by Andy Lane
Unbeknownst to the people who put it here, there's a short cut between Earth and Ry'leh that can be opened by singing, but none of the lobster things can sing. Sherlock Holmes's father heard the local wise men in India singing the song and wrote it down in his notebook, where brother Sherringford found it. Sherringford managed to open a gateway between the worlds and arrived here, only to find himself having a face-to-face talk with God. Once his mind had been given a good pummelling, he and God hit upon a plan to escape. He would travel back to England, raise an army and bring them back to India where the Indians would open another gateway. The army was necessary to create a diversion. The guards would try to repel all boarders, and in the confusion, God and all hands would head for Earth. Does that cover all the salient points?'
Ace looked stunned.
'I've never heard such an implausible idea in my life!' she said. 'Apart from the imprisonment bit. The big maggot lived in a city some way away, worshipped by the winged things. The fivelegged things were in little garrisons around the city.'
'That was the problem,' the Doctor added. 'Getting Azathoth out of the city and past the garrisons to the plain of . . . what did K'tcar'ch call it? The Plain of Leng. That was the only place where so few people could open such a large gateway.' He gazed over to Azathoth. 'I presume that you have managed to turn the tables upon our host, Ace.'
'You blaspheme my temple,' Azathoth said in a voice that was all sweetness and light. 'You cannot stop me. I shall escape this world. I shall!'
'Shut it,' said Ace. She put her fingers to her lips and emitted a piercing whistle. A small black object, about the size of my hand, whistled round Azathoth's bulk and knifed through the air towards her. Bernice and the Doctor ducked, but the object terminated its trajectory a few scant inches in front of Ace's face.
'Smart missile,' she said. 'I used to read about these things in lain M.
Banks's books, then I found that SpaceFleet issues them like the Civil Service issues biros. That's the nice thing about the future: it's full of little things you've already read about.'
She murmured something to her little infernal device and it whipped away, back to its sentry position in front of Azathoth's face, where we could hardly see it.
'I've never threatened a god before,' she continued. 'I could get used to it.'
'It was you who dictated what Azathoth was saying just now,' Holmes said suddenly.
'Yeah,' Ace replied. 'Once we topped Tir Ram, Azathoth knew we were serious, so I made a deal. If it didn't try to convert us, I wouldn't blow its face off.'
'Sounds fair,' said Bernice.
'When you lot came in, and Watson here recognized Sherlock's brother, we were a bit stumped. Then Watson reckoned that we could get rid of him and his minders by getting Azathoth to tell him to leave. When he played up a bit it threw us, but I worked out that if he thought you were being guarded by a couple of new converts, he'd be happy. Good thing the rakshassi are crustaceans,' she added, 'otherwise Watson would have had trouble dressing up as a true believer. As it was, he could slip the hand on like a glove. After we'd scooped it out, of course.'
Azathoth shifted its massive bulk slightly.
'It's being very quiet,' I said. 'Does that not strike you as odd?'
'Probably had a shock,' Ace said. 'I mean, nobody's ever talked to it like that before.'
She seemed inordinately pleased with herself. I was not so sanguine about our position.
The Doctor appeared to be listening to something.
'Can anybody hear a whispering sound?' he asked. We all shook our heads. 'Hmm. Perhaps I'm hearing things.'
Judging by his scowl, he was not convinced.
'Anyway, they're preparing to descend to the plain,' he continued. 'To the area where we came through to Ry'leh, the weakest point of contact.'
'How can they get Azathoth down there?' Bernice asked. 'The rakshassi can fly, but their god's powers seem to be strictly limited in that department.'
'A fair question,' the Doctor said, 'but they've shown a remarkable ability to get around problems so far. They've evaded the Shlangii mercenaries by building these pressurized caravans and taking Azathoth across the icy surface, they've built rough and ready space suits for themselves . . . No, I don't think that we can rely on them falling at the last hurdle. And remember, they had to get Azathoth up here somehow.'
'They will obviously use Tir Ram's fakirs to open a gateway back to Earth,'
Holmes added. 'Once in India, the cult would spread like wildfire. Within a few months, the entire world would be united in Azathoth worship, I have always nurtured a hankering for a united world, but not this way.' He shook his head. 'I am presuming that the fakirs have been converted?'
'We were locked in that caravan for long enough,' the Doctor said.
I cleared my throat.
'Tir Ram assured us that all of his people had been blessed by Azathoth.'
I noticed a smile appear on the Doctor's face. I was just about to ask him what he had in mind when there was a tremendous bang! and the entire caravan rocked suddenly, throwing us off our feet. Ripples ran through Azathoth's moist bulk. I thought I could feel a sigh of satisfaction emanating from it.
'Bloody hell!' Ace scrambled back to her feet and looked around wildly.
'We're under attack.'
'I think not,' the Doctor replied calmly. 'Climb up to one of those windows, if you will, and see what's going on.'
