Continuing down the cramped passage, she found that it coiled around behind the throne room. She realised it must lead to an antechamber, part of Manussa’s private quarters; perhaps where she rested between audiences and time-looping her subjects.
Sure enough, Persis found a door that gave out onto a wide room with high windows lining one wall. Translucent curtains shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight, undulating in the gentle breeze.
At the centre of the room was a huge bed. It was covered in soft, shiny cushions – clearly made from the most expensive fabrics. And on the bed lay her quarry, asleep.
Persis could not believe her luck. Perhaps she would be able to capture the alien without ever waking her. She moved forward silently now, steadying her breathing to almost nothing.
As she approached the woman, Persis examined Manussa for the first time. In sleep, there was something of the beautiful girl she had once been. Despite the cosmetic surgery or whatever procedures she had performed to make her more snake-like, she still had a wonderful bone structure and the parts of her body that were not covered in the crystalline armour were supple and muscled.
Persis readied the Time Ring and reached out to take hold of the alien’s wrist.
‘Sumara?’ Manussa stirred, her voice soft and low.
Persis froze. Totally still. Had she heard her?
Then Manussa’s eyes snapped open. She was staring straight at Persis.
The Time Lord grabbed at the snake-woman’s arm, but Manussa was alert now and flew from the bed.
‘Sumara! Guards!’ shouted Manussa.
She lowered her head and her hair now came alive, too, writing and coiling as she hissed at Persis.
Persis stared at this, mesmerised. Adventure suddenly seemed a thousand light years away. On the far side of the room a petite brunette appeared in wine-coloured robes.
‘Majesty!’ The woman moved forward, uncertain.
‘Stay back, Sumara,’ Manussa said. ‘I do not want to catch you in my gaze!’
And with that, she took a deep breath, summoning the power of her suit. The crystals began to glow and Persis realised she was about to be time-looped.
She snatched the metal cross of the sonic shield from her belt and quickly operated it. There was a high-pitched buzz and a circle of almost invisible blue light covered the cross, forming a circle.
‘Foolish girl,’ Manussa roared, her voice now echoing and sizzling with power. ‘You cannot defeat me with sonic technology. I am not just Manussa. I am the vessel of the Mara!’
She rotated slowly on the spot, her hair lifting. The spin became faster and faster, her hair now whipping round as her face snapped round every second to stare at Persis.
Again the Time Lord felt transfixed. It was the gyration of a practised dancer, amazingly fast. But it was not this that held Persis in place. It was the being that was manifesting in the room, coiling round and round, mimicking the movement of the creature it possessed.
It was a huge snake, an evil red colour tinged with scales of dirty green and yellow. Two vast fangs protruded from the top of its mouth, dripping with venom and a pair of hideous emerald eyes, thin slits of deep black for pupils, stared at Persis.
This was the Mara.
It circled her once and then stared unblinkingly at Persis, its tongue tasting the air around her.
Persis felt her mind invaded. She had been taught about psychic assaults during training but nothing prepared her for the sudden and overwhelming feeling of violation.
In her head she heard a silky voice. ‘Time Lord,’ it said. ‘You are an interesting individual. An interesting race.’
Persis tried to block the mental intrusion.
‘Please, child,’ the voice said. ‘Don’t throw me out before you have heard what I have to say. Surely we can be reasonable?’
‘I know what you are,’ Persis thought. ‘The Mara. I know your supposed origins and abilities.’
‘Then you will know what I have to offer.’ There was a lightness to this statement as if the Mara was pleased with itself. ‘Take me back with you. We can accomplish so much more there than I can here.’
‘You are evil,’ Persis thought. She was concentrating hard, focusing on the conversation in her mind and what was happening in the real world. The Mara was still positioned right in front of her. Manussa was simply standing to one side, but curiously with one arm outstretched. ‘I could not bring you to Gallifrey.’
‘Could not?’ the Mara teased. ‘I am sure you could. If you desired it.’
