by Nick Walters
‘Well?’ growled Commander Kikker.
The Vale Guard uttered a few short, breathless barks.
‘I think he’s trying to tell you that it’s bigger in the inside than it is on the outside,’ said the Doctor, who stood nearby guarded by Ruvis and the other Vale Guard.
Kikker grabbed the young Valethske by the collar of its uniform. ‘Speak, cub! Is it safe?’
Now fear glinted in its yellow eyes. ‘Safe - yes, it is safe.’ It blinked. ‘But bright - so bright!’
Kikker shoved the Vale Guard aside and stepped towards the blue box - the TARDIS, as the Doctor called it. He stepped over the threshold into a blinding white void. He shielded his eyes and raised his gun, letting out a roar of anger.
Kikker stumbled as someone blundered into him - Ruvis, he didn’t doubt, the old fool. Then he staggered forwards, his legs butting up against something solid. He took his hand away from his eyes to reveal a blurry image of a hexagonal bank of controls, surrounded by walls patterned with a recurring circular motif.
He whirled round, levelling his gun at the Doctor, who was standing in the open doorway, arms crossed in front of him, an expression of insolent amusement on his fleshy face.
Beyond him Kikker could see the dark passageway of his ship, and his mind reeled.
‘That won’t work in here,’ said the Doctor, indicating Kikker’s gun.
In answer, Kikker raised his gun and fired over the Doctor’s head. A bolt of energy crashed into the distant ceiling of the TARDIS.
The Doctor stared up at the resultant scorch-mark. ‘Well, that shouldn’t have happened.’
Ruvis was walking around the console, muttering to himself, his whiskers twitching.
‘Impressed?’ said the Doctor.
‘Oh, yes!’ said Ruvis, licking his lips.
Kikker was also impressed, but didn’t want to show it. He sniffed in disdain. ‘All I’m interested in is whether it works -
or not.’
The Doctor went up to the control panels, rubbing his hands. ‘Well, I think a quick demonstration is in order!’
Kikker barred his way. ‘I think not!’
Ruvis whined in disappointment.
‘Think, Ruvis! This is a strange, alien machine - who knows what tricks its owner might employ to trap us?’
Ruvis shrank back from the console. ‘Indeed.’
‘Now why would I want to trick you?’ said the Doctor. His gaze hardened and Kikker caught a glimpse of power in his eyes.
‘As long as I know my friends are safe, I’ll co-operate.’
Kikker sniffed again. This place had no odour; it was clean, obscenely so, but Kikker couldn’t even smell the chemical tang of cleaning agents. ‘They’re safe enough. I’ll take the presence of this TARDIS on my ship as proof of its functionality.’ He licked his lips. ‘How did you manage to develop time travel technology? It is something we Valethske have always coveted.’
The Doctor looked from Ruvis to Kikker. ‘Let’s just say that the TARDIS is the product of an extremely advanced civilisation.’
‘You’re from the future?’ asked Ruvis, his bloodshot eyes widening.
‘Either that, or the distant past.’ The Doctor smiled. He was obviously enjoying running rings around them.
Kikker would soon put a stop to that. ‘So, using this
“product of an extremely advanced civilisation” you followed us from the planetoid?’
The Doctor nodded. ‘I intercepted your ship as it came out of warp.’
‘And rescued your friends’ Kikker put as much sarcasm as he could muster into his words. ‘But you have failed, Doctor.
I have your friends, your machine, and you, in my power!’
The Doctor began to babble something about his companions, about leaving this world in peace, but Kikker wasn’t listening. He was thinking about what to do with this strange machine. It complicated things, clouded the mission objective. If it worked, he could go back in time and confront the Gods before their abdication. But the excavations were continuing and he would soon know if the Gods had fled to this world. After so long, he couldn’t stray from the objective that was his lifeblood. He had to see the survey of this planet through fully. And if it turned out -as it had done on hundreds of worlds previously - that the Gods were not there, then he could use this TARDIS.
