by Nick Walters
Seryn yawned, eyes scanning the horizon. By now the sky was a dark lead-grey belly of clouds, casting an immense shadow over the sea, and over the party. A nagging wind had whipped up from nowhere. Seryn shivered. She had gone up to the highest point of the installation, right next to the waterfall, for some reason which for the moment eluded her drink-dazed mind. Everyone else was crowded below in the main courtyard. Servitors orbited each other in the stream of water below Seryn, ready to fully invoke the warpfield. It didn’t have to be this complicated; people took the warpfield for granted and Seryn had wanted to make them think about it, so she’d programmed the servitors to invoke the field within the water itself so that the party guests would appear to step out of the waterfall as they arrived. A rebirth from water.
Seryn looked out to sea again. Nothing but a bruised cloudscape and an ocean agitated by the beginnings of the storm. It would be a pity if they had to leave before the weather event. She’d spent a long time programming it with Athon. It was all this Doctor’s fault. She was sure he was a friend of Athon’s, sent to work an elaborate trick on them all. She wondered what it would be this time. A fake alien invasion? That would be fun!
So why did she feel sick inside? What had made her come all the way up here?
Athon. Seryn realised, with a slow dawning sense of surprise, that she was worried about him. She laughed nervously, the sound catching in her throat.
‘Share the joke, Seryn!’
She spun round. Daeraval had stepped through the waterfall, long grey hair lifting in the wind, eyes twinkling.
‘There’s no joke,’ she blurted out. ‘Something’s wrong - I can feel it.’
Daeraval laughed. ‘It’s just the storm affecting your head.’ He extended a hand. ‘Or the wine! Come back down and join us.
You’ll miss the fun when all is revealed.’
Seryn wasn’t sure it was all a joke any more, but she took Daeraval’s hand anyway, allowing him to lead her back down the narrow staircase. Made more sense to stay near the warpfield if there was really anything wrong.
As she stepped into the courtyard Yuasa handed her a goblet of wine, from which she took a grateful gulp.
Yuasa and Daeraval exchanged amused glances.
‘You’re hitting it hard,’ said Yuasa. ‘Anything wrong?’
‘She senses something wrong,’ said Daeraval, wiggling his fingers at Seryn.
Seryn shook her head and smiled, trying to play things down.
‘The only thing wrong is your dreadful singing,’ she drawled.
Daeraval looked mortified for a second, then laughed.
‘Seryn, for that I will serenade you all night!’
Just then, Taiana pushed her way through the crowd towards them. She cannoned into Yuasa, sending her flying.
‘Hey!’ cried Yuasa, grabbing on to Daeraval for support.
Seryn reached out and touched Taiana’s shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’
Suddenly Taiana grasped her head and folded to the ground, letting out a strangled, keening whine that made Seryn feel cold inside.
A circle formed around Taiana as she writhed on the floor, her long body curling and folding like a wounded serpent.
Seryn felt as if the world was dropping away from her. She knew for fact now that something was badly wrong.
Everyone was looking at everyone else, not really knowing what to do. Illness was virtually unknown. Servitors did all the diagnosis and healing that was necessary. Seryn glanced over at Taiana’s servitors, still whirling away in the spiral waterfall.
Then with a sudden burst of steam they exploded, sending the crowd screaming and running for cover. At the same moment a shadow closed over the courtyard like a lid.
Seryn looked up and gasped, her legs turning to water, hair flailing in a sudden hot wind. Something was falling from the clouds, something dark, a progeny of the storm. She heard Yuasa screaming. She’d never heard anyone scream before, unless in pleasure or abandonment. Never in fear. The sound rooted her to the spot, fascinated her. Yuasa’s face was stretched, distorted, the eyes mad and wild. Screaming, running figures jostled Seryn and she fell on to the mosaic she’d invoked only a few hours earlier. Legs and feet bumping her, Seryn crawled for cover. Above, the dark thing hovered, roaring and shuddering.
There were gunshots and screams.
