Part 1 (2/2)

What we need is to find a world and time which is sufficiently sophisticated to have developed such medication.' Seeing her blank expression, the Doctor simplified his explanation to suit her level of understanding. 'My temple pa.s.ses through many worlds on its journey. On some of them, there exist the herbs I need to cure my priest. I must simply seek help.'

At last, Katarina smiled. 'Ah! You seek out the secrets of the Underworld, the fabled plants that give immortal life! With those, you can save the life of Steven!'

The Doctor nodded. 'Whatever you say,' he agreed. 'You stay here and nurse him as best you can. I shall try to steer my ah temple to some suitable spot. If we cannot find the right...

herbs, I am very much afraid that Steven will die.'

2.

The Screaming Jungle

An eldritch scream rent the air, the sound of a hunting animal having succeeded in its quest. Garvey's eyes snapped open, and he cast about for several seconds. He could see nothing but the vast, impersonal jungle that covered almost all of the land area of this planet. Tall trees sought the sky, while huge creepers tried to tie them to the ground. Shrubs, bushes, gra.s.ses and worse were scattered about the trees. Every now and again, something rustled through the undergrowth, or there was a movement in the branches. In all the time that he had been here, Garvey had seen no animal life, however. Any creatures in this nightmare forest were too cautious to expose themselves to view. All Garvey or his companions had seen were the endless plants. Worst of all were the ever-present, beautiful-seeming orchid trees. Tall, multi-coloured growths, they gave forth delightful scents and spat deadly poison on to anyone foolish enough to get too close to them. The plants were carnivorous, and once their prey had thrashed in agony and died, the plant would slowly lower its bell over the carca.s.s and begin to feed.

Garvey had even seen one variety of the orchids that shot out a jet of fire a thick liquid that burst into flames on contact with the air. The liquid would stick to its victim and burn them horribly to death.

The jungle was at its worst when it showed its most lovely face. Bright colours, delectable scents and cheerful appearance meant that the plants were lures.

But they had heard far more. The jungle held a background chatter of noises perhaps simply territorial cries, mates calling to one another and baby creatures calling out in puzzlement at the world in which they found themselves. Garvey doubted this: he believed that the cries were of death and impending death, of hunters and victims. He had became convinced that very soon his voice would echo through this nightmare forest.

He realized that he was panting in fear again, and made a heroic effort to calm down. Sweat plastered his face and the palms of his hands. Nervously, he rubbed them on his dark uniform to dry them. Once, on Earth, he had been considered handsome, but now his face was pinched with constant terror, etched by the rivulets of sweaty fear and dirtied by constantly being buried in the undergrowth when he hid from what?

Now that he was awake, he began to wonder. Why was he here? What was he doing? What had happened...

The pain began, building swiftly behind his eyes, burning at his brain. With a hollow cry he collapsed, gripping his temples, squeezing, trying to relieve the terrible pain. He threw back his head, but even in his agony, his fear reminded him to make as little noise as possible, and he stayed silent. After long, stabbing seconds, the pain began to ebb, and he could let go of his head.

Something had come back to him, and he now knew what he must do.

He reached for his belt, and unbuckled his pistol. With practised ease, he checked the remaining charges, and then set the weapon to its highest beam. A smile that would have done credit to some demon from the pits of h.e.l.l swept across his face.

'I remember,' he muttered to himself. 'Remember... I must kill.

Must kill... kill...'

Just over a mile from Garvey, one alien artefact stood in a small clearing of its own creation. The small scout s.h.i.+p had swung down over Kembel as it had approached, and then this site had been selected for a landing. The rockets that had slowed the s.h.i.+p to a landing had burnt away the vegetation for several hundred yards around. Despite this, the jungle was starting even now to edge in closer, eager to fill up this gap in itself.

The scout s.h.i.+p was small, designed for in-system flight and not interplanetary hops. It was barely large enough to contain its three pa.s.sengers or crew and several days' supplies for them.

The rest of the s.h.i.+p was the reaction drive, and it was this that was causing the problems. The final two members of this expedition were standing by a small hole in the hull. The plate they had removed lay on the scorched ground beside them.

Marc Cory was holding the tool chest, and trying to see what his companion was doing. Cory was lean, tall and dark, in a good-looking way. He was just a shade on the right side of thirty, and possessed what seemed to be a vast indifference to the Universe in general. Unlike Garvey, Cory was not terrified of Kembel; it was simply another world of the many he had visited in the past few years. Some had been worse than this, though most had been better. Kembel was just a job to Cory, one to be accomplished swiftly, so he could move on to the next.