He came to a decision. ‘Guards, take this human, put it in the long sleep.’
The Vale Guards grabbed the Doctor’s arms.
The Doctor didn’t struggle - wisely - but his face became flushed, his voice agitated. ‘You’re pushing your luck, Kikker, I might decide not to co-operate after all!’
Kikker smiled. ‘Then my hunters will enjoy your friends.’
The Doctor bared his teeth in a grimace, and tried to break free from the Vale Guards. Though they were young they were still stronger than most humans. ‘Why are you putting me in the long sleep?’
Kikker smiled, beginning to enjoy himself again. ‘Doctor, it’s for your own good. You’ll be out of the way of my noble hunters -who might be tempted to devour you if you remain at large.’
At least let me see my friends first!’
Kikker waved him away. He hoped his hunters had managed to resist temptation. But what was the appetite of hunters against such a prize as time travel? ‘They are safe - you have my word.’
‘What’s your word worth, Kikker? Someone once told me that you Valethske see people as meat, nothing else. What’s to stop you from killing Peri the moment I’m safely frozen?’
Now Kikker had made his plan, the continued presence of the Doctor was becoming an irritation. ‘Without them I would not have your co-operation. As long as I need you, they live! Take him away.’
The Doctor struggled as the Vale Guards hauled him backwards. ‘Tell me one thing, Kikker - why are you doing this? Why are you travelling so far and for so long?’
Kikker considered, and decided there was no harm in the Doctor knowing. ‘It is the Great Mission, Doctor, as decreed by the Great Vale herself. The noblest enterprise we Valethske have ever undertaken. We are searching for our vanished Gods.’
The Doctor raised his eyebrows. ‘Interesting. What are you going to do when - or maybe that should be if - you find them?’
Kikker breathed hotly into the Doctor’s face. ‘Destroy them.’
After the green mouth had ‘eaten’ her, Aline had blacked out, waking to find herself being carried down a winding tunnel by one of the motiles that had taken the Gardeners’ offerings of fruit.
Strapped like luggage to the creature’s carapace, Aline watched the moss-covered ceiling of the tunnel pass by overhead. It seemed close enough to touch - if she could have reached out, but she couldn’t; her hands were bound tightly to her side. The only parts of her she could move were her feet and her head. She rotated her ankles from time to time, in a vain attempt to rid them of pins-and-needles, and the back of her head rested on the smooth carapace of the motile plant that carried her through the tunnel, downwards, towards - what?
Aline tried reaching out with her mind, projecting her thoughts ahead of the lumbering motile, to contact whatever lay in wait.
But she found herself unable to keep it up - self-doubt and fear made it impossible to concentrate. One thing she was sure of: the presence that had lured her into the green mouth had gone.
The only thing in her mind now was panic. And embarrassment -
how had she let herself be fooled so easily?
As she listened to the scuttling footfalls of the motiles, Aline began to believe that it had all been her imagination - a fantasy manufactured by her own mind, a mind she had never really trusted since the Encounter. What was she thinking -
going into the Tree, allowing herself to be harvested? She remembered how the Doctor had been flung aside, and his words: There’s no such thing as destiny. He was right, of course there wasn’t. She’d been mad to think there was. And she was still mad, she told herself with a calmness she convinced h
erself was born out of psychopathy.
She wondered what had happened to the Doctor and the others. Would they find Melrose? Would they come after her?
Or would the Valethske turn up and butcher them all?
All at once the monotonous view of the tunnel ceiling dropped away into blackness. Aline was bumped about as the motile plant carrying her increased its pace, its legs rustling with a new urgency. She craned round to see where they were; as far as she could tell, a rock-walled cavern, tunnel mouths gaping around the perimeter, the ubiquitous phosphorescent moss bathing everything in a ghostly green glow. How far beneath the surface were they? She’d lost track of how long they’d been travelling, and she had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. With growing alarm, she became aware of a new sound, emanating from the direction they were heading. A high-pitched chittering, like speeded-up birdsong.