Like a monkey, Ace scrambled up the rough wooden walls of the caravan to where the coloured glass windows were set. Some remnant of my usual gallantry - severely dented by these capable women of the future - rose to the surface. I climbed up behind her.
'This is no place for women,' I said as I came alongside her.
'Sod off,' she said succinctly.
I kept quiet, and gazed through the thick red glass of the window at the panorama thus revealed.
The sun cast a low red light across the jumbled terrain, and the twisted spires of the mountain tops reached for the starspeckled sky as before, but near where our caravan sat the icy surface of Ry'leh was marred by a jagged hole a few hundred yards across. I could hardly see it for rolling banks of mist. The grotesque silhouettes of rakshassi clustered around the opening.
'Looks like they've blown a hole in the ice,' Ace said. 'Dunno if they've got through to the interior yet. Depends on the explosive.'
'Could they be using the gas from the floaters?' I asked.
'Good thinking,' she said. 'Probably take them a few goes, then. That stuff's not a patch on nitro-nine even.'
As she spoke, another enormous explosion made the caravan judder. My fingers slipped and for a moment I had to scrabble for a hold. Metal squealed beneath us as the massive skates ground against the ice. A column of vapour shot upwards out of the hole like a waterfall in reverse, plunging into the obsidian sky until it was lost to sight.
'I lie,' she added. 'Looks like they've done it in two. Those floaters must live on beans, or something.'
'The vapour . . . That's Ry'leh's atmosphere?'
'Uh-huh. Not much of it at this altitude, of course. If there was, the pressure would've caused the entire ice sheet to fracture.'
'There's a reassuring thought,' I said dryly. She smiled.
'You've got hidden depths to you, mate.'
I would have replied, but then I felt the entire caravan lurch towards the fissure. I cried out. Craning my neck, I tried to see down the wooden side and was rewarded by the sight of ten or so rakshassi pulling on ropes.
They appeared to be dragging the caravan towards the column of mist.
'I would not wish to worry you...' I started, but Ace interrupted.
'Heads down, folks,' she said. 'We're riding for a fall.'
Holmes stepped forward.
'Quick, Watson, how many pressurized suits did you bring?'
'Just the two.'
'Not enough time to get us all out, then. Miss Summerfield, Miss . . . er, Miss Ace, I suggest that
you make your escape and leave us to survive as best we can.'
'Not a chance,' said Bernice.
'Seconded,' Ace said from her position beside me. 'Besides, the Professor's got a card up his sleeve.'
She looked pointedly at the Doctor, but he did not react.
'Haven't you, Professor?'
'Why do you have to rely on me to get you out of everything?' he said, scowling. 'Use your native intelligence.'
'The rakshassi aren't going to risk the life of their god,' Bernice said.
'Whatever's happening, they intend to happen.'
I switched my attention back to the window. We were a hundred or so yards away from the hole now. I could see the melted ice that made up its sides. It was easily large enough to accommodate the caravan.
'I believe that we have only another few moments,' I said. 'I would suggest that you brace yourselves.'
The caravan slid another few yards, and I found myself staring down the funnel-like hole. Thankfully, mist wreathed its depths. I think that my last vestiges of calm might have fled if I could have seen Ry'leh, far below.
Another lurch. The rakshassi were yanking hard on the ropes. Like a malevolent eye, the hole grabbed my attention and held it. The column of vapour was rising straight past the window, blocking any sign of the surrounding landscape.
'Uh, Watson?' Bernice said hesitantly. 'Do you think you should come down now?'
The precariousness of my position should we be shoved over the edge suddenly struck me. I glanced over to warn Ace of the danger, only to find that she was already climbing down. I took one last look out of the window before following her, but what I saw caused me to stay, glued to the glass.
The rakshassi were rising up past the window, their wings spread wide, borne aloft by the rising current of air. They had removed their globes - no doubt because the atmospheric column could now sustain them. Each of them was holding the end of a rope in its tail, and, as they rose and the ropes pulled taut, I felt the caravan lurch, then rise unmistakably into the air! The rakshassi were supporting us!
'What's going on?' Bernice asked.
'We're flying!'
'Be serious.'
'I am serious. The rakshassi are holding us up.'
The caravan swung sickeningly, and the hole disappeared beneath us. I felt the unmistakable sensation of descent. Within moments I could make out the melted ice of the hole passing a few hundred feet away through the upflowing vapour.
'Exceedingly ingenious,' Holmes said.
'I've always been in favour of low-tech solutions,' the Doctor murmured.
'They don't come much more low-tech than this,' Bernice sighed. She was looking a little queasy. Glancing up at me, she said, 'How can you stand it, up there? Don't you feel the remotest bit ill?'
'No,' I said. 'In fact, I'm quite enjoying myself.' The feeling reminded me irresistibly of a balloon ride that I had undertaken as a child in the grounds of Batty's Grand National Hippodrome in Kensington.
