Part 1 (1/2)

DOCTOR WHO.

MISSION TO THE UNKNOWN.

JOHN PEEL.

1.

The Toppled Towers Of Ilium

Smoke filled the city as the invading Greeks torched every building that they could set alight. The night was bright with the dancing flames, proclaiming the final end of the Trojan War.

Ten long, frustrating years for the Greeks were over now, thanks to the brilliance of Odysseus, they were inside the city of their most hated foes! Their anger spilled out with the blood of the screaming, fleeing Trojans. Berserk now, the invading troops ran through the streets and houses killing, looting and burning.

In the thoroughfares, small knots of Trojan soldiers tried to hold back the flood, at the same time gathering together what women and children they could. Fighting a desperate rearguard action, they struggled to escape the doomed Troy, and make it to safety on the plains.

One small group ran neither forward to loot and pillage nor back to flee the city. An old man, in loose Greek robes, with long silver hair and a silver-tipped cane struggled to help a young girl. She was almost borne to her knees under the weight of a warrior in Greek garb the short leather skirt, the copper breastplate and the thonged sandals. His helmet was long discarded, and his handsome face was pale. The section of his clothing below the breastplate was dark with his life-blood. What was most strange about the elfin, dark-haired girl helping to drag him through the smoke was that she was a Trojan, dressed as a serving girl from the palace of King Priam himself.

'Here,' the Doctor called, gesturing to a small ante-room of the palace. 'Katarina, we must take Steven in here.'

Though she nodded and helped with the struggle to get Steven into the blazing building, Katarina could not understand why the old man wanted his friend to be helped into a room that in moments would be an inferno. Still, the Doctor was perhaps Zeus in disguise did not the G.o.ds often walk upon the Earth?

To him, the flames might not be hot, but cool and refres.h.i.+ng. To her? Well, she must trust. Ahead of them, she could make out the strange, tall blue box that had so puzzled King Priam when it had been brought to him. No one had been able to open it.

Trying vainly to brush away the smoke that filled everywhere, the Doctor managed to pull the key from his clothing. Eyes streaming, he fitted it into the lock and turned it.

The TARDIS doors swung inwards. The Doctor, unable to speak without coughing, gestured for Katarina to help him get Steven within. Still uncomprehending, but trusting, she did so.

As so as they were inside, the Doctor abandoned both his companions and hurried over to the console. He triggered the door switch, and the double doors swung closed behind them.

He coughed again, then smiled briefly. 'Ah! Fresh air, at last.

Now we can breathe.'

Katarina was staggered by the size of the room that they were in: this was no small chest as it had seemed from the outside, but a temple annexe, at least thirty feet across! Lights blazed on the white walls that looked like polished stone. An altar stood in the centre of the room, over which the Doctor brooded, moving sticks and touching coloured baubles. What could he be doing? Suddenly the centre of the altar began to rise and fall, and a terrible noise, the baying of Cerberus, guardian hound of the Underworld, began. Katarina fell to her knees and hid her face in terror.

Oblivious, the Doctor finished setting the controls. 'The sooner we are away from this barbaric period,' he muttered, 'the better I shall like it.' He glanced down at his clothing in disgust.

'And the sooner I am properly attired again...' Finally, he remembered his companions, and turned to them. Steven was on the floor, very still, and that silly handmaiden, Katarina, was all in a bundle. How could he have let Vicki talk him into taking this girl along to help with Steven? But Vicki had insisted on staying with that young whipper-snapper... what was his name?

Ah, Troilus! That was it. Love! It did silly things to humans, especially the females. Why, it had even affected his own granddaughter not that long ago...

Heaving himself out of his reverie, the Doctor hurried over to Katarina and Steven. 'Oh, do get up,' he snapped crossly at the Trojan girl. 'Give me a hand with Steven. We had better get him to bed, and get this armour off him. I must see what shape that wound is in.'

Katarina looked up, timorously. 'Is this your temple?'

'My what? What are you talking about?'

She gestured about the room. 'This is your temple,' she said, more firmly.

'It is nothing of the kind,' the Doctor replied crossly. 'It's my s.h.i.+p.'

'This is no s.h.i.+p,' Katarina laughed. 'Where are the sails?

Where are the oarsmen? No, this is your temple, and we are journeying through the Underworld to the Place of Perfection.'

What a stupid child! The Doctor sighed, realizing that she couldn't help it. Science was unknown in her culture, and she was doing what she could to try to make sense of what was happening to her. 'Yes, well, whatever you like,' he said, brusquely. 'Just give me a hand to get Steven to a bed, will you?'

Together, they half-carried, half-dragged him through the far doors and into his own room in the TARDIS. Once Steven was stretched out on the bed, the Doctor looked him over. He seemed very weak and pale, and was having trouble breathing.

'Can you get this silly plate off him?' the Doctor asked Katarina.

'Of course. I am a handmaid in the palace of Priam of Troy.

I know of the accoutrements of war.'

'Well, stop boasting and just do it, child.'

Katarina set to work, and within moments had the fastenings undone. Gently, she removed the breastplate and set it down. Steven's tunic was soaked in blood. She tenderly moved the cloth aside, so as not to hurt him further. 'I shall need water,'

she said, 'if I am to help your priest. The wound has bitten deep.'

The Doctor nodded, and hurried off to get warm water for her. Whatever her faults, she did seem to have more than a nodding acquaintance with sword-wounds. As soon as he had the water ready, he hurried back with it. Katarina had meanwhile started to clean out the wound, using the cloths at hand.

Without a word, the Doctor handed her the bowl of warm water.

Katarina, in her element now, continued her task. The Doctor left her, and went to his medicine chest.

It was sorely depleted. He had intended to fill it on many of his trips, but had become so easily side-tracked. A bandage, some gauze and a little antiseptic cream was the best that he could manage. Hurrying back, he saw that Katarina had sponged off the blood that had covered Steven's wound. It was a nasty gash in his side, but had luckily missed penetrating anything vital.

The Doctor didn't like the red colour of the skin about the wound, or Steven's laboured breathing. He seriously doubted that the Trojan sword that had cut into his young companion had been sterile. By now, millions of germs could have infected Steven. The Doctor elbowed Katarina aside, and started to apply his makes.h.i.+ft dressing.

'I have seen such a wound many times,' Katarina offered. 'It is invariably fatal. Your priest will die. I am sorry for you, but at least we shall take him down to the Underworld in your temple.'

'Oh, do stop that!' the Doctor snapped. 'You're no Florence Nightingale, and that's for certain! All he needs are some antibiotics to combat the toxins, and he'll be fine.'

Katarina regarded him uncomprehendingly. 'I do not understand your words,' she confessed. 'Do you mean that you can cure even such a mortal wound?'

'Of course. Ah, well, that is I can with proper medication.