colored bricks of the temple walls. Rory gave the bricks a closer look, noting that they'd been stacked tightly together without any kind of mortar. At evenly spaced intervals rose massive pillars, each created from a single slab of limestone and carved with menacing glyphs: sinister renditions of birds, plants, and animals, as well as strange geometric figures. The inner and outer walls were spaced widely enough apart for six people to walk comfortably abreast. At least here there was no roof, but the walls were so high that the sky looked as far away as a distant mirage. The sun was almost directly overhead, but the narrow bands of shadow at the base of the temple walls looked to Amy like wells of darkness. She would hate to be in here after nightfall.
"The temple is aligned along the Varedan zodiac," River said. "There are twenty-four pillars in the outer wall, corresponding with the zodiac signs: four signs each of trees, flowers, gemstones, land animals, sea animals, and birds. Each year corresponds to a different sign. The Varedan new year begins the day after midsummer, when the days first begin to shorten. At midsummer, the sun is directly overhead most of the day, and the temple casts no shadow for three hours at mid-day. This year is special to the Varedans: it's the Year of the Palamon, the royal tree. Now—sweetie, what are you doing?"
The Doctor had been quietly sonicing the walls and looking at the readings, then leaning closer to sniff the stone, finally giving the rough surface of one supporting pillar a lick with his tongue.
"That's more attention than I've had lately," River said to no-one in particular.
"Traces of silica," the Doctor announced. "Forced out of the planet's core at high pressure and temperature, probably forty or fifty million years ago, then cooled and worn down by…" He trailed off; River had folded her arms and stood tapping the toe of one foot.
"Zodiac!" the Doctor smiled brightly, tucking away the sonic screwdriver. "You know, on Lebrexius Minor, I'm considered born under the sign of the lesser spotted barrow-fish, which Lebrexians say is especially good for someone who travels a lot. It's because the fish have a migratory…" He trailed off again at River's long-suffering sigh. "Back to you, Professor Song."
"The limestone was brought in from a quarry two miles from here," River said, resuming her interrupted lecture. "The Moschatans carved the pillars at the quarry and rolled them here on logs."
"That must've taken work," Rory said. "I don't think we saw one tree on our way here."
"Good eyes," River praised. "The trees came by caravan from the forests in south Fleance—we've calculated it took the Moschatans the better part of a year to get the logs here, before they even started to quarry the stone."
"Wow," said Amy. "Why?"
"Why build Stonehenge?" River responded. "It's an observatory, perfectly aligned to the movements of Stellata, the sun of Vareda, and to its two moons—now called Mollis and Moschata—as well as the constellations of the zodiac. The pillars on the outer walls are aligned to the stars; the two pillars on the second wall are aligned to the moons, and the inner sanctum is aligned with the sun. The very center of the temple is directly beneath the sun at noon on midsummer's day, which is why we're opening it tomorrow."
Amy turned, gazing up and around. "Crazy," she muttered.
"It had religious significance, then, as well as scientific," River said. "Stellata was worshipped as a god. The two moons were his wives, and the stars were considered their children. Come on," she said leading them through an archway into the next ring. "This is the Lunar Circle, or the Goddess Ring, depending how you translate the ancient Moschatan glyphs."
Despite Amy's claustrophobia, she thought she'd never seen River so happy. This was what she liked best, Amy realized—excavating temples and tombs, discovering ancient things.
"So, what exactly would people do here?" Amy asked, trying to keep her disquiet at bay.
"Most people would circumambulate the outer circle and make requests of the minor deities," River explained. "Only the clan leaders of the Moschata were able to enter the Lunar Circle, and only the high priests could enter the Altar of the Sun."
"Which is what we're opening tomorrow," a new voice chimed in. Around the corner loped a tall woman of middle years, dressed much the same as River. Her hair, graying blonde, was tied back in an untidy single plait. Her face was weather-beaten and good-natured, crinkly with laughter lines. Over her eyebrows were the same type of spots Amy and Rory had noted on the nurse in the children's ward: three over each eyebrow, brown in color. Amy remembered that the spots on the nurse had been amber-colored, and she wondered if they grew darker with age.
