Part 15 (2/2)

Butcher raised the neck of the bottle to his mouth and tried to fake a swallow, but the young Indian stepped forward and tilted it steeply in Butcher's hands. Warm, harsh liquid flooded from the bottle into Butcher's throat.

Butcher choked, the spirit burning in his nose and eyes and mouth. He coughed and spat and fought the bottle away from his face. The young Indian took it back and sat down on the other side of the fire. He was smiling faintly. His two elders were entirely expressionless. Butcher felt the liquor flood through his system with its mendacious warmth and comfort.

The Doctor leaned over and picked up a wicker basket. He set it on his knees, opened it and took out a sandwich. 'You mustn't drink on an empty stomach, Major.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'I'm afraid I must insist.' The Doctor handed the sandwich to the scar-faced Indian, who set his rifle aside and carried it around the fire to Butcher.

Butcher accepted the sandwich and started eating it. He knew he didn't have any choice. He chewed and swallowed, hardly registering the taste of the bitter vegetable stuff between the two slices of bread. Butcher ate every sc.r.a.p of it.

When he was finished the Doctor said, 'Would you like another drink?'

'No thank you,' said Butcher.

'As you wish.' This time the Doctor didn't get the Indians to force him. The bottle stayed on the ground, glinting in the flames. They all sat there for what seemed a long time. None of the Indians seemed to feel the need to say anything, the Doctor was entirely comfortable in the silence, occasionally smiling at Butcher across the fire. The girl's eyes drifted shut and she began 99to sleep, snoring gently. The fire crackled and spat and the shadows danced.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour had pa.s.sed, Butcher felt he had to say something. 'What are we waiting for?'

'The peyote,' said the Doctor. At the sound of his voice Ace woke up and blinked blearily.

'The what?' said Butcher. His voice was a harsh croak.

'The peyote. It's a naturally occurring hallucinogen found where is it found Ace?'

'In the buds of a cactus called William something,' she said sleepily, half awake now.

'Close enough,' said the Doctor. 'It's a powerful intoxicant that causes visions and your sandwich was full of it. We are waiting for it to take effect.'

The Doctor glanced at his pocket watch. 'Which should be happening any time now.'

'What the h.e.l.l have you done to me?' said Butcher.

The Doctor smiled at him. His eyes looked uncanny in the light of the fire, a restless liquid gleam in them. 'Peyote is a sacrament to the Mescalero Apaches. The white man has tried to stamp out its use, but he has been far from successful. It is still deployed, sparingly because of its immense power, by certain shaman. Shaman such as Black Eyes here.' Butcher looked at the old Indian, who stared back at him as if he wasn't there.

The Doctor said, 'The Mescalero Apaches see the world as being an intricate web of forces. These natural forces act on human beings through the agency of the weather, the sun, the moon, animals or plants.' The Doctor's dark eyes seemed to be staring into the depths of Butcher's soul. 'Peyote is unique among these plants in being considered to be utterly evil. The only corresponding evil to be found among the animals spirits is the owl.' The Doctor fell silent and at that instant an owl called in the branches above them. It was an unearthly sound and Butcher felt a cold vibration s.h.i.+ver up his spine like electric current.

'Right on cue,' said Ace. She sounded impressed, suddenly wide awake again.

The Doctor smiled, but there was little warmth in the smile. 'Like the owl, peyote has power. The power to bring visions. Such visions are often accom-panied by an ordeal.'

Butcher realised that the others, Ace and the Indians, were all staring up into the night sky. He looked up and saw, hanging there above the canopy of pines, a strange cl.u.s.ter of glowing lights. The lights moved around in a co-ordinated fas.h.i.+on, as though they were attached to some kind of aircraft.

But there was no sound of engines and the slow floating motion of the lights didn't belong to any craft Butcher had ever seen or heard of.

The Doctor stood up. 'Are you ready for your ordeal, Major?'100.

Chapter Eight.

