The visored woman’s face fell. ‘Majesty,’ she began, but Manussa silenced her with a lifted finger. The other viziers moved away from her discreetly.
‘Were you trying to hide this from me?’ Her voice became a hiss as she rose from the throne and advanced across the floor.
‘Great Manussa, I would never …’
Before the woman could concoct an excuse, Manussa stood and her hair became alive. These were not braided facsimiles. These were real snakes. They hissed and snapped as Manussa’s eyes glowed red. Suddenly the vizier was lifted from the ground, caught in a red glow of time energy.
Persis nodded. ‘Temporal stasis,’ she said. She had studied the subject during her second year at the Academy. It was rudimentary. But then the woman vanished completely. The hologram faded.
‘Time looped?’ Persis gasped.
‘That is our belief,’ the man in black said. ‘The indigenous people have dubbed the power “tempetrification”.’
Stasis was one thing, but this … ‘How? With her mind?’
‘Again, we are uncertain, but it is clear that the focus afforded by the crystals has given Manussa an ability to control temporal energy to an astounding degree.’
So far, the ability to properly time-loop an object had eluded the Time Lords. It was a little difficult for Persis to fathom how a relatively backward, quasi-religious civilisation had done so.
‘I’m afraid there is worse to come,’ the man said. ‘The power of the time-loop is developed as a much larger weapon on the moon of Grey-Eye.’
The image on the wall changed to show a lunar base with several soldiers in snakeskin uniforms marching through a hangar bay.
‘We foresee a time when this weapon will be fitted with a planetary propulsion unit.’
Persis gasped. That posed a significant threat to the supremacy of Gallifrey.
‘Manussa intends to use the weapon to freeze entire planets, thus demonstrating her power and forcing countless new worlds to worship her. You can understand that unchecked not only would her empire spread across the galaxy, but that such a weapon would cause incalculable damage to the time-space continuum.’
Persis looked at the man briefing her. ‘I understand.’
‘We would like you to travel to the Scrampus system at a point in time before the weapon is fully developed. First, you will need to gain access to the moon of Grey-Eye. You are to destroy the weapon or render it inoperable permanently. Alternatively, if you learn of some key component in its operation, you are to return it to Gallifrey for examination.’
Persis smiled. Cunning.
‘Once that is achieved you are to bring Manussa herself to justice.’
‘You mean kill her?’ Persis asked.
She wasn’t a child; she knew that assassination was sometimes a necessity. And she certainly saw the threat that Manussa posed. She just wasn’t sure it merited the ultimate sanction.
‘I will leave that to you,’ the man in black said as he rose from the uncomfortable chair. He brought a metal object from a hidden pocket in his robes. ‘I will also leave this with you. A Time Ring. It will return you to Gallifrey once you have finished.’
Persis took it. She knew it worked in a similar – if more primitive manner – to a TARDIS in that it locked onto suitable environments for materialisation. She’d also heard they could be unreliable.
‘Be careful not to lose it. Persis. That Time Ring is your lifeline. Good luck!’
And he was gone.
Persis stood and activated the wardrobe circuit on her personal camouflage device. Her own simple black robe and skullcap became the snakeskin uniform and hood of a Manussan Strike Force officer.
Then she slipped the metal bracelet onto her arm and disappeared into the time vortex.
The metallic corridor stretched away in both directions, disappearing as it curved round in an arc. Persis turned first one way and then the other. It made no difference which way she went as both ways seemed identical. She shrugged and set off to her left.
She could feel the gravity was artificial and as there were no windows, she wondered if her Time Ring had deposited her on a space station or ship rather than the moon of Grey-Eye.
Before she could process this, she heard something unusual just around the curve of the corridor. It was a deep, mellifluous voice reciting poetry. Cautiously, Persis moved forward and saw that a large access hatch had been removed and a man was lying with his legs protruding from the panel.
As she watched, the man became aware of her presence and slowly disentangled himself from the workings. He had a mop of unruly blond hair and was dressed like a colourful jester. His gaze was clear and burned with intelligence. He looked at her, blinked and then smiled, jumping to his feet. Before Persis knew what had happened the man had grasped her hand.
‘Hello!’ he said. ‘What brings you down this remote corridor?’
Persis was about to give a plausible answer when she remembered her disguise. She was an officer in the Manussan Strike Force.
‘I might ask you the same question!’
‘You might,’ he said. ‘But I think you have bigger fish to fry?’
This threw the Time Lord agent somewhat. ‘Fish?’
‘Yes. It’s a saying.’ He paused to put his hands in his pockets and lean forward. ‘I don’t think my tinkering here is of that much concern to you.’
Persis eyed the man suspiciously. Could he see through her disguise? Did he have some form of psychic ability? Was he a mischievous deity? Whatever his power, Persis felt her suspicion fade. There was something about his demeanour that made her … trust him.
‘That remains to be seen,’ she said finally. ‘What are you “tinkering” with?’
‘Aha! Now that is an interesting question. Pertinent even.’
He took his right hand from his pocket.
‘I think you can help me, actually.’
He opened his hand to reveal a mechanism that looked not dissimilar to an old dematerialisation circuit.