‘I do not desire it.’
‘You desire many things. You crave adventure, yes. But also … advancement. Ambition is a clay I can help you mould. Why be a simple tool of the Time Lords when you could be their Empress?’
Persis hesitated. She had never really thought about what she might do with her near-eternal life. The CIA. Promotion? Maybe, in time, taking up a senior position? Perhaps rising to head the agency as Director?
‘See?’ the Mara whispered. ‘You do crave power. Everyone does. Given the opportunity.’
The offer was tempting …
Don’t be tempted by the Mara.
The words of her colourful guardian angel came back to her, writ large.
‘No,’ Persis said. It was emphatic, and the Mara could feel that.
The snake spat and hissed in fury as the room came back into full focus. She could see that Manussa’s arms bore a tattoo: a representation of a snake – almost childlike in its simplicity. But the image was moving, slithering down her arm so its head was on the back of her hand, its fork tongue extended down her index finger. Persis realised that it was the mark of the Mara, the physical manifestation of the being’s control. It had been ready to take her in Manussa’s stead.
‘Kill her!’ snarled the Mara.
Manussa turned her gaze on the Time Lord and the red beam of temporal energy began to form around her eyes. Persis raised the shield, ducking behind its protective sonic barrier.
The crimson rays shot from Manussa and struck the shield. But it had no effect on Persis. Instead, the beams were deflected away from her, striking the Mara’s body just below the jawline.
The vast snake writhed in agony for a moment before its head fell to the floor, neatly severed. The rest of its body thrashed around for a few seconds before both it and the lifeless head vanished in a blur of white light.
Manussa collapsed to the ground and Persis lowered the sonic shield. Before the Time Lord could move to check if Manussa was alive, Sumara came rushing forward. She knelt down beside the prone form of her mistress and took her hand. Manussa’s eyelids fluttered briefly and then remained open, her eyes staring lifelessly at the canopy over her bed.
Sumara turned to look at Persis. Her face was twisted with sorrow and anger. ‘You killed her,’ she whispered. Then she turned, looking towards the door. ‘Guards!’ she shouted. ‘The Queen has been murdered!’
The sound of heavy boots outside told Persis that Strike Force guards were about to pour into the room. She went to operate the Time Ring.
Just before she vanished from the antechamber, Persis saw the tattoo on Manussa’s arm become alive once more, this time sliding all the way down the arm of the dead Queen onto the arm of her faithful servant.
THE UNWANTED GIFT OF PROPHECY
HONOURABLE. THAT WAS the label she was entitled to use on her wedding invitations. Entitled. She let herself stare at the reflection in the dressing table mirror. But she saw no one there. Not really. Not any more. He had broken her.
With hollow eyes, she looked down at the ornate pillbox before her. The one he had given her: the one with the image of a foxhunt led by the Master of Hounds. Her delicate hand hovered over the china pot, quaking slightly. Why not? She thought. One more would make no difference.
She prised the lid off the pillbox open between thumb and forefinger. Lifting it on its tiny gold hinges, she revealed a sweet shop array within: green and white capsules of fluoxetine, pink c
italopram tablets, the white innocence of escitalopram. The serotonin Smarty box she called it.
How had it come to this? What would her father have said? She was never a political person. So how had she ended up here? Married to him? She plucked a blue and white capsule from the mass and popped it in her mouth. Then she reached for the crystal tumbler beside it to wash down the pill.
Suddenly he was behind her. She hadn’t heard him come in; she hadn’t even seen him in the mirror. He came right up behind her, now using the reflection to look her in the eye. He stroked her long blonde hair with a black-gloved hand.
‘That mission we spoke of? I think we’re ready. Finally.’ He sounded like an excited child. She managed a wan smile and rose to follow him from the room.
Two guards snapped to attention as they passed through the double doors of their private chambers. She reprimanded herself. How could she think of them as ‘their’ chambers? He had not come to her at night once since that day. The day of madness. The day he assassinated the President and brought the children pouring down from the sky.