Seryn reached the edge of the courtyard and stood up, back against the wall. She could see the dark thing more clearly now; some kind of ship of horribly ugly design. Figures descended from it, abseiling down on ropes or flitting about on portable helipacks, firing on her friends, her lovers... She saw Daeraval fall, clutching his chest, disappearing from view in the milling throng.
Seryn felt her legs tremble. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run. This couldn’t be happening. Where was Athon? Why was this happening? Why here, why now, to her?
Through streams of tears mingled with rain she saw Yuasa in the grip of one of the brutes, its head darting forward, jaws clamping around her neck. Blood began to flow in thick spurts down Yuasa’s robe, over her weakly flailing arms.
Seryn stared in fascination at the creature. It was as tall as her, possibly taller, a thing of stinking blackness, red fur and pitiless eyes. It had Yuasa in a grotesque parody of a hug now, huge shoulders obscuring her face, head shuddering as it worried at her throat. Yuasa’s screams descended into an obscene liquid gargle. Then the creature released her and she dropped to the ground like a broken doll. Three of the beasts crowded round her, dropping to all fours, their teeth flashing in the dull light. Seryn heard the rip and shred of Yuasa’s clothes, the growling of the creatures as they fed.
It had all happened in seconds. Now Yuasa was gone for ever, torn from life as easily as a page from a book. And just as irreplaceable.
Seryn fell to the ground and curled up, willing reality away, hoping against hope that this was all some drug-induced hallucination.
Something hit her in the back, hard, and hands grabbed her, turning her over. She opened her eyes and screamed. A pair of feral yellow eyes burned into hers, alight with hunger. It snorted, spraying her with mucus. She felt a crunching pain in her ribs as it kicked her. Seryn cried out, suddenly indignant -
what gave this filthy thing the right to hurt her? Then it kicked her again, harder. She curled around the pain, gasping, hoping that this was some joke, that suddenly she’d be whisked back to Eknur 4, that she wasn’t going to die like Yuasa.
And then the storm broke, with a peal of distant, disapproving thunder. A forgotten entertainment, the rain began to stream down but the attacker’s ship prevented even one drop of it from falling on Seryn.
Chapter Five
A Taste of Rain
Aline had left her strappy shoes on a shelf of rock at the foot of the cliff. The sand was warm on her bare soles. It was cooler down on the beach, a long insistent gust of wind sweeping diagonally across the sand to bother the cliffs. The Doctor seemed preoccupied, intent on the crashed skyboat that lay on the shore ahead of them like a beached sea-creature.
He’d managed to whip up a token sense of urgency in the Eknuri and the warpfield had been invoked on standby, ready to whisk them all off at the slightest hint of danger.
As they walked side by side, a sickening thought occurred to Aline. What if the Doctor was behind it all? The fear returned, gripping her insides like frost. She knew it well enough to catch it early and prevent it warping the facts.
Time Lords never interfered, that was one fact. They certainly never harmed anyone. That was another. Aline forced herself to relax. Everything would be all right - they’d find Peri and Athon and they could all go back and have some more wine.
They were almost upon the skyboat now. Empty, Taiana had said, of anything living. Aline tried to make out if she could see anything in the shadows beneath the upturned vessel, and shuddered.
She stood back as the Doctor ran up to the crashed skyboat. He leaned down and peered underneath. Aline bit her lip.
/>
He stood up again, shoulders slumping, hair blown back by the wind. ‘Empty,’ he said. Then his eyes widened. ‘Oh, no.’
Suddenly, the sound of engines boomed along the cliffs like a peal of thunder.
The Doctor ran up to Aline, grabbing her shoulders and whirling her round, her black dress flapping around her in a sudden breeze. She heard his voice close by her ear. ‘The
“unanticipated vessel”...’
From the ceiling of clouds that now pressed down over the clifftops, an alien ship descended like a great black bird, its wings curling down over the party installation, angular figures streaming down from it like spores of death. Aline saw an Eknuri leap over a balcony, only for two of the figures to descend upon him, bearing him to the ground.
She saw a trio of women herded into a corner by a brace of the attackers. She heard their screams. She turned away, her whole body shuddering.