‘This is how she does it, you see.’
Persis couldn’t help but smile. ‘She? You mean Manussa.’
‘Yes. Very interesting isn’t it? How things get started. Or concluded. That’s what I’m trying to do, really. Tie up some loose ends.’
He took her hand and placed the small instrument in her palm now, before closing her fingers.
‘All yours. The key to the weapon. You can dispose of it just as well as me.’
Persis took a step back. ‘I thought we were on a space station.’
The man scoffed. ‘This is no space station. It’s a moon!’
Persis nodded and placed the tiny component in one of her combat pouches.
‘Thank you for your help,’ she said. ‘I don’t know who sent you …’
‘No one sent me!’ The man smiled a tight-lipped smile. ‘I am the cat who walked by himself and all places are alike to me!’
‘Another saying?’ Persis asked, arching an eyebrow.
‘Touché.’ The man smiled broadly now. Then he turned and began to replace the hatch. ‘But tell me, there is more to your mission. Isn’t there?’
Persis hesitated. ‘Yes.’
The multicoloured jester turned back to her, realisation and concern on his face. ‘The Manussa herself?’
Persis nodded. ‘I must bring her to justice.’
‘You know she has the power to time-loop you?’
‘Those are my orders.’
‘Orders!’ The man blew out his cheeks. ‘Well, you won’t be able to carry out those orders without a little sonic technology. Come on. There’s a lab back this way.’
He strode off down the corridor as if he lived in one, hands clasped behind his back. He was almost out of sight before Persis realised she should be following him.
His head bobbed back around the corner. ‘Come on!’
A mad dash later, Persis was standing in the centre of a tech lab. There were items of machinery and computer circui
t boards scattered about, a hologram projector in one corner and a sonic lance on a nearby bench. The man picked up this last object.
‘Excellent! I need to replace mine!’ He turned to her and grinned sheepishly. ‘A little encounter in the sewers did for the last one.’
‘What exactly are we doing here?’
The man was already examining pieces of technology; either piling them on his arms, or discarding them with childlike grimaces.
‘Sonic technology,’ he repeated. ‘It can bend temporal energy at the correct frequencies.’
Persis smiled. She’d never heard of these abilities, and sonic technology was native to the Time Lords.
‘Discovered it from some Ice Warriors. Quite by chance.’
She had no idea what he was talking about now, but he had proved to be a valuable imp of a collaborator and she was just grateful he was on her side.
‘I would help you myself,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘But my life seems to have become rather complicated of late.’ He looked up from his collection of equipment and smiled again. ‘You know how it is?’
Persis still had no idea what he was talking about but she indulged the gaudy angel with a bob of the head. ‘Of course.’
‘Very perspicacious of you, my dear.’ He dumped the pile of components on a nearby table. ‘Now. What you need is a sonic shield. Come on, you can help me!’
Together they put together a rudimentary sonic shield. She’d made similar devices at the Academy, but the flamboyant man had added some modifications and tweaks she had never thought of.
It looked like a metal plus sign with a strap for a handle right on the centre. When operated, the four ends extended and a permanent wave of sound was generated from each crosspiece, giving the appearance of a translucent blue circle.
When Persis had finished testing the shield, her protector moved towards the door. ‘Best be going. As I say – and without wishing to sound like an Ogron – there are complications …’
As he left, Persis thought of running after him, of asking his name, thanking him again. But she knew it would be no good. If he’d wanted to share his name, he would have done. And it seemed he needed no one’s thanks or permission for anything!
Instead, she prepared the Time Ring on her wrist. She was about to operate it when she noticed a handwritten note on the shield.
It read: ‘Two final things! Don’t materialise inside the palace and don’t let the Mara tempt you. D’
She marvelled at this rogue’s abilities and then adjusted the Time Ring for the citadel rather than the palace. As she disappeared, she thought she heard a wind rising and falling in a familiar pattern …
Sarpenton was the capital city of the Manussan Empire: an extensive megalopolis of traders and temples, ornate priests’ houses and squalid dwellings belonging to the workers. It was as bright and gaudy as the clothes worn by the man who had just helped her. Even in the shanty towns the cloth roofs were orange and deep red. But this colourful wall was a façade that hid a dirty and unloved reality.
Persis had materialised in a wide, dark access road between tall, sandy buildings. She moved quickly into the shadows and edged to the end of the street where it joined with a much busier thoroughfare.
Two law enforcers of the Hooded Guard approached Persis as she stepped out from the access road. Their helmets had a hooded snake rising from the nose section, and their body armour was patterned like snakeskin. They were looking at the cross-like device she held: the shield. However, they paused when they realised the uniform she wore was of an agency that outranked their own. They gave a two-armed salute – hands clasped across their chest – and quickly turned to walk away. Fear. It pervaded everything.
As did the overpowering smell. Persis had never experienced anything like it. Alien, exotic spices mingled with perspiration and the masculine aroma of wood fires. She smiled, despite herself. Adventure. This is what she’d wanted. She’d never even considered the fact that adventure could have a perfume. But if it did, this was certainly it.