I turned my attention to the sight outside the window, where we were just passing the inner lip of the hole that had been blasted through the frozen sky. Clouds had gathered around the rent, and the caravan was buffeted by gusts of wind. Gazing upward, I could feel the strain evident in the almost heroic poses of the rakshassi. Whatever else I thought of them, I had to admire their dedication to their god. Thoughts of Azathoth quickly turned me to a consideration of what was ahead of us. As the ground grew ever closer, I began to make out vegetation and the remains of Maupertuis's encampment. Bodies lay about, human and Shlangii, allies in death.
Nothing moved apart from the odd three-legged scavenger. My spirits fell.
How could we prevent this profane invasion of everything we held dear?
High above us, a number of square dots had appeared amid a web of rope.
The other caravans, the ones carrying the fakirs. Everything was going according to Sherringford's plan. The local Shlangii garrison had been distracted and defeated by Maupertuis's army, and by the time more could be shipped from other garrisons, it would be too late. The gateway would have opened and closed.
I looked down. We were dangling a hundred or so feet above the ground.
'Perhaps we should think about our escape,' I said tentatively.
'Ace,' the Doctor commanded, 'how many of those suicidal robots do you have?'
'If you mean the smart missiles, why not say so?' she snapped.
'Because it's exploiting a thinking creature, and I don't approve.'
'Professor, they're programmed to do what they do.'
'That's no excuse, Ace. The American CIA used to strap bombs to dolphins'
backs and train them to swim up to Russian submarines. Training, programming, what's the difference? Don't answer that, just tell me how many you have left.'
'None, apart from the one that's keeping Azathoth occupied.'
'None?'
Ace looked away.
'No,' she said.
'Why not? You used to have hundreds.'
'Some I've used, the rest deserted back on Peladon. They said they were going to set up a union with the mining machinery.'
The Doctor smiled, thought for a moment, then walked over to the moist grey bulk of Azathoth.
'Can you hear me?' he cried.
Azathoth remained stubbornly silent. The Doctor waved a hand at Ace.
'You can answer,' she said. 'The missile won't explode. Yet. But if I hear anything that sounds like it might change my mind in a way I won't like, I'll make sure that your mind changes into a pile of mush on the walls.'
'I hear you,' Azathoth replied sulkily. 'Blasph . . . '
'Yes, yes, we'll take that as read, thank you very much,' the Doctor said.
'Azathoth, I offer you a choice.'
'There is no choice. I am God. I do what I wish.'
'You are no god, and you know it. You're just a fake deity whose powers are limited to a rather forceful form of persuasion.'
There was a thud as the caravan settled to the ground. I could hear the hiss of ropes sliding down the outside as the rakshassi released them.
'What is your offer?'
'Stop this invasion. Stay here on Ry'leh.'
'And what do you give me in return?'
'Your life.'
Azathoth laughed: great quaking peals of laughter that caused its body to quake and the wooden floor beneath it to creak alarmingly.
'What power do you puny creatures have over the life of mighty Azathoth?'
'Have you forgotten the missile that guards you?'
'If you mean the most recent convert to the cult of Azathoth, no. We have been enjoying a long conversation: The Doctor's face fell, and he began to back away. 'Missile,' Azathoth continued, 'kill the Doctor.'
Chapter 18
In which one disaster is sought and another one narrowly avoided.
The tiny black object that had been hovering in front of Azathoth's slobbering maw suddenly darted away.
The Doctor turned to run. Circling quickly, the missile sped for the Doctor's back in a blur of ebony. The Doctor tripped over his own feet and went sprawling, leaving the missile to overshoot its target.
'Disengage!' Ace yelled. 'Do you hear me, disengage!'
Azathoth was giggling.
I dropped to the floor and whipped out my trusty revolver. The missile was heading straight for the Doctor's face, but I managed to deflect its path with a well-placed bullet. For a moment I thought that I had crippled it, but it recovered its momentum quickly and headed straight for the Doctor again.
He had climbed to his feet and was pressed against the wall with nowhere else to run. The missiles sped directly for his wide-eyed face. I fired again, but missed.
The Doctor threw himself to the floor. The missile hit the wall and exploded, sending a hail of wooden splinters across the caravan. Several of them hit Azathoth, who howled in pain. Through the hole I could make out the rocky surface of Ry'leh.
'Quickly,' I shout
ed, 'before anybody investigates.'
I stood by the hole and helped the others as they scrambled through. The Doctor was last, and caught his coat upon a projecting spar of wood.
'With friends like Ace. . .' he muttered as I disentangled him.
Within seconds I was outside with the rest of them. As we ran off, Azathoth's plaintive voice tugged at my mind.
'Listen to me. . .' it shouted, its voice growing fainter and fainter. 'I can offer you peace and happiness and a place in heaven.. .'
