Part 9 (1/2)

High Lord Savaar strode towards her, his small booted feet markedly slimmer and more obviously regal than Sskeet's clumsy, heavy s...o...b..x-like soles. Savaar casually waved his arm towards the drink dispenser.

'Refreshment?' he asked.

Bernice just nodded her throat suddenly drier than ever.

The Ice Lord looked at her impa.s.sively and then pressed a few b.u.t.tons with his stubby fingers. Fingers! She was right! Bernice realized that this was the first time she had seen Savaar, indeed any Martian, without their armoured uniform or helmet on.

She remembered her first sight of Savaar, a few hours earlier, before luncheon. Having finally got used to Sskeet hovering around, she had been further surprised when shortly after Damakort's arrival, High Lord Savaar had entered the lounge, his body encased in a much sleeker and smoother body armour, a flowing green cape flecked with silver, a smooth domed helmet and less bulky gloveclamps.

Aha,' the Doctor had whispered. An Ice Lord.'

Now, as he stood in the VIP lounge of the DSIC Bruk, she could see the man behind the mask, to coin a phrase. She luckily stopped an involuntary shudder at Savaar's green reptilian features, heavily k.n.o.bbled and lined, his black serpentine eyes staring directly at her, two eyelids nict.i.tating sideways over each eye with alarming frequency.

He still wore his long flowing cape, but the armour had been replaced by black leathery trousers and a tight-fitting cotton-looking jerkin, a red sash from shoulder to waist down his left side which denoted his very high rank.

One thing that had not changed was his imposing stature - he towered above Bernice, almost bending at the knees as he offered her a tall gla.s.s of brown liquid. Condensation had gathered around the rim of it, a faint wisp of steam flickering upwards.

I believe this is a particular delicacy of your excellent planet,' he rasped, taking a sip of a similar drink he had ordered for himself.

Bernice remembered what the Doctor had said on Io. She was, after all, the Martian expert and mentally shook herself. She bowed slightly. 'Da.s.s hunnur, ssli hoos-urr Savaar.'

Savaar c.o.c.ked his head slightly, his tongue moistening his lips. 'Ssperr hunnur urr ta.s.s, Shsurr.' He stood up straight. I am frankly honoured by your greeting, Professor. I had not realized that our most ancient customs were that well known outside Martian inner society.'

Oh, I get around, my Lord. Besides, I am deeply flattered by your reply. I understood that I would have to have been married into your family for such an honourable statement.'

Savaar waved his hand theatrically. I have not been home for many years, Professor. The opportunity to . . . to demonstrate my familial greetings is most welcome.'

Bernice grinned. I hope we shall have more such opportunities, my Lord.

Now, here's one of my familial greetings.' She raised her gla.s.s in a toast.

'Chin-chin!' She took the gla.s.s to her lips, then drank. Her throat nearly exploded and she managed to turn a yelp into a slight cough. 'What . . .

what exactly is it?' she gasped.

Savaar looked concerned, inquiring whether he had chosen the wrong drink. Bernice shook her head, saying it was very nice, just far stronger than she had expected.

Irish cream, I believe it is called. I thought it best to warm it for you. I am aware how much of a discomfort the temperature aboard the Bruk must be for you. Unfortunately, to raise it further would impair the function of the marshal and his crew.'

Ignoring the fact that the drink was nothing like any Irish cream she'd ever tasted, she nodded again, finally finding her voice and mettle again.

Anyway, Nice s.h.i.+p you've got, my Lord,' she said.

Savaar regarded his Tellurian guest with quiet interest, keeping his attention on her eyes which seemed to burn with an almost obsessive curiosity. Her body was slightly taller than her humanoid companion, the Doctor. She wore her dark hair short, one strand drooping uselessly towards her left eye. Savaar was no expert on Tellurian fas.h.i.+on, but he suspected that this was a deliberate affectation to enhance whatever attraction she had to the male Tellurians. She was slender, but not thin - her tight-fitting red top showed her feminine curves and a degree of muscle unusual in a female. She had clearly worked hard - her academic appellation was probably earned rather than just bestowed. Savaar admired that: Martian hierarchy was built upon achievement rather than linear privilege. Her trousers, chinos he had heard her refer to them, were loose-fitting, a complete contrast to her top garment. He could see the pockets contained many items, but Sskeet's subtle scans as she had boarded the Bruk revealed no hidden weapons.

