by Craig Hinton
‘So what’s it doing in a Martian city?’ was the obvious question from Chris. ‘Lebrun reckoned that they had never developed subspace technology.’
‘I think we’d better suspend the discussion,’ whispered Felice, nodding towards the doorway. The huge figure of an Ice Warrior stood framed within it, the sonic disruptor attached to its clamp aimed unwaveringly in their direction.
Rachel caught a slight movement to her left, and realized that Chris was reaching for his plasma rifle. She grabbed his arm to stop him.
‘If we’re going to get any further with this, we need more information. Perhaps the Martians can provide it,’ she explained.
Chris snorted. ‘And I’m the Empress’s handmaiden,’ he replied.
Ignoring his odd remark, she stepped forward and addressed the Martian. ‘We surrender.’
‘That was never in doubt,’ it hissed.
Oh well, she thought. Perhaps Chris will look good in a dress.
‘You are very well versed in our ways, Doctor,’ said the Abbot. ‘Pilgrim Sstaal does indeed carry the holy Sword of Tuburr.’ Roz tried to tell whether Aklaar was angry or impressed, but the Ice Lord’s carefully measured tones revealed nothing.
‘And disgraces it with his pacifist ways,’ mumbled Cleece breathlessly. Roz was puzzled; weren’t these supposed to be that ultimate oxymoron, peaceful Ice Warriors? She wondered whether she was confusing the word pilgrim with pacifist. Why the hell did Benny have to pick this moment to get married, for the Goddess’s sake – her knowledge of Martian culture would have proved invaluable in this situation. Normally, Roz would have relied on the Doctor’s mental encyclopaedia to furnish her with the information she needed to be one step ahead, but his recent behaviour worried her; since the destruction of the TARDIS, he just wasn’t the Time Lord that she had signed up with. She suddenly realized that the Abbot was talking.
‘The Sword is the symbol of our warlike past, Doctor, but we are the nucleus of the new future of Mars. We follow the teachings of Oras, not the warrior paths of Ssethiis or Claatris. Our possession of the Sword – and our pilgrimage – marks a new beginning for Mars.’
‘Albeit a little late,’ he snapped. ‘Anyway, why are you heading towards the North Pole?’
‘A pilgrimage to the holy lands of Oras,’ Sstaal answered hesitantly. Roz couldn’t help smiling; stuttering, stammering Ice Warriors weren’t exactly common. ‘With so many of our brothers and sisters having chosen to seek sanctuary on a far distant world, we have a duty to preserve the faith. By walking in Oras’s footsteps, we can renew the vows of all our people, wherever they might be.’
Roz had an idea. Stepping forward, she held her arms out. ‘Why don’t we join forces? The Martians are familiar with the route we need to take, and we can share our supplies – as far as I know, we can eat one another’s food.’ She saw the critical looks on some of the others’ faces. ‘It’s the logical solution,’ she insisted. ‘Without them, our expedition isn’t really viable.’ She caught McGuire’s look and decided that further explanation was desirable. ‘There’s one more city between here and Vastitas Borealis -’
‘G’chun duss Ssethiissi,’ interrupted Sstaal. ‘The – the Cauldron of Ssethiis.’
‘Whatever, the assistance of our Martian... colleagues could prove invaluable.’ She looked around at the others, but nobody seemed convinced. She gazed imploringly at the Doctor, but he was staring impassively into the distance. ‘Well? What does anybody else think?’
‘The question is, why should we pool our resources with you?’ asked Aklaar. ‘Despite any previous... misunderstandings, Mars is our world. You are the trespassers.’
‘We won that bloody war!’ shouted McGuire. ‘This planet is now part of the Earth Alliance. It’s ours!’
Aklaar bowed his head. ‘Some might see it that way. Yet some of us took no part in the “war”, as you call it. Some of us have always argued for a peaceful accord with our terrestrial neighbours. Can you not see the truth of the path of Oras?’