River said, "Amy, Rory, Doctor, this is the excavation director, Professor Jacquetta-tarq-Volsica of Royal Vareda University. Jacquetta, these are friends of mine: Amy Pond, Rory Williams, and the Doctor."
"It's good to meet River's friends at last," Professor tarq-Volsica said, shaking their hands. "So River's been showing you around? Have you come for the big event tomorrow?"
"Big event?" the Doctor said, rolling up onto the balls of his feet.
Lady Bianca, who'd been quiet until now said, "Tomorrow is Midsummer, our most important festival day. There's a party hosted by Queen Lavinia tonight—a feast and a fancy dress ball."
"You're all invited, of course," River smiled. "The theme is eighteenth century Earth."
"Sounds like fun," Amy said. "There must be some eighteenth century gear in the TARDIS wardrobe, right?"
"Actually, I've had some things made for you," River answered.
Lady Bianca added, "You'll be guests of Queen Lavinia—we've prepared rooms for you in the palace."
"First class," Amy said, treating Rory to a smoldering look. He gave her a dopey grin in return.
Lady Bianca said, "The party isn't just to celebrate the temple opening. Tomorrow is also the twentieth birthday and coming-of-age of Prince Lambert, Queen Lavinia's son and heir."
Professor tarq-Volsica said, "By Moschatan standards, Prince Lambert is doubly blessed to have his birthday at the new year, and to come of age in the Year of the Palamon."
Rory was looking at the two massive pillars, not really interested in Varedan astrology. "So, this is the Lunar Circle?" he asked.
Professor tarq-Volsica came to his side. "When there's a double lunar eclipse, these pillars line up directly with the moons. Stand over here and you'll see how it would've looked—"
With his two young companions occupied, the Doctor steered River by the elbow until they rounded the inner wall. Here, an elaborately ornamented stone door marked the entrance to the Altar of the Sun.
"Look at these carvings," River began, but the Doctor cut her off.
"You know what happens in a couple of days," he said, keeping his voice very low.
"Yes, obviously," River murmured. "I've taken the precaution of having my fee deposited in a bank off-world, and saved my files to my home network."
In a whisper, he said, "Is that why you sent for me?" Breathing in her ear, he asked, "Was that you, you naughty girl?"
River stifled a giggle and said, "No, it's not me. I'm not even sure what caused the disaster—what will cause it—but I'll be off-world by then. My official last day is tomorrow. I'm leaving tomorrow night. The day after midsummer is Volcano Day—New Year's Day, for them. I'm not interested in staying around to learn what really happens."
"So, why did you send for me?" the Doctor pressed. "I assume this is important—the last three times, you asked me if we'd done Vareda yet."
"There's a party tonight," River said. "I need a date."
He stared at her, their faces very close.
"A date?" he repeated. "You brought me all the way here because you need a date?"
"Yes, a date." River ran her fingertip lightly down the side of his face. "I have it on good authority I should compliment your cheekbones."
"My cheek—oh." The Doctor stared at her. "Cheekbones?" he stuttered, then wheezed, "Seriously?"
"Very serious," River smiled.
"Oh." The Doctor touched his face, looking scared and excited and flummoxed, all at once. "Who told you that?"
River put a hushing finger to her lips. "Spoilers."
"Oi, what're you two up to, snogging in a corner?" Amy asked. She and Rory came around the corner, Professor tarq-Volsica and Lady Bianca in tow.
"This is the Solar Door," River said innocently. "The Doctor's reading the glyphs."
Amy said, "Funny, I don't see any glyphs on your face."
"Amy," Rory said under his breath. He asked, "So this is the door to the inner chamber? What're all these carvings?"
"Moschatan glyphs," said Professor tarq-Volsica, running a proud hand over the doorframe. "It's basically a warning for anyone but a high priest to keep out. You find these in all the temples."
"So, can we go in there?" asked Rory. "Is that all right?"
"Of course," Professor tarq-Volsica said with a shrug. "The Moschatan faith hasn't been practiced for centuries—nobody observes the old taboos any more. All the solar chambers in the other temples have been opened and cataloged."