She gathered herself and looked down the street, past the stalls and emporia, to a large expanse of well-tended and incongruous lawn. Rising from the earth beyond that was an astoundingly high palace, ringed by impossibly tall pillars, each one seemingly fashioned from one piece of red-veined marble.
As she stood marvelling at this, two women passed her, each wearing a green-brown serpent mask and with hoods made to resemble open snake mouths. Persis recognised them from the holovid she’d seen on Gallifrey. They were two of the advisers she had seen when the Manussa time-looped her vizier.
She started to follow them. If they had been in the throne room before, it was reasonable to think they might well return there. As she dogged their footsteps, Persis marvelled at how much the image of the snake had permeated this society – especially with regard to those in positions of power and authority. She supposed it was all to frighten the ‘profane’; and Persis guessed this meant anyone who defied Manussa. There was that fear again.
The two viziers approached the huge, gated entrance to the palace, but the guards did not move. Persis had expected them to check credentials or at least acknowledge them. So, she strode forward purposefully. As part of her training she had learned that getting into anywhere you weren’t supposed to was mainly down to walking in as if you owned the place.
‘Halt!’ The two guards were suddenly coming towards her. So much for owning the place. ‘State your business.’
Persis regarded them with what she hoped looked like utter contempt. ‘You dare question me?’ she hissed. ‘I will have you tempetrified for this!’
The nearest guard quailed at this. He turned to the other, now not so certain.
Persis took this opportunity to continue on her way once more.
‘Although as you are merely doing your job, I may convince Manussa to spare you,’ she said over her shoulder. And leaving the two artless soldiers in her wake, Persis pressed on deeper into the palace.
It was late in the afternoon and the corridors were buzzing with activity. Servants moved quickly and efficiently up and down the wide hallways, always sticking to the sides avoiding the important courtiers who moved in ambling groups.
There was no trace of the two viziers so Persis had to find her own way to the throne room. It wasn’t too difficult. She soon realised that most of the traffic was headed in that direction. She just fell in behind a group of courtiers and soon emerged into a huge vestibule.
It reminded Persis of the atrium that led to the Panopticon on Gallifrey. The buzz of conversation was the same as was the charged atmosphere of excitement. The difference was here there was an added level of apprehension. These people were scared despite – or maybe because of – their familiarity with Manussa.
The vestibule was the shape of a diamond with two great doors where two of the marbled walls met. Before these were a line of Manussan Strike Force soldiers – the Queen’s personal guard. It was their uniform that the personal camouflage device was projecting.
The doors, however, were firmly closed and anyone approaching the line of soldiers was being turned away. Manussa was not holding court at the moment. Persis smiled. This might make things easier. No crowd; no one getting in the way.
She had decided that her orders to bring Manussa to justice were not a euphemism for assassination and that she would do exactly as directed. She would capture the alien and use the Time Ring to transport them both to Shada. Of course, Manussa would attempt to use her temporal powers, but Persis still had the sonic shield that the colourful stranger had given her on Grey-Eye.
As she monitored the crowd outside the throne room, Persis began to see a pattern to the ebb and flow of people. Just as had happened with the palace corridors, the vestibule became a puzzle to be solved. She soon had the solution.
The walls of the vestibule were lined with exotic plants with large, bright leaves, variegated with dark greens and reds. It took a while to notice, but every n
ow and again servants would enter and, keeping to the side of the chamber, make their way towards the main door. As they reached the halfway point they seemed to vanish.
Persis edged across the room, as if calmly patrolling the room – an action that befitted her uniform. No one looked at her. Or if they did, they hardly noticed and never thought to question.
When she reached the far side of the vestibule she saw that there was a small side door hidden among the alien vegetation. There was a soldier here, but he was standing off to the side so as not to draw attention to what he was guarding.
Persis waited.
After a short while, she spied a small man dressed in cream clothes making his way along the side of the room. He was not making eye contact with anyone and he held in his hands a salver of gaudy-looking fruit.
Persis made her way across the floor, manoeuvring so she was now behind the servant. As he approached the door, Persis made her move.
‘Halt!’ she said loudly. The servant froze. A couple of courtiers looked round but hurriedly moved away sensing trouble.
The guard’s hand moved to his pistol belt, looking at Persis, the expression on his face posing an unvoiced question: What’s going on?
‘We suspect this man is an infidel,’ Persis said calmly. ‘The fruit may be poisoned.’
The servant said nothing. His fear was palpable. He looked like he was going to cry.
‘Take him for questioning,’ Persis said. ‘Test the fruit. I will report this incident to the Manussa herself.’
The guard gave Persis a double-handed salute and grabbed the servant in one hand, snatching the bowl with the other. Then he marched the man away quietly toward another corridor.
Persis hoped that once the fruit had been tested and found clean, the man would be released. She frowned. That hope may have been in vain, but at least she had tried.
Without hesitation, she darted forward and opened the small door, passing through it while everyone was watching the prisoner and escort.
She found herself in a dark, narrow passageway with tapered slits on one side. Persis peered through one of the tiny windows. She was staring into the throne room. She recognised it from the holovid. It was empty.
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