Part 6 (1/2)

'Cambri, of course. I mean ghosts. Well, whatever. But he was here there.' He pointed.

Lannic was losing her patience. 'Who was here?'

'I don't know. A figure. In metal armour, like she said. An old man, standing tall like he owned the place. He had one of those helmets that used to cover the whole head.'

'How do you know he was old, then?'

'He wore the front up. And he walked through there.'

They all looked. Tashman was pointing at a blank section of wall. There was nothing remarkable about it at all. Certainly there was no door.

'You saw his face?' Bernice was curious.

'Yes, that's how I knew he was old.'

Fortalexa decided this was not getting them anywhere. 'Yes, well, I have some sad news too. It looks like they're going for it.'

'You got that off the net?' Bannahilk was suddenly animated, his moustache twitching with excitement. Here was a problem he could understand and deal with.

'Straight off. The Rippeareans have crossed the Charasian Line. They're heading right for Heletia, and we're in their way.' He looked Bernice in the face. He could tell she resented their presence as soldiers and the fact that the war interfered with her business. But that was life, and she would have to come to terms with that. 'I wouldn't invite anyone else to the matinee in a hurry.'

She frowned for a moment. It was as if she were considering something important. Then she seemed to come to a decision. But before she could say anything Lannic was pus.h.i.+ng past.

'Right, let's get moving then. Tashman and Krayn, see if you can get us easier access to this place from the tunnel, Klasvik, Gilmanuk, Summerfield come with me. We've got to get started.' She paused as she pa.s.sed Fortalexa. 'Shouldn't you be busy too?'

'Very probably,' he conceded. Bannahilk drew him aside for a moment. 'Warn Lefkhani he may not know.' Fortalexa nodded and followed the others down towards the stage. He got half*way before he realized that Bernice was not in front of him. He turned and looked back. She was bent examining the wall where Tashman's ghost had disappeared.

It was just a section of wall, old and scratched and made of stone. Completely unremarkable but it fascinated Bernice. It was the age, the history what the wall seen that she found so captivating. An unremarkable wall, maybe, but it had a remarkable view of the stage. She looked down at the mud*face covering the central area below, catching Fortalexa's eye for a second as he turned away and continued down after the others.

Benny smiled. He wasn't so bad, for a soldier. At least he had a sense of humour and didn't take himself too seriously; a contrast to the quietly efficient Bannahilk. She could easily see how the officer had got his stripes (or pips, or whatever) while Fortalexa had remained on communications and electronics. Att.i.tude was everything the military; and it was the military att.i.tude that she had trouble relating to.

She patted her satchel to rea.s.sure herself that it and the small green globe it contained were still safely with her. Not that she would be calling for the Doctor and Ace just yet. A few spooks in the minds of impressionable grunts who'd got fazed by a phoney curse were hardly enough to motivate a cry for help.

Benny continued her examination of the wall following it to the comer of the amphitheatre where it joined the side wall. She ran her hands over the wall, feeling the stone rough and cold against her skin. But there was something else it seemed almost to shrink away from her. Benny thought for a moment, her eyes searching the surface for a clue. There a line that descended the bottom section of the wall where the stones were not interlaced but all ended at a given point. A doorway. She pushed hard against the outside edge of the section of wall, guessing that it pivoted in the corner where it joined the other wall so that the hinges would be better hidden. She was right, and the heavy door swung slowly open, grating with the sounds of age and disuse. Benny went through into the blackness beyond. She stood still for a moment facing into the dark, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

Eventually she could see a little way ahead. She was in a corridor with real walls, not excavated mud. She picked her way slowly along, one hand against the wall to guide her, the other held out in front to ward off any obstruction her dim eyes might miss.

After a while she stopped. This was silly, the corridor was leading nowhere. Better to get a light and come back with the others, explore and record the whole thing properly. She turned back towards the dim rectangle of light that was the doorway she had come through. And as she did so, Benny caught sight of another doorway in the opposite wall. Just for a second, then it was gone.

She blinked. And it was back. A low red light emanating from within. Then abruptly it was gone again. She frowned and when it reappeared moved cautiously towards the light, almost losing her footing when it disappeared yet again.

Then she was on the threshold and she went into the room beyond.

The room was behind the back wall of the theatre. It was stone*walled on three sides like the theatre and the corridor she had just come along. The fourth side was filled with a bulge of hardened mud which jutted into the room. It was lit intermittently by a flas.h.i.+ng red light which was over by the mud wall. It was a tiny light, but seemed very bright. And it was on what looked like the control panel of a machine.

When she got up close to it, Benny could make it out rather better. The machine was square, about a meter along each side, raised on a wheeled trolley so it was at waist height. From one end projected a short rod, not unlike the barrel of a gun except that it had no bore and was ringed with transparent circlets within which Benny could see fine wiring. It was pointing at a tinted window in the wall.

Benny moved round the machine, examining its far side She squeezed between the machine and the mud behind it, running her hand along the smooth plastic exterior. The panel at the back was the only set of controls on it. Was the machine something left by Lannic's previous expedition? Or had they not found the hidden doorway that she had stumbled upon before they had to withdraw?

Benny looked through the low window: it afforded green*tinted view down into the theatre. She was looking directly at the stage area. She wondered why they had not been able to see the winking light from the other side and reached out. Her hand touched something solid. So that was it. Some sort of one*way gla.s.s; she could see out but the outside world could not see in. It was like being in the holographic projection chamber of the TARDIS cinema, she thought with a smile.

