Part 8 (2/2)

'Yes, that's right, stop interrupting, thank you. Anyway, he was a good sort and we teamed up. The next time I went to Peladon - '

'So how many times have you been there?'

'Two. Anyway,' he said pointedly, 'the next time, a group of them were up to their old tricks. And I've seen a couple of other groups who bend the rules a little to favour a military solution. I mean, on Magnus -' Bernice realized the Doctor could go on forever if she didn't interrupt him again.

Okay Doctor, history lesson over, I think. Now, tell me about this place, Peladon. Why are we going, the commissioner's plea aside?'

The Doctor delved deep into a jacket pocket. Bernice had long suspected that, like the TARDIS's interior, the Doctor's clothes also existed in different dimensions. Most of them, she mentally added a little unkindly, dimensions where fas.h.i.+on was not a word that had ever been used. He always produced the most unlikely things from within them, and this time looked like being no exception.

'Ah ha!' The Doctor showed her a tiny sculpture. It was an animal of some sort, carved out of stone. It stood upright with clawed paws raised, as if ready to strike. Ma.s.sive canine teeth jutted out of the snout, and a lethal-looking horn protruded from the top of its head. s.h.a.ggy fur was carved into the image and, all in all, Bernice decided it wasn't something she was in a hurry to meet. She said so.

'Not a problem,' the Doctor said, rather sadly. 'Aggedor is long dead. The planet Peladon is steeped in, to use your terms, a kind of medieval co-existence with technology. When I first visited, the planet was just entering the Federation, although the Pel traditionalists were against it, as were certain Federation members. lzlyr and I helped sort that out and the planet eventually became part of the Federation. I next went back around fifty years later, when Queen Thalira was enthroned. Pels don't have particularly long life spans, and their turn-over of monarchs is quite high.

Thalira had to cope with an attack from an organization, helped by Ice Warriors, who wanted to overthrow the Federation. Peladon is a planet rich in trisilicate and the Federation mined it there. The terrorists set out to scupper the mining but again the evil was overthrown and I left. I haven't been back since. I gather this new King, Tarrol, has been ruler for two years, hence this prestigious occasion. Next question?'

Bernice shook her head. The Doctor wandered over to the servicer.

'Drink?'

'Just water please.'

'Coming up'. There was a short buzz and two large handleless crystal mugs materialized, a transparent liquid fizzing slightly inside. As the Doctor returned, he pa.s.sed one to Bernice.

'Not exactly easy to hold, are they?' She indicated the mugs. The Doctor made a motion with his hands, imitating an Ice Warrior's clamplike hands.

Bernice nodded in understanding and sipped quietly on her drink.

It looked as if it was going to be an interesting voyage.

At around the same time that the Doctor and Bernice were boarding the Bruk, another, smaller s.h.i.+p was gaining a VIP pa.s.senger as well. The freighter Arrow was headed for the Rho system. There, it would deposit the majority of its cargo. Unknown to most of its crew apart from the captain and her first mate, the Arrow would then detour via Pakha where its VIP would disembark secretly. The captain was being well paid to do this irregular drop-off and keep her mouth firmly closed.

Currently squatting in the cargo hold was the VIP Clad in a figure-hugging midnight black one-piece combat suit, she was a small but slender young woman. Her dark, creaseless clothing was only illuminated by the word ACE' emblazoned across the back in silver glitter. At her side, a wrist computer, a throat mike and a customized helmet made from the remains of a Dalek dome. She was clipping the computer onto her wrist when the cargo hold door opened far slower than it was designed to. She stroked a nearby blaster until she heard an already familiar curse and the door was given a swift kick. Although it didn't hurry the door up particularly, it evidently satisfied the aggressor's temper.

'Crukkin' doors! Never work.' As the door crawled the final few inches Ace smiled up at First Mate Bill Cook. 'Why can't we have RMAs I'll never know. Anyway, Captain Riddler asked me to check on you.' He smiled through grease-stained face. His unfas.h.i.+onable stubble only endeared him to Ace; he was as much a rebel as she.

'Yeah, I'll bet she did.' Ace stood up, tucking the blaster into its slim holster down her right thigh.

'Didn't know we had a trained commando aboard,' muttered Cook.

Ace shook her head. 'Long time ago. Bit like riding a bike though, you never forget.'

'You want to eat with us, the crew or by yourself?'

I ought to stay away from the crew but I could use some company.' Ace checked her chronometer.

I'll come for you in about an hour, okay?' Cook turned to go.

'Cheers, Bill. And thanks to both you and the captain. I know you weren't given much choice, but both I and the Doctor appreciate this anyway.'

Bill Cook smiled again and nodded. 'Yeah. Well, we both owe him something and it adds a bit of spice to life. See you later.' The door slid closed far behind him far quicker than it had opened. Ace looked at her wrist computer into which the Doctor had programmed his instructions. She checked them for the fourth time. He was relying on her to get this done.

'Pakha, here I come,' she muttered.

I'm bored.' Two words guaranteed to turn the Doctor's familiar hangdog expression further towards an imitation of a bloodhound. I'm bored, because I can't see anything.' Kort sulkily wrapped his arms around his small body, knees hugged up tight to chin, determinedly not catching the Doctor's eye. I'm also cold.'

'They're Martians, they need the cold.' Bernice had quite liked Kort back on Io. He was playful and innocent and clever. He was also on Io. Now, on board the Bruk, he was miserable, spoilt and incapable of doing anything except moaning. The initial play-acting on Io had developed into the real thing. It reminded Bernice of Ace in one of her moods. 'You get shot of one, only to get another,' she muttered to herself, hoping the Doctor hadn't heard.