On Board the Craft 'Wicked,' said Ace.

'It is rather impressive, isn't it?' said the Doctor.

'What the h.e.l.l is it?' said Butcher. He stared up into the night, his voice cracked and desperate.

'It's a craft from another world, of course,' said the Doctor. 'And you are going to have the extraordinary privilege of being taken on board.'

'Are they going to probe him?' said Ace eagerly.

'Please, Ace. I'm sure the Major is frightened enough as it is without you planting unpleasant suggestions like that in his mind.'

'But it's the done thing, isn't it, with UFOs?'

'I a.s.sure you,' said the Doctor, 'there is nothing unidentified about this flying object. As a matter of fact, its pilot is an old friend of mine.'

Ace peered happily up into the night. 'So do we get to meet this friend?'

'Of course. We're not going to let Major Butcher go all by himself. We will be taken on board with him.'

'So how do we get taken on board?'

'We merely ask.' The Doctor took off his hat and waved it at the shape in the sky. Ace studied the glowing lights. They pulsed and changed colour in a way that made her think of something organic, a life form. She remembered pictures she'd seen of jellyfish that swam in the deepest part of the ocean, pulsing with colour. The slowly changing iridescence of the lights reminded her of these. And so did the slowly unfolding tentacle, transparent but streaming with rainbow colours, that descended from the craft and flowed around the Doctor, engulfing him. Ace saw the Doctor being sucked up through the swaying polychromatic length of the hollow tentacle. Then she saw another tentacle descending from the craft, towards her.

A third tentacle came swaying down towards Butcher and she heard him scream as it touched him. The scream was cut off as Ace was sealed in her own tentacle. It was soft and jelly-like, yet warm and dry. There was a flow of warm air coming from the top of the tentacle and it had a salty, spicy tang to it. She could see through the tentacle and outside, by the campfire, she saw the Apaches watching impa.s.sively as the third tentacle swallowed the 101struggling and frantic Major Butcher. Then Ace felt a rush of air and she was suddenly moving upwards inside her own tentacle, its jelly-like circ.u.mference closing around her feet and gently but swiftly forcing her upwards in a peri-staltic motion. As the length of the tentacle clenched shut behind her she was squeezed along it, propelled inexorably towards the glowing lights above.

Outside she could see Butcher being shot upwards in his own tentacle. She couldn't hear his screams, but she could see his frantic struggles, wild, flailing limbs convulsing in an almost hysterical panic. Ace couldn't work out what all the fuss was about.

After all, it was only a s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p.

The interior of the s.h.i.+p seemed to be made of the same stuff as the tentacles, though somewhat more rigid to the touch. From what Ace could see, the craft consisted of a series of chambers that were spherical or oval in section. The walls were transparent, but seethed with colours that pa.s.sed through them.

The colours changed and pulsed like living light. The overlapping layers of the walls and the s.h.i.+fting waves of chromatic change meant that, for all their transparency, the walls became effectively opaque beyond a certain distance; Ace couldn't see much beyond the chambers immediately surrounding her, except for some vague shapes in a nacreous fog.

The Doctor was standing waiting for her when she arrived, delivered by the gentle clenching pressure of the tentacle through an opening in the floor of the s.h.i.+p. The hole closed under her, sealing itself so that she was standing on a solid surface. The Doctor smiled at her. 'Impressive, eh?'

'Beats the h.e.l.l out of an escalator,' said Ace. They both stood and waited for Major Butcher to turn up. There was a hole in the floor that evidently corresponded to the entry point for his tentacle, but no sign of the Major himself. 'What's keeping him?'

'Poor Major Butcher. I imagine he's experiencing a certain measure of. . .

culture shock, shall we say?'

'Yes, I think we shall say.'

'Instead of relaxing and allowing the delivery mechanism to do its job, he is no doubt resisting with every ounce of his considerable strength. And since the mechanism is designed first and foremost to bring living creatures on board unharmed, it is taking its time.'

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