His companion, currently head and shoulders into the cavity in the s.h.i.+p's hull, was the captain-pilot, Gordon Lowery. A gentler, cheerier man than Cory, Lowery also could have cared less about Kembel. He was a born s.p.a.cer, eager to get off worlds with their unpleasant gravity and back into free s.p.a.ce, where he belonged. At the moment, this was impossible, so he blamed the man responsible. 'Why you wanted to land on this planet I'll never never know,' he grumbled over his shoulder. 'It's getting on my nerves.' To punctuate his comment, there was another ululating squeal from the jungle. 'I hate to think what kind of animal makes a noise like that,' he added. 'And you notice something? know,' he grumbled over his shoulder. 'It's getting on my nerves.' To punctuate his comment, there was another ululating squeal from the jungle. 'I hate to think what kind of animal makes a noise like that,' he added. 'And you notice something?

They're getting closer.' Hearing just a grunt from Cory, Lowery stuck his head out of the panel. 'I'll tell you one thing I don't want to be around when whatever-it-is arrives. Hand me that wrench, will you?'

Cory peered into the box of gadgets, almost all of which looked as alien to him as the landscape. On a hunch, he pulled out what he considered to be a wrench and offered it to Lowery.

Lowery scowled, waved it aside, and pulled a different instrument from the box. His head and arms vanished back into the hatchway. Cory shrugged. 'So, how's it going?' he asked, conversationally.

'Slow,' came the reply. 'The flareback melted some of the retaining heads, and all we've got is solid lumps of Tarnium instead of precision contacts. I've got to get them free and replace them.'

'Is there time for me to look around?'

Lowery's head popped out again; with a distinctly angry expression on it. 'Look, if we don't lift off in the next hour, we'll miss the rendezvous with the freighter. If we're not there, they'll a.s.sume that we aren't coming. They won't wait.'

'You'll make it, Lowery.'

'I'm doing the best I can,' Lowery yelled back, waving the wrench about threateningly. He didn't like pa.s.sengers who made him damage his s.h.i.+p especially ones who seemed indifferent to the problems. 'I didn't want to touch down on this lousy planet anyway.'

'Let's not start that again,' Cory suggested. 'Just get on with the work, eh?'

For a moment, Lowery looked all set to use the wrench on Cory, but he finally bent back to his task. Cory set down the box of tools, and stared off to the south. 'Where the devil is Garvey?'

he asked, rhetorically. 'He should have been back by now.'

Lowery answered anyhow. 'He'll be here for take-off if if we take off. Screwdriver!' He held out his hand, and gestured. Cory hazarded another guess in the toolbox, and this time was correct. The instrument vanished into the hole. we take off. Screwdriver!' He held out his hand, and gestured. Cory hazarded another guess in the toolbox, and this time was correct. The instrument vanished into the hole.

With Cory's attention diverted from the jungle, he failed to see the rustling of the leaves as Garvey peered out at the s.h.i.+p.

The lone man smiled his evil grin again, and stared at the s.h.i.+p and the two men working on it. He clutched at his pistol, and the haze descended over his brain again. What was it he had to do? Ah, yes! Kill Kill...

He lurched unsteadily to his feet, and moved quietly into the open. Then he slipped about the clearing until the bulk of the scout s.h.i.+p was between him and his prey...

There was a loud snapping sound, and Lowery re-emerged from the cavity in the hull, holding a piece of melted metal.

'Look at that!' he exclaimed. 'It's useless.' He flung it with considerable force towards the jungle. 'Get me a spare, will you?'

Cory a.s.sumed that it was one of the retaining whatevers that the pilot had been complaining about, and started to rummage about in the toolbox for a replacement. 'Not in there,' Lowery said, 'in the s.h.i.+p's store.'

Nodding, Cory clambered inside the small s.h.i.+p. Lowery set to work on the other lump of fused metal. Lost in his work, he failed to see or hear the approaching form of Garvey. Garvey, on the other hand, had an excellent view of Lowery. He smiled his wicked smile again, and raised his pistol for a shot into the back of his unsuspecting comrade.

'Cory, don't bother!' Lowery yelled out. 'Spares aren't going to do us any good. This thing's spattered all over the valve linkages.'

Garvey's face was sweating, but his hand was steady. He began to squeeze the trigger, slowly...

At the sound of the blaster, Lowery spun about, in time to see the brief flare that silhouetted Garvey's body, and to hear the final scream that escaped the man's lips. As Garvey fell, face down, Lowery could see Cory standing in the hatchway, his pistol at the ready. Lowery ran to Garvey, and turned him over.

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