McGuire stepped up to the Abbot, shaking with anger. ‘I don’t give a damn about Oras. And I don’t give a damn about you!’ He held up his fist just inches in front of Aklaar’s helmet, but the Abbot didn’t flinch. ‘You cost me everything I ever cared about, you reptile bastard, everything! You killed my wife and children!’ And then it all drained away. Closing his eyes, he turned away. Roz had seen the reaction countless times; people who had carried a hatred around for so long, who had wrapped it in such fantasies of revenge, only to discover that, beneath the wrapping, the hatred no longer existed. People like her, for example, she realized. In all honesty, could she have suggested teaming up with a bunch of aliens before she had met the Doctor?
The Abbot threw his arms open and addressed McGuire’s back. ‘I see that such prejudice cannot be countered by the wise words of an Abbot of the Order of Oras. If this is your opinion, Antony McGuire, then we will leave you and your associates to your fate, although I should point out that my people have not committed any acts of violence against your people since the end of the war: given your age, it is not possible that your family died at Martian hands.’ He locked his hands together in a gesture that Roz took as one of prayer. ‘Helping you reach G’chun duss Ssethiissi would bring us the benevolence of Oras, according to our beliefs. But if your personal feelings cannot be put aside, then I wish you all well on your journey. We shall pray for your souls when we encounter your corpses on the return to our seminary. Then again, Antony McGuire, since you believe that your soul died long ago, I shall pray for you now.’
Roz was impressed: an Ice Warrior with a perfect understanding of the human psyche. And McGuire reacted in suitable textbook style.
‘I’m, I’m... You have a point, Abbot,’ he mumbled. Clearly, the Abbot’s penetrating analysis had shaken him badly. Eventually he collected himself and looked round at Santacosta and Madrigal. ‘Well, how do you feel about it? Joining forces?’
Madrigal shrugged. ‘What have we got to lose?’
‘We haven’t really got much choice, have we?’ Carmen whimpered. ‘I don’t like it, but if we’re to stand any chance of reaching the Pole ...’
McGuire stepped forward and tentatively stretched out a hand to the Abbot. Roz could see the effort that this was taking, and she understood it perfectly; only the Doctor’s guidance had allowed her to let go of her own prejudices, she realized. She watched as the wizened Abbot’s clamp grasped McGuire’s hand, a gesture of peace that would have been unimaginable under different circumstances.
A joint expedition to the Martian North Pole, Roz pondered. Ancient Humans and Ancient Martians together, exploring the abandoned cities of Mars; now that would have been a honeymoon for Benny! Thinking about her adopted family, she looked over at its paterfamilias. The Doctor was staring into the distance, but his expression was obvious.
He didn’t trust the Ice Warriors one little bit.
Interlude
From their command base – a supersaucer that had landed upon and subsequently crushed the insignificant urban collection that the humans had called Luton – the invaders were now monitoring the entire planet. Every signal, every transmission, was intercepted and analysed according to standard invasion strategy, and computer simulations developed to determine any courses of action. The situation on Earth was totally predictable and totally under control.
Resistance levels were high, but that was to be expected; from what they had learnt about the human species, they were brave, tenacious and now desperate. They had developed a large number of colonies throughout this quadrant of the galaxy, and had exhibited character traits that the invaders could understand: subjugate if necessary. In many respects, they were two very similar species. But the invaders did not need rivals.
Once the expanding human Alliance had become a threat to the invaders’ own empire, it therefore had to be crushed, as their futile city had been crushed beneath the command saucer. For 10.6 human years, they had watched mankind’s f
ledgling empire before finally determining the optimum time to act: seemingly random attacks which had a complex pattern – generated by the central battle computer – that the humans had missed until it was far too late. The fleet had reached the original star system of humanity without effort and had seized it in an unbreakable grip, ready to rip the heart from mankind’s empire and watch it die.
Then the message had arrived: humanity was not the only intelligent life form in the star system. The inhabitants of the fourth planet had something to offer the invaders, and for such a small price. They offered a power that was centuries beyond that of the invaders, and all they wanted was the return of their home.
The Supreme Council had decided to accept the gift that the Martians offered; with it, they could conquer the galaxy. The puny efforts of mankind’s empire would wither and fall as the new masters of space conquered star system after star system without effort.