‘Come, Lucy. Don’t dawdle, my darling.’
He held open a blue door and ushered her through. The room beyond was bathed in red light. Its circular walls almost seemed to be painted in blood – dark in places where it had dried. But she knew it was just the energy from the central pillar – a dark metallic mesh around a mushroom of modern computer screens, antiquated handles, oversized buttons and bizarre pieces of junk.
Her husband moved around this technological terror he had created, almost dancing with glee. Then he abruptly came to a halt and collapsed into a battered cream chair on the far side of the pillar. Lucy had to follow him around it to see his face. He was smiling, eyebrows raised.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
‘I think so,’ she replied.
He laughed. It had a manic tinge to it. ‘How could you be? You’re about to travel in time. It’s fraught with danger. That’s why I can’t go.’
He rose from the chair and came over to cup her chin in his gloved hand. She couldn’t recall when she had last felt his skin. For this, at least, she was grateful.
‘You wouldn’t want anything to happen to me, would you?’ he asked, putting on a faux sad tone, his lips pouting.
Lucy hesitated. His grip tightened. ‘Would you?’ This last through angry, clenched teeth.
Lucy tried to look him in the eye and shook her head, forcing a smile onto her lips.
‘Of course not, Harry.’ She felt the tear role down her cheek.
‘So it’s “Harry” today, is it?’ he asked, letting her face drop as he snatched his hand away. ‘And of course I can’t go because I’ll be recognised.’
Lucy was confused. He’d said he was sending her into the past – or at least another time zone. ‘By who?’
He laughed again, a brief manic outburst. ‘You mean “whom”.’ He paused and came up to her again. ‘By myself, of course!’
She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I forgot.’
‘Marry a Time Lord and you forget we can have different bodies.’ He held up a datapad and pointed to a spot on the floor. ‘Never mind. Just stand there.’
She moved into position. He came forward once more, but this time he was handing her something.
‘Matrix Data Slices,’ he said. ‘Please remember them. It’s vital to the future of us all.’ He gave her a package. ‘Nine to be precise. Detailing every single past encounter with my friend out there. The one in the cage. Make sure you call him my “best enemy”.’
Lucy frowned. ‘You mean the …’
Harry put a leather finger to her lips. ‘Don’t say his name. There’s no need for that.’ He came forward and took Lucy’s left hand. He toyed with her wedding ring. ‘Remember,’ he said. ‘Activate this when you have what I want. The projector will reverse and you’ll be back here. I’ll be waiting.’
He stood back from her now, his expression neutral. Then he blew out his cheeks. ‘Good luck!’ He drummed his fingers on the rail that circled the pillar – that peculiar four-tone tippity-tap. Then he lifted one hand to the datapad and waved with the other. ‘Byeee!’
The circular room faded from view.
The man on the rowing machine was older than the man she knew. He was wearing an odd, off-white ensemble that looked more suitable for sleeping than exercising. He had also been laughing, pleased with himself. That she recognised well enough.
His laugh died when he saw her standing there. His eyebrows knitted, giving his already devilish face a deadly quality.
‘Who are you?’ he asked, standing up.
‘My name is Lucy. I’ve been sent with a proposition for you.’ She moved across the room to greet him. She had no idea whether to embrace the man or simply shake hands. Either seemed odd. He solved this conundrum by moving away from her, wary but not scared.
‘A proposition!’
He grabbed a multicoloured towel from its hook, dabbing at his neck. ‘You do realise this is a prison? A guard could come in at any moment. And then where would we be?’
Lucy smiled. He was certainly more charming than the man she had taken as her husband. But he looked old enough to be her father – his neatly clipped beard flecked with white at the corners of his mouth and his hair streaked with silver and grey.
He smiled back and took a seat at a long table, indicating she should do the same. ‘Why don’t you tell me what it is you want?’
‘First, I want to show you what I have.’ This was what Harry had told her to say. This man would only be interested in giving up his most prized possession if the counter offer was something equally valuable.