The Doctor looked at the azure crystal crescent in his palm
-their link to the warpfield - closed his fist and shook it angrily in the air. ‘Why haven’t they activated the warpfield?’
If they had, they wouldn’t be standing on the beach any more. ‘Perhaps they were overcome... no time to react.’ Aline found herself staring at the ship, its engines screaming as it maintained its predatory position. More of the attackers were descending from it now. Something about the shape of their heads was familiar...
The Doctor’s face was a grimace of pain. ‘Oh, Peri...’ he breathed. He tossed the warpfield crystal on to the white sand where it lay like a lost jewel. Then he turned to Aline.
‘Whoever they are, their intentions are clearly hostile. We can’t go back for the TARDIS, so there’s only one thing to do. Hide.’
He pointed up the beach, where black cave-mouths gaped. ‘If we’re quick, they might not notice us.’
The caves looked a long way away. Aline felt rooted to the spot, like a statue in the sand. She became aware of a strange sensation, cool pinpricks on her face and arms. She looked up. The sky had now completely clouded over; the seeded storm was about to bear fruit.
‘Come on,’ urged the Doctor. He started haring across the beach, sending up white puffs with each stride. Aline followed, toes digging in the sand, shoes forgotten, as heavy spots of rain began to fall from the leaden sky.
Hunt Marshal Veek glared down at the fallen human, her lips curling back in a low snarl. The creature just lay there, in a pool of its own urine, like the sack of meat that it was.
The pungent scent filled Veek’s nostrils, almost overwhelming her.
It was good to be hunting, to be free, however briefly. Pity this prey was hardly worth the hunt. It hadn’t even tried running away. Veek hunched down, hauling its head up by its hair, causing it to moan in pain. It was in shock. Pathetic. Wide unfocused eyes shimmered in an oval of damp pink flesh.
Veek could feel her salivary glands squirting with bloodlust.
However pathetic, at least it was meat - real meat.
Veek released the creature’s head and stood up, swivelling around, always alert for any threat though she was certain there could be none from such a pallid, cowering lot.
All around, hunters were snaring the last of the prey, toying with them, goading them into paroxysms of fear before loosing their stun-darts. Veek let them have their fun. They would be returning to the long sleep soon, a prospect none of them relished, Veek least of all.
The creature at her feet had started moaning again, and was trying to crawl away, its cold wet eyes fixed on Veek. A sour anger curdled in Veek’s powerhouse heart. This would be their last hunt before the next stage and she’d prayed for it to be a planet full of prey, diverse and sinewy, putting up a good fight, promising stringency and flavour. Not these useless cubs. Even more pathetic than the usual type of human.
At least there had been fire in the eyes of the beast they’d caught out on the plain. At least that one had run, and there had been defiance in its glare when Veek had shot it. But this thing! Now it had crawled under a stone bench and was sobbing like a vixen in labour. Irritated, Veek reached under the seat and dragged it out, hissing at its frantic struggles.
She shot in the back of the neck. It was still in an instant, its panting subsiding into the deep breaths of slumber.
Her anger barely spent, Veek kicked the prone sack of meat. Though her every instinct screamed at her to fall upon this creature and devour it, she knew she had to preserve the thing. Her long jaw twisted in a dark-hearted grin. When the prey woke in a hundred or so years’ time, the first and last things it would see would be Veek’s eyes burning with hunger, Veek’s sharp teeth sinking into its own worthless flesh. She couldn’t wait to gulp down its blood, drink in its screams, drown in its pain.
She sensed rather than saw something move above her and looked up to see the skirmisher lift away, off to find a landing-place. The sky it revealed was stone-grey, and Veek felt heavy splashes of rain spatter her face, making her blink. She opened her mouth, feeling the raindrops hit her tongue and run down her throat, little rivulets of water, cool and fresh.
The sensation awoke something within Veek; an image of home, of green fields and forest seen through sheets of rain. She shook her head, dismissing the mental picture. She’d probably never see home again, she told herself. Had to get used to it. A sacrifice they all had to make.