Something was waiting, on the far side of the chamber.
Fear goading her into panicked action, Aline struggled against her restraints, and this time, to her surprise and relief, they let go.
She slid from the shiny pod-like body of the motile to land with an undignified bump on hard ground. Her hands met the surface; it was smooth and black, flecked with lighter elements. Must have been worn smooth by the passage of the motiles, over hundreds, thousands of years, maybe even more.
The car-sized motiles - Harvesters, she decided to call them on the spur of the moment - scuttled around her, totally ignoring her just as the Gardeners had. She didn’t have to try too hard to get out of their way. Strange. She had definitely been brought down here, but why? Did they think, in their vegetable minds, that she was a piece of fruit? The image made her titter. But if so, why just dump her?
The bird-like chittering had reached a crescendo and, a lump of fear forming in her throat, Aline turned to look in the direction the Harvesters were scuttling. The chamber was larger than that of the green mouth, like a giant inverted bowl.
Stalactites the size of church steeples depended from the ceiling.
And on the far side of the area, a herd of creatures moved, their jet-black carapaces shining in the green phosphorescence.
Aline stumbled towards the creatures, trying to make out individual forms in the seething mass. From a distance they looked like beetles, and as Aline got nearer she saw that they were the size of cows. Their carapaces were strangely serrated - plainly they were not wing-cases - and their six legs were long and spindly, ending in leaf-like scoops. Their heads looked almost like afterthoughts protruding from the thick, ridged thorax. Tiny, deformed-looking antennae curled above plate-sized compound eyes. Their mouthparts were the only bit of the creatures that seemed alive, mandibles working busily, producing the chittering sound that echoed all around the chamber.
Aline circled around the side of the herd, almost slipping a couple of times on the smooth rock. She felt excited, on the verge of a great discovery, just like the days before the Encounter.
Only this time there were no colleagues with whom to compare notes, no back-up team, no contactable cruiser in close orbit, nothing but Aline, alone within an alien world.
She watched as the Harvesters arranged themselves in neat ranks before the herd of chittering insects. They looked like two armies massing for a battle - and for a second, Aline thought that was what was going to happen. Between the two species, plant and insect, there was an open area that bisected the cavern, slightly raised above floor level.
Then the first rank of Harvesters moved forward as one, stepping up on to the table of rock, upending themselves and opening up with a graceful, balletic movement that brought a gasp of awe from Aline. She was probably the first alien being to witness this ceremony. And she had nothing to record it with.
The fruit spilled from the Harvesters and rolled out on to the table, a sudden tumble of colour. The chittering of the insects reached such a volume that Aline had to cover her ears. The creatures scuttled forwards, scooping up and devouring the fruit.
The first line of Harvesters, now empty, ran quickly from the cavern towards the tunnels, disappearing into who knew what other areas of the planet - maybe back up to the green mouth, to wait for the next harvest. The second line of Harvesters unloaded their offerings, and the scene soon lost any semblance of ritual as the cow-sized insects scrambled and skittered for every last scrap of food.
Aline sank down on her haunches. So one riddle of the Garden was answered - the fruit was to feed these mindless insects.
Aline thought of the intricate and seemingly endless beauty of the Garden, the avenues of trees, the plantations of fruit. Was this what it was all for? To produce food for these brutes? It didn’t make any sense.
And then something happened to her mind. A word formed, as if something deep within the layers of her unconscious was shouting, yelling for all its worth. The word was her own name, repeated over and over again, yearning, calling...
Aline felt her skin go ice cold, and sweat broke out on her forehead.
It was back.
And it wanted her.
Aline turned. All at once, the voice vanished - but a lurking presence remained, deep within the pit of her mind.
Behind her, she could see a glowing tunnel in the rock wall that she hadn’t noticed before. The light that spilled from it wasn’t the ubiquitous green phosphorescence, but a pale golden glow like summer sun captured in a glass of wine. It played across the polished rock floor of the cavern, reaching out to Aline.