The bearded man gave a short laugh. ‘Very well, Lucy. Tell me all!’
‘My employer has nine Matrix Data Slices.’ She showed him the package with the Gallifreyan technology within. The smile had not exactly frozen on the man’s face but it had faded somewhat. However, his eyes had become hard, one eyebrow arched.
‘May I?’
She passed him the package. He quickly examined it and passed it back.
‘Where did you get these?’
‘My employer.’
‘Who is?’
‘He wishes to remain anonymous.’
The man sat back. ‘I see. Well, you can tell your employer that I have no need of Time Lord technology at the moment.’
‘It’s what’s on them that will be of interest.’
‘Dark scrolls – the electronic book version?’ He smiled beatifically.
Lucy had no idea what he was talking about. She shook her head. ‘My employer believes you will be pleased with the offer.’
‘Do tell!’
‘They contain information about every future encounter with your … “best enemy”.’
The man leant forward. ‘My best enemy?’
‘That is what he told me to say.’
‘I see.’ He stood up now and paced the room before turning back to her. ‘And what does your employer ask in return for such riches?’
‘Again, these are his words: access to your TARDIS while you are not using it. Not a permanent situation. He just wants to borrow it. He said it would be the ultimate time share!’
The man laughed. ‘Well your employer certainly has a sense of humour!’
Lucy smiled.
‘But I’m afraid it’s out of the question.’ He sat down again. ‘You must think me a fool! Do you really expect me to believe this tale? You just want to borrow my TARDIS!’
‘It’s true,’ Lucy replied. She was nervous now. What if the man did not agree to this? Harry would be angry. And that never ended well. ‘Please, you must believe me.’
‘Must I?’ the man sighed. ‘You may not realise this, but we Time Lords are highly attuned to time travel. The only way you could have come here is using a very limited osmic projector jury-rigged from a TARDIS console – probably one that isn’t working properly.’
Lucy’s face fell.
‘So if y
ou have a TARDIS, why do you need mine?’ he continued. ‘Shall I tell you? Because you want to find its location. This is plainly a ruse employed by my “best enemy” who – as you know – has only just left here having asked me the where-abouts of my TARDIS!’
Lucy tried to explain again but he held his hand up.
‘Knowing I would never tell him this, he has used his worn-out old excuse for a TARDIS to send you here with a cock and bull story about deals I cannot refuse seeking to extract the same information.’
‘No. That isn’t it. I swear.’ Lucy was desperate. ‘He’ll be furious with me.’
‘I dare say he will,’ the man said. ‘It’s a very clever little plan, but not today, thank you.’ He stood and moved over to the door. ‘I’m going to summon the governor of this prison now, so I suggest you leave!’ He knocked on the door with two double-taps. ‘Guard!’
Lucy twisted her wedding ring and the room blurred as she travelled back to the future.
She thought he’d be angry. But Harry seemed more philosophical, blaming himself rather than her. He actually smiled and then paced the round chamber, shaking his head.
‘He was always obsessed,’ he muttered. ‘Obsessed!’ Harry turned back to her now. ‘I was always convinced it was him, every setback, every issue. The devil’s in the detail.’
He came back to the leather chair and picked up the datapad.
‘I was wrong to send you to him, but I only have three time-traces so we’re pretty limited on options!’
Lucy bit her lip. She fully expected him to lose it any second. She almost flinched just thinking about it.
‘Of course he was never going to give up the location of his TARDIS. I wouldn’t! Perhaps we’ll have better luck with this one.’
He went to operate the datapad but then stopped.
‘Tell you what, if this is a future incarnation, he should recall the encounter he just had with you. I think I can …’ Harry’s eyes swivelled upward at the ceiling for a moment. ‘Yes … yes! I really did believe it was a wily plan from the old fox!’ He laughed loudly for a moment or two. ‘So let’s add some pressure!’
Doctor Who: Myths and Legends Page 5