"What'd they find?" asked Rory.
"Offerings," Professor tarq-Volsica told him. "People would leave gifts at the base of the pillars. So far, we've found pottery fragments, dried flowers, stalks of wild grains, things like that, in the Circle of the Stars. In the Lunar Circle, we've found animal pelts, sometimes bird feathers. In the Altar of the Sun, there were animal sacrifices."
"Not human?" asked Rory.
"No—not in any of the first sixteen temples," Professor tarq-Volsica said. "As far as anyone knows, the Moschata never practiced human sacrifice." With a little laugh, she added, "Of course that could all change, depending on what we find in here tomorrow." She tapped the doorframe with her fingertips.
Amy was stricken with an irrational terror, that they'd open the great door tomorrow and find the mummified remains of some ancient Moschatan on top of the altar. She swallowed hard, wondering if there was any way she could get out of attending the ceremony.
"How do you get inside?" asked Rory, studying the doorframe. He ran a hand down the rough limestone of the door, and Amy wanted to scream at him to stop.
"That's easy," River said. "The roof is a stone slab, and we have a crane to lift it off. Once that's removed, I'll climb over the wall and open the door from the inside."
"How'd they open it back then?" Rory asked.
"They were never meant to be re-opened," Professor tarq-Volsica provided. "Each temple would be used until the next solar eclipse, and then it would be sealed, and the next one built. So there was always a temple being built somewhere—with two moons, the planet has frequent eclipses, so the next temple was constantly under construction."
"Seriously?" said Amy. "Didn't they ever get tired of building temples?"
The Doctor said, "Do humans on Earth ever get tired of building churches?"
"But we don't stop using a church just cos we built another one," Amy argued.
Rory said, "So, Did the Moschatans just decide out of nowhere to start building these huge monuments? Had they developed a new religion, or something?"
Before River or Professor tarq-Volsica could answer, the Doctor said, "What's wrong, Amelia?"
"Nothing," Amy said, trying to sound normal.
"You're hugging yourself," he said.
"Just chilly," said Amy, dropping her arms to her sides.
The Doctor's head was weaving back and forth as he looked into her eyes. Amy hated when he did that; it always felt like he could see right into her mind.
"You're white," said Rory.
"I'm a redhead; I'm always white," Amy shot back.
River said, "You are pale, though—is everything all right?"
"It's nothing; I'm fine," Amy lied.
"Amy, if something's wrong, just say so," Rory said gently.
"All right, all right!" Amy burst out. "It just feels weird in here, okay?"
"Weird, how?" Rory seemed genuinely baffled.
"I don't know—weird, creepy, strange." Amy looked up at the walls, at the sun blazing overhead, seeming to cast no warmth at all. "I just don't have a good feeling about this place."
The Doctor didn't respond at first. With the sonic screwdriver, he traced an outline of the door, checking the readings when he was done.
"Nothing," he said. "I'm not picking up anything unusual."
"So why would I feel like this?" asked Amy.
"Claustrophobia," River suggested. "Some of our workers have had to quit the dig because they felt like they couldn't breathe."
Amy didn't feel so stupid, and she gave River a grateful look.
"All right, back to the city, then," the Doctor said. "Unless there's more to see…?" His eyes questioned River's.
"No, this is pretty much it," River said. "If you'd like to look at the artifacts we've found, they're on display in the royal museum."
"Would you like a tour?" asked Lady Bianca. "And then we'll get you settled in your quarters. You'll probably want to rest and wash before the festivities tonight."
"Thank you," said Amy fervently. She started for the exit before any of the others could change their minds. To her vast relief, Rory, River, and the Doctor came along without argument. For the rest of the day, she could see that doorway in her mind: hulking, gray, and ominous, like the silent keeper of some dreadful secret.
(v)
After lunch, later in the afternoon, Hector went back to the children's ward to check on Miranda. She was in bed, her IV line connected, sleeping peacefully, the drugs assuring her a deep slumber. She slept away most of the days now, only waking a few hours for storytelling and the bits of semi-solid food she could still keep down. Hector longed to disconnect her from the intrusive tangle of lines, to let her live the rest of her small life in what comfort could be given to her, then to let her go to whatever there was to go on to.