Whether they subsequently paid their debt to the Martians was another matter, and one that would be decided by the battle computers – it depended upon the future usefulness of the race. All they knew was that they would now have to neutralize Earth’s magnetic field in preparation, and that meant extracting the planet’s magnetic core.
The human beings on Earth would die as a result, but that was not a problem; the invaders would utilize them for as long as possible and then discard them; such beings made an ideal disposable workforce.
All that mattered was that the Martians deliver the GodEngine to them. After that, the galaxy would belong to the Daleks.
For eternity.
Chapter 6
Rachel, Felice and Chris – their weapons lying behind on the floor, the result of a less than gentle body-search – walked out of the chamber. Two more Martians, waiting outside the door, covered the party with their inbuilt disruptors.
Felice had watched Rachel’s efforts to engage them in conversation fall on deaf but cybernetically advanced ears as they were herded from the chamber along the seemingly endless corridor, and began to wonder about this mysterious Michael. He had obviously influenced Rachel’s feelings towards Martians, but how, why?
‘They’re quite impressive, aren’t they?’ whispered Felice to Chris. ‘I’ve never seen one in the flesh before. Then again, I didn’t think that there were any left here any more.’ She shrugged. ‘Obviously I was wrong.’ Then she remembered what Chris had said earlier. ‘When you opened the door, you said that a Martian told you how. Have you been to Mars before?’
Chris sighed. ‘I have, but it wasn’t then. The ones I spent most of the time talking to were really nice people. But then again, they were from some considerable time in the future.’
‘You’re a time traveller?’ Felice found the idea exhilarating; there had been some advances in temporal physics – it was almost a sister science to subspace mechanics – but nothing concrete. Then again, there was always the possibility that Chris was lying. Felice just hoped – for all manner of reasons – that he wasn’t. ‘I thought you were an Adjudicator.’
‘I am. Both, that is. I’m an Adjudicator from the thirtieth century. That’s how I knew about the assault on Charon. But please -’ his face screwed up into an adorable grimace of pleading, ‘please don’t ask me anything else. Just my telling you that, I might have totally buggered up my own future.’
The laws of causality were as well known in the twenty- second century as they presumably were in the thirtieth; and Felice had no desire to see her gorgeous Chris fade away into a time paradox. ‘Fair enough. But answer me just one thing: do you know what’s going to happen here?’
Chris shook his head. ‘Truth be known, Felice... I don’t think we were ever meant to be here.’
Felice suddenly felt all goosepimply as the hidden meaning in Chris’s words sank in. If they were never meant to be on Mars, well, were they ever meant to have survived the destruction of Charon? Changing the subject to something more mutually comfortable, she continued. ‘Do you think they’re going to kill us?’ It was a pity that she had to change the subject to something just as gruesome, though.
Shrugging, Chris nodded towards the Martian in front of them. ‘The Ice Warriors – that’s what we occasionally call them; it’s a bit more polite than Greenie – the Ice Warriors of this century are a pretty brutal lot. But whether they’d shoot us on sight... They’re extremely proud of their caste system, Felice. In a military nest, you’ve got the grunts – like this lot – the senior grunts, the Lords, and a Grand Marshal. And sometimes a Queen, but she tends to manipulate from behind the scenes. And lay eggs.’
Felice was impressed. She began to wonder about how useful he was going to be to them. ‘So these grunts can’t do anything without the say-so of the head grunt, then?’
Chris shrugged. ‘The chances of this place meriting a Grand Marshal, given the current state of the planet, are remote – especially since most of them were executed after the War, apparently. And this might not even be a military nest: it could be a civilian one. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell them apart.’
Rachel, obviously tired of her failure to communicate with the Martians, slowed down to allow them to catch up. ‘Nothing, I’m afraid – still, it was worth a try. Anyway, this is all rather unexpected, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘What I wouldn’t give to look at the design specs of that attractor.’