As if in a dream, she turned to face the light, took a faltering step towards it, booted feet skidding forwards slightly on the stone. She knew that if she walked through the tunnel of light, she’d come face to face with something too large for her mind to gather in, and it would be just like the Encounter all over again, only this time the effects would be irreversible.
But Aline wasn’t scared. She was certain. She wanted to go, she wanted to know. She was a student of alien life, veteran of countless first contacts, a cataloguer of the galaxy’s incredible diversity. She wanted to know alien minds. She wanted them to know her. The Encounter had been the first stepping stone towards whatever lay in wait for her now she walked into the tunnel, the light bleaching out her vision, hands outstretched, thinned to skeletal silhouettes by the intensity of the glare. It was as if a sun was trapped within the planet. She could almost feel the rays buffeting around her, as if the light itself was intelligent, probing her, investigating her.
After a time, she came to the source. She stepped from the tunnel into a seemingly borderless space swimming in golden light, more diffuse now she was out in the open. As her eyes stopped throbbing she began to take in what was before her.
The light was coming from a strand of matter that began some way below Aline and disappeared high above her, its midpoint swelling on a level with where she stood. It had a textured, organic quality, like wax or mucus; within it, dark, fibrous shapes twisted and turned. As her wondering gaze took it in, the golden strand called her once again.
Aline.
She found herself moving towards it, through the golden void. There seemed to be no floor beneath her, but her feet were connecting with something. It felt like walking on glass.
Some sort if energy field?
The strand expanded before her, filling her mind with its intonations, calling her over and over again, a tone of urgency creeping into its soundless voice. As she got closer she thought she could see patterns in the dark shapes twisting inside: great wings, enormous eyes and limbs twisting in fire. A small part of her cried out and cowered in fear, but Aline ignored it, consumed with the need to know.
And then, when she was close enough to reach out and touch the alien strand, the voice in her mind vanished, and she was herself again. Her normal, human, self.
She stared up at the tapering strand, and - worryingly -
down past her feet where it disappeared in a distant twist of matter. Once again, she got the feeling that she was being duped.
It had b
rought her all the way down here, using her mind, using her memories of her previous Encounter, but for what?
Just to dump her here, all questions unanswered?
She turned around, and saw with a shock that she couldn’t see any tunnel entrances. There was nothing but the golden void, seeming to stretch away to infinity.
She turned back to the strand, beginning to resent it. ‘Well, is this it, then?’ Her voice sounded muffled, as if her ears were blocked. She held her nose and blew; this eased the pressure a little bit. She waved her hand through the golden light that surrounded her. Was it some sort of fluid? A gas? Or some other state, previously unknown to science?
She began to panic. How the hell was she going to get out of here? Was she doomed to wander this void for ever, driving
herself mad trying to work it all out?
She tried to reach out with her mind to the strand - to no avail. Perhaps this was the eye of the storm - too close to feel effect. Maybe physical contact would help.
Slowly, curiously, she reached out to touch the alien matter. She didn’t even have time to scream as its surface balloon outwards and engulfed her.
Chapter Seventeen
Dreams of Decide
To his astonishment, Vale Commander Kikker found himself enjoying the Doctor’s company. This was nothing to do with any attribute the Doctor might possess - to Kikker, he was still a walking, talking lump of meat - but because he was someone to whom Kikker could expound the glory of the Great Mission.
The Doctor easily kept pace with Kikker as they walked through the ship, seemingly unconcerned, despite the two Vale Guards immediately behind him, guns cocked and trained on his head. Kikker had concluded that the Doctor must be suffering from some sort of mental disorder that made it impossible for him to feel fear. He’d seen it himself in certain types of genetically altered soldier. Maybe, once the Doctor had served his purpose and Kikker was fully versed in the operation of the TARDIS, Ruvis could dissect him and find out.