And a thought began to form in her mind. A thought cut off by the damp hand that closed over her throat.

It caught Benny by surprise. She would have screamed had the hand not been choking the breath from her windpipe. She flailed at her attacker, forcing her elbows back wards in the hope of catching him... or her... or it, but they met with no resistance. She could feel the life slowly draining from her body, her toes and fingers were tingling with the lack of oxygen. Her ears were rus.h.i.+ng with blood and the red of the light got redder each time it flashed.

But she still heard the noise. It was an old noise. A noise Bernice knew from handling ancient weapons in museums and on digs. It sounded like a sword being drawn from a scabbard. It frightened her enough to give her the impetus and strength to lunge not backwards at her attacker, but forwards.

She knew she could not break the hold on her neck her hands had been scrabbling at the damp slippery fingers since they had closed round her throat but if she had something heavy, a club, she might be able to reach over her shoulder and batter at her attacker. So she lunged towards the stubby barrel of the machine in front of her. Her hands closed over it and she summoned her last resources of strength to try to snap it off at the narrow base where it joined the main part of the machinery.

But just before she heaved on the potential club, she was free the hand had left her throat. Benny dived away, past the machine and across the door, keeping low to avoid the blow of the sword. But it never came. There was no rush of air past her face as the sword swept by. No biting pain as it connected with her, Nothing at all.

Benny rubbed her bruised neck and gasped for air as she stared past the machine. There was n.o.body there. Just a dark wall of mud reaching up to a stone ceiling.

She sat there for a few minutes, getting her breath back, too faint to leave the room despite her fear. Then she came to a decision. Ghosts were all very well, but when they somehow became corporeal and started throttling people particularly her then It was time to call in the experts.

Bernice pulled her satchel round and cradled it in her lap as she drew herself up into a cross*legged position. Her hand moved in slow jerks as the light flashed, frame by frame like an old movie. She undid the clasp and reached inside for the tracker/locator, Well, now's the time to see if the theory works, she thought as she felt for the slight indentation in the base of the sphere. A moment later a low green light pulsed unevenly with the red one for a few seconds. Then it was gone. Bernice refastened her satchel, pulled herself to her feet and, still breathing heavily, made her way back to the dark corridor.

Source Doc.u.ment 4 Extract from Intelligence Report XV117 from a.n.a.lyst Ezira to Rippearean War Cabinet 3978 Braxiatel Collection Catalogue Number: 219FD But that is not to say that the Heletians rely on words. On the contrary, if they can show the event on the stage then they will. I saw a production of Dratus and Tomark Dratus and Tomark where Palmera's speech about the arrival of Tomark's s.p.a.ce barge at the battle of Actinium was augmented by the where Palmera's speech about the arrival of Tomark's s.p.a.ce barge at the battle of Actinium was augmented by the actual arrival actual arrival of the barge. They want concrete images all the time; they have lost their appreciation of the abstract. This applies not only to their theatre although there it is most manifest but also to their paintings, similarities and literature. Seeing is believing, and they do not believe until they have seen. of the barge. They want concrete images all the time; they have lost their appreciation of the abstract. This applies not only to their theatre although there it is most manifest but also to their paintings, similarities and literature. Seeing is believing, and they do not believe until they have seen.

a.n.a.lysis: So far as I can discern, the Heletians believe that if they can understand the nature of acting and production, then they can better understand themselves. To this end they want information and facts (they also of course want to spread the word and bring nonconforming systems into line, as they are doing so ruthlessly). They see theatre as inextricably linked to history: plays are chronicles. Plays with an historical setting must must be accurately staged. To a very real degree they see Shakespeare as an historian rather than a story*teller. be accurately staged. To a very real degree they see Shakespeare as an historian rather than a story*teller.

The other principle to which they adhere (ironically) is the notion that theatre is beautiful, even to the detriment of the historical detail. There must be a visual beauty in the settings, the actors and the language. This is why Osterling is the perfect choice, since he combines the historical chronicle with visual splendour and linguistic finesse.

Chapter 4.

A Dream Play JORVIK And so the once n.o.ble Leet, now a common criminal, is tried for the murder. And as a common criminal his head is spliced from his body. And so the once n.o.ble Leet, now a common criminal, is tried for the murder. And as a common criminal his head is spliced from his body.

Teel rises in horror JORVIK See, Teel, see where the axe*man's blade pauses at its apogee. Then gravity gives it one more little pull and the blade continues over and down. See, Teel, see where the axe*man's blade pauses at its apogee. Then gravity gives it one more little pull and the blade continues over and down.

PRATOR Teel stands amazed. The drama works its vicarious spell. Teel stands amazed. The drama works its vicarious spell.

JORVIK It gathers momentum as it goes and slams into his neck... It gathers momentum as it goes and slams into his neck...

The Good Soldiers Stanoff Osterling, 2273 Stanoff Osterling, 2273

'So where is she?' Ace watched the Doctor as he moved round the control console, tapping this dial, flicking that switch, checking the other read*out.

He frowned for a moment, clicked his tongue and reversed his direction round the console. 'Not where she's supposed to be, that's for sure.' His frown turned into a wide grin. 'Which is normal for Benny.'