Felice found herself slipping back into scientist mode. ‘You and me both, Rachel. I haven’t read a single theory which could account for the radiation levels coming from that, that thing – what’s the power source, for one thing? The most energetic reaction I know of is orders of magnitude below this! Then again, there’s Lebrun’s claim ...’
‘That the Martians never developed subspace technology?’ Rachel shook her head. ‘If they didn’t, who did? And the fact that we’re being frog-marched to God-knows-where by a bunch of Martians does tend to put the icing on the cake, doesn’t it?’
Felice looked at their escorts and felt a shudder of nervousness. ‘For once, Rachel, I’m totally in agreement with you.’
The Doctor was scurrying around the Martian dwelling, looking for the various rucksacks and holdalls that contained their supplies, when Roz entered.
‘Busy?’
He didn’t look up. ‘The others are busy. I am preoccupied.’
‘You don’t like this idea, do you?’ she said, picking up a flashlight which had rolled under the bed. ‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear that you think that the only good Ice Warrior is a dead Ice Warrior. But xenophobia’s my province, isn’t it?’ That’s it, Roz; be provocative.
He stood up and gave her an indecipherable look. ‘Xenophobia is an irrational hatred of alien life forms. At this point in time, I have never felt more rational. I just don’t trust them. One day, far in the future, they will become valuable members of the Galactic Federation. But now, in the twenty-second century, they have just lost a futile and pointless war with mankind.’
‘The pilgrims seem happy to team up with us.’ Roz was feeling more than slightly put out; after her self-satisfaction at actually being the one who suggested the inter-racial expedition, the Doctor’s obvious unease was unsettling – and disappointing.
He knitted his brows. ‘Logic dictates that we join forces with the Ice Warriors. Logic dictates that they are pilgrims, not warriors.’ He paused then said, ‘So who killed Vincente?’
Roz knew that he had a point. ‘You, me, McGuire, Madrigal, Carmen, the Ice Pilgrims, or some other party. That sums it up.’
‘Spoken like a true Adjudicator,’ he murmured, and she wasn’t sure whether he was being insulting or not. ‘Well, you can rule two of those out straightaway, can’t you?’ But the way that he said it, it didn’t sound like a rhetorical question.
‘I’ll assume that you mean me and you. That leaves McGuire, who had no motive – and the idea that he could overpower Vincente is rather far-fetched; Carmen – well, I won’t waste my breath on her, and Madrigal.’ She thought for a sec
ond before continuing. ‘Madrigal is a Colonial Marine; she could have killed him without breaking into a sweat. What do you think?’
The Doctor hoisted the rucksack over his shoulders. ‘I think we should continue the expedition. Vincente died for a reason; the longer we draw this out, the more likely it becomes that the murderer will show his hand.’
‘Or his clamp?’
The Doctor gave her a wounding stare. ‘Come along, Roz; we don’t want them to set off without us, do we?’
Roz picked up her own rucksack and watched as the Doctor walked through the door. For the first time in ages, she realized exactly how alien he really was, and it wasn’t a feeling that she relished.
‘We’re on Mars, we’re surrounded by Ice Warriors, and the TARDIS has been destroyed. Business as usual, I suppose?’ she shouted after him. But his retreating back was mute.
After ushering them through an impressive set of huge bronze doors, the Ice Warriors followed, striding over to the sides of the room in some kind of honour guard position. Room? – no, definitely a chamber, Chris decided. Actually, room didn’t seem to do justice to any of the Martian structures they had seen; the Ice Warriors obviously built as they lived: grandiose and overstated, full of pomp and ceremony. They didn’t have rooms, they had chambers, amphitheatres, halls and throne-rooms.
This chamber was no different; about two hundred metres wide, the floors, walls and ceiling were of the ubiquitous amber rock. Bright tapestries hung on the walls, tapestries of battles and conquests. Chris frowned; although that suggested a military nest, he knew that even the religious caste took some pride in their military history, so he was still none the wiser. They had been shown to the front of the chamber, standing before a big stone table made of what seemed to be black marble, with a throne-like chair behind it.
A door suddenly opened with a slight grating noise; locating the source, Chris watched as a slab of rock slid back in the farthest wall.