Quick footsteps behind her. She swung round, harpoon-gun at the ready, then relaxed. ‘Hunter Flayoun.’
Flayoun was her mate, a heavy-built hunter with a pleasing green tint in his yellow eyes and a flash of white across the top of his head and left ear. Raindrops beaded his whiskers, which was cute. Veek grinned. The fur around his mouth was dark with blood; unlike her, he’d been unable to resist indulging his bloodlust. She let it pass; that was why, after all, she was Hunt Marshal. She was able to resist temptation. Most of the time.
She stepped close to Flayoun and licked the blood and rain from his face. The image of her homeworld returned, stronger this time: she saw the valley in which she was born, the warm, dry den from which she used to watch the rain as a cub.
Sometimes she’d run outside with the other young hunters and chase prey through the fields, their hot blood keeping their drenched bodies warm.
With this memory came a longing so sharp it was almost pain.
Fighting away emotion, she stood back from Flayoun, and pointed down at the unconscious human. ‘Take that back to the skirmisher with the rest.’
With one scoop of his arm, Flayoun hauled the body over his wide shoulder.
Veek looked around. ‘Any more?’
Flayoun shook his head ‘All rounded up - except a few.’
‘What happened to them?’
Flayoun’s eyes glittered through the rain. ‘Hunters hungry.’
Veek gave him a brisk nod. That couldn’t be all, could it? They’d detected only one settlement on this ridiculously small world, and this was it. The humans they’d snared out in the desert had been a bonus. But Veek sensed there were more of them, hiding somewhere near.
She leaned over the balcony. There, half in and half out of the water, was the tiny vessel they’d shot down. From it, a double line of footsteps led to the foot of the cliffs some distance to the left, blurring slowly in the thickening rain.
Veek turned to Flayoun. He was still holding the stunned human. She licked her lips. ‘Dump that. Let’s hunt.’
The Doctor and Aline had wormed their way to the back of the smallest cave, little more than a vertical slit in the sandy rock. It was dark and dry, the entrance shrouded by the rain which had begun to fall, slowly at first and then with greater intensity.
Aline sank into the shadows, clutching her knees, heart still pounding from the exertion of the run. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d run in fear. The last time she’d tried was during her Encounter, only there had been nowhere to run then. And there was nowhere to run now, only a shivering wait in a dead-end cave.
The D
octor stood against the smooth rock wall, eyes intent on the entrance. His voice was a whisper. ‘With any luck the rain will wash away our tracks.’
Aline began to laugh, then found herself unable to stop, her whole body seized in a juddering fit. Tears made her vision swim. She pressed her hands on to her face, the palms crushing her lips against her teeth, fingers massaging her streaming eyes.
When she surfaced again the Doctor was before her, eyes searching her face. ‘Are you all right?’
The banality, yet sincerity, of the question made Aline want to cry again. She answered in kind. ‘Yes, thank you.’ She could hardly speak, her throat constricted with fear.
His eyes showed understanding and suddenly Aline felt that she could confess to this alien who wore the shape of a man.
His hand covered hers, a warm dry presence like the pages of a much-loved book. She felt some of her tension ebb away.
‘Aline, did you manage to get a good enough look at them to determine their species?’
Aline nodded, sending drips of cold water down on to her bare shoulders. ‘Yes. I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.’
The Doctor leaned towards her eagerly, shrugging off his jacket and folding it around her. The lining was still dry and she snuggled into it, grateful for the warmth.
‘Go on,’ he whispered.
Aline closed her eyes, but there was no way to avoid reality.
She had to face it.
She’d realised what the creatures were as they’d raced across the wet sand. That realisation had spurred her on so she’d overtaken the Doctor and beaten him to the cave.
‘They’re Valethske. A race of hunters, probably nomadic; no one knows where they’re from.’ She remembered the Institute’s woefully brief XENOLOG entry. ‘There are stories of them popping up out of nowhere, hunting humans for food, going back centuries.’
The Doctor sat back on his haunches, his face lost in shadow.