Kort had joined them a few moments before the Bruk took off from Io. He had waltzed in, head held high, dressed in full Cantryan regalia, claiming that 'Father' had given him what amounted to, in Bernice's eyes, carte blanche to be rude, snooty and demanding to everyone and everything.

Even Sskeet, normally hidden so well under his armour, was clearly fl.u.s.tered by the young orange humanoid. Bernice decided it didn't take an expert in human body posture and behaviour to know how close Sskeet had come to clumping Damakort round the back of the head when he'd complained the first time about the temperature. Bernice wasn't convinced she had the Martian's resolve and could foresee an occasion, probably within thirty seconds, when she would put the boy over her knee and smack some manners into him.

The Doctor, however, took the pa.s.sive approach. He attempted to divert Kort's attention from the cold and bring a smile to his new young companion's normally cherubic features by 'discovering' a large coin in his left ear.

Kort looked at him as if he'd just been sick all over the floor and yelled far too loudly, 'Window! I want to see outside!' Bernice groaned. She wanted to point out that the computer could hear him at normal volume, and it didn't need a Plasticine-level sound-check. Instead she sighed and watched as the Doctor patiently pointed out through the newly formed window.

'What exactly do you want to see?' he asked.

's.p.a.ce. Stars. Something better than this room,' Kort over-dramatically gestured around them.

The Doctor unfurled himself and jauntily swung his umbrella around his wrist like a bad imitation of Charlie Chaplin. All right. Let's go and ask the marshal if he'll let you up onto his bridge. From there you'll see all the stars you'll ever want, twinkling, flas.h.i.+ng and shooting past. You can be the Luke Skywalker of the Martian Fleet.'

Kort wrinkled his orange b.u.t.ton nose. 'Luke who?' With a little sigh the Doctor took him by the arm and headed for where the door ought to be, telling Bernice that they'd be back shortly. As Bernice watched them disappear, she looked up above the a.s.signed s.p.a.ce and shook her head.

She stared in awe. Above the door area was something that simply couldn't be there. Surely it wasn't . . .

She walked over to get a better look. It was a sword. But not just any sword, if she knew her Martian history. It was slightly curved, not quite as much as an eighteenth century cutla.s.s, but enough of a curve to make it a formidable slicing weapon. Down one side it was lethally thin and sharp, but on the underside it was peppered with ferocious barbs, with tiny and almost imperceptible twists on each point. Just one look told Bernice that she could never carry it, it clearly weighed too much. Indeed, she doubted many humans could carry it. It was a Martian weapon from their very ancient past.

It was the legendary sacred sword of Tuburr. The stories went that in their warrior past, the young Martians would take an endurance test of survival.

It had often crossed Bernice's mind that before the Earth terraformers arrived, just living for five seconds on the surface of Mars would have been a sufficient endurance test. Mars was nowhere near as cold as, say, Pluto but even so, Earth's harshest arctic ice storms would be a doddle compared to a Martian storm. That's why she admired the race so much - they 'weathered' things so well. Maybe the name Ice Warrior wasn't such a bad one after all.

The young Martians, if they survived their time outside on the tundra, armourless and weaponless (some reports said it was a week, others put it at a far more unreasonable month), then took the oath of Tuburr - apparently the first great warrior, who had made the Martians what they are. Or rather, were. This oath involved them plucking the shaft of Tuburr's sword from the heart of a red-hot brazier with their bare hands. Many archaeologists theorized that this was the reason Martians wore huge clamplike gloves, because originally the young warriors' fingers would have been fused together permanently. Personally, Bernice had always doubted that. It seemed more likely that it was merely a convenient glove shape.

One day she'd ask to see a Martian's bare hand and count the fingers.

Bernice pulled herself away from this fascinating aspect of history and wandered over to the drinks dispenser. She was really quite intrigued by the splendour of the s.h.i.+p they were on; a Deep s.p.a.ce lzlyr-cla.s.s cruiser, normally used for carrying parties of diplomats to and from different parts of Federation s.p.a.ce for crucial meetings or highly regarded social functions.

Sometimes, the Doctor had told her, the s.h.i.+p itself hosted conferences, especially where delegations demanded neutral ground for discussion.

All around her were trappings of varying cultures; token reflections of the various races and delegations that frequented the lounge. She ran her hand over an ornate tapestry which showed a picture of women drinking by a stream. As her hand glided over the surface, the picture s.h.i.+mmered and changed, the women had moved, the drink was gone and someone was playing what Bernice a.s.sumed was a musical instrument. Intrigued, she touched it a second time and the picture changed once more now displaying the same women riding horse-like animals, playing a polo-like game. The musician was still there, but he'd been joined by two fellows.

On the furthest wall, hanging next to the refreshments servicer, were a collection of differing lengths of solid Perspex-looking piping. Near to the drink dispenser the Doctor had used were an array of objects in a gla.s.s case. Bernice recognized an ancient stethoscope and a scalpel but the rest appeared totally alien to her. She wandered over and looked at a tiny placard, written in four languages, one of which was Earth Standard, another High Martian. She opted for the latter, deciding to test her knowledge of the language. It stated that the items were medical implements from through the ages, donated to the s.h.i.+p by the famous Calfedorian hospital and science base, Cal-Med One. As Bernice approached the drink servicer, another door in the suite appeared behind her with the tiniest of air-hisses and she turned slightly.

'They were donated by our previous Federation Chair after his final tour of duty as a Draconian amba.s.sador. His last major investigation took place in the Calfedorian system and he was given the cabinet as a parting gift. On succession to the leaders.h.i.+p, he generously allowed this craft to display them.'

Bernice swallowed. No matter how many times she had met the person who had just spoken, she could never stop being in total awe and - if she were honest - complete fear of him.

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