He dropped into a chair beside Miranda's bed. For five years now, she'd been his special case, his patient, his project, his consuming obsession. Every moment of his waking and dreaming hours was dedicated to this, to saving the child of the woman he loved.
He stared down at his hands, large and capable, the fingers long and sensitive. His palms and nailbeds were pink, a contrast with his dark skin. Through his veins, blood pulsed on its way into and out of his heart and lungs. Everything worked the way it was supposed to. Why was he healthy and strong, thriving, while this child had fallen prey to such a sadistic killer? If Hector could have given any organ, any tissue from his own body to assure Miranda's health and longevity, he'd have done so, gladly. Sometimes he thought he would have given his very life, if it meant Miranda could walk another day in Vareda's green and splendid world.
He stirred from his reverie at the sound of footsteps. He would have recognized that quick, light tread anywhere. He looked up as Iris entered the room. She carried her small computer, her face ablaze with excitement and, for the first time in years, hope.
"Hector," she whispered, "look at this."
He took the computer from Iris and looked at the report from the bio-scan she'd been running. For a moment, the full impact of what he was reading didn't quite sink in, but then Hector felt his pulse jump.
"This isn't possible," he stated. "It's just… the entire species was wiped out, thousands of years ago."
"He must be a survivor," said Iris. "Maybe the only one."
Hector gazed down at the scan results, which indicated that the storyteller who called himself the Doctor was a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey. But the Time Lords had been extinct since a cataclysmic war that had destroyed their planet; anyone who'd studied galactic history knew that. And yet, here was a newcomer to the planet whose bio-data perfectly matched the species profile that had been dredged up from the vast intergalactic databank. The research arm of the Shadow Proclamation maintained that information, and Hector didn't think they'd be wrong about something like this.
"How did he get here?" asked Hector. "Which spaceport did he come through?"
"We were waiting for the storyteller, and this tall blue box materialized, as if it'd been teleported. He and his friends came out of the box. Now that I think about it, it was too slow and too noisy to be teleportation."
"Besides, there's no transmat module in the children's playroom," Hector frowned.
Iris said sheepishly, "I thought maybe someone from Administration or Technical Services had set up a temporary hub, so the storyteller's entrance would be more of a surprise."
"The Time Lords had ships that could go anywhere in time and space," Hector said. He'd been an enthusiastic student of history before focusing his intellectual energies on medicine, and the Time Lords in particular had fascinated him. "The blue box must be a disguise for his ship."
"Think what this means," said Iris. "He can travel anywhere, to any point in the past—or future, to any part of the universe." She clutched Hector's arm. "He could take Miranda somewhere they've developed a cure!"
Hector's thoughts had gone along the same lines, but he tried not to let himself feel foolish optimism; after all, it was possible that no cure existed anywhere for Miranda's illness.
"Please, Hector," said Iris. "Please, just ask him."
"All right," he relented. "But Iris—whatever he says, we have to respect his decision. It's his ship, and he might have very good reasons for not wanting to take Miranda off-world."
"She's a dying child!" said Iris, as though that one fact trumped any other possible consideration. "How could he refuse?"
"Iris, please don't pin all your hopes on this man. We have no idea what he can and can't do; we don't know his personality or disposition; we don't know how he'll react to a request like this. Please promise me that whatever he says, you'll accept it."
Iris gave him a long, hard glare, her normally warm eyes cold with anger and defiance. She was a strong, proud, intelligent woman, and she disliked being thwarted. But at last she saw the logic in Hector's words, and with a curt nod, she relented.
"All right," she said.
"He's a guest of Professor Song's," Hector said, "which probably means he's here for the opening of the temple tomorrow. So I imagine he'll be at the party tonight. I'll try to talk to him then."
"Good." Iris gave Hector a quick kiss of thanks, then went to fuss over Miranda. Hector tried to quell a sense of uneasiness that had begun to gnaw away at his insides, and he hoped that they weren't doing something he would later come to bitterly regret.
To be continued…