He noticed that she had a satchel slung over her shoulder and attached to her belt was a flask - clearly containing liquid refreshment of some sort. He wondered if the dispenser on board the Bruk was not to her satisfaction. He was quite surprised when she touched it.

It's all right. I actually prefer the stuff you've got here, my Lord. I only carry this out of habit.'

He nodded, intrigued. There was more to this Professor Summerfield than he had a.s.sumed. Apart from a quite astounding knowledge of protocol, she was clearly capable of reading physical language. Something rare in Tellurians, towards Martians at least. In many ways an advantage for a warrior, but in this case, a distinct disadvantage for him. He would keep a careful eye on this development. He was not entirely sure of her motivations. Was she there simply because she was the Doctor's a.s.sociate? As an archaeologist, what exactly would her role on Peladon be? Something to ponder later, perhaps. He smiled and waved the t.i.tle away, 'Please, in this room, all Federation representatives are equal in rank and status.'

Bernice thanked him politely and then, desperate for something else to say, pointed at the Perspex piping and asked what they were.

Savaar strode over, and she noted how well he carried himself, his eight-foot, slender but muscular body held with shoulders back, military-style.

'These are wind chimes from the planet designated S14.' He ran his hand along them very delicately, much to Bernice's surprise. The most beautiful and soothing musical notes floated out of the chimes and she found herself smiling at the sound.

'Beautiful. From Deva Loka, eh?'

I am glad that you appreciate the music. And the planet's own heritage rather than its Federation installed cla.s.sification,' Savaar said.

Bernice grinned, warming to the imposing warrior. I wonder what Danny Pain would have made of those,' she quipped.

Although the reference was totally lost on Savaar, he graciously smiled at what he rightly a.s.sumed was her humour. He sipped his own drink and bowed his head slightly in her direction. I regret I must take my leave of you now, Shsurr. My work absorbs a great deal of my time.'

Bernice paused and looked Savaar straight in the eye.

He had twice used the phrase Shsurr, a phrase from the High Martian dialect. 'May I ask one last question?'

'With pleasure.' He bowed slightly again.

Bernice pointed to the sword above the door. Is that what I think it is? The sacred sword of Tuburr? Here, on this s.h.i.+p?'

'You have studied our history?'

'Well, a little. I'm an archaeologist by trade. High Martian history is a favourite subject of mine.'

'Mine as well, Shsurr.' Again, that word. Savaar indicated the sword and nodded. '1t is a replica. The original is, alas, no more. Like all great objects from history, one day it is there, the next the books make no further references to it.'

It's a very good replica. Do you think the original was stolen?' Bernice was convinced that a look of consternation crossed Savaar's leathery face, and his black eyes flicked from side to side a little too quickly. If he was put out, however, his voice betrayed nothing.

It has been suggested that when my people . . . changed their att.i.tudes many centuries ago, the sacred sword was deliberately lost, hidden on Olympus Mons, as it represented a darker time. As an explorer of the past, you must be aware that while the people of one era consider an item of custom a worthless embarra.s.sment, future generations regret its loss.'

And recreate it?'

Savaar smiled. 'The image or the ideals?'

Bernice wondered if this was all a game to him. 'Maybe both?' They were interrupted by the far door reappearing, revealing the Doctor and a still very bored-looking Damakort.

Without taking his eyes off Bernice, Savaar lowered his head again.

As you say, Shsurr, maybe both.' A brief polite nod in Damakort's direction and he created a doorway in the same place that he had entered through.

Bernice finished her drink and looked over at the Doctor and his charge.

Kort immediately began discovering the joys of the wind chimes, but clearly had no grasp of harmony or melody. Bernice metaphorically gritted her teeth.