Part 10 (1/2)

He'd also noted that Reece clearly knew Neal Corry from the video station.

Another friend from afar. Still, once the restatement celebrations were over, he knew Reece would be back in circulation.

A squeak from Centauri alerted him to the fact that the shuttle was arriving - the roar could be heard this far into the caverns - and together they hurried along.

Having got used to the smooth, almost imperceptible movement of the TARDIS, Bernice sat rigid beside Sskeet as they juddered into the cavern, the steady roar of the shuttle echoing even inside the craft. As they slowed to a stop, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. As she turned to look behind her she saw Kort staring wildly through one of the windows, an excited glimmer in his eyes.

'Ground floor. Peladon and a.s.sorted treasures,' she quipped as the Doctor used his umbrella to point out a couple of tall guards waiting for them. Kort was nodding. Savaar marched over, also indicating out of the window with a clamp. I see that, as I suspected, the Federation representative is late.'

'Look,' said Bernice. 'Here comes someone . . . or thing...' She caught a waspish look from the Doctor. So, she thought, it was all right for him to dislike Ice Warriors because they were reptilian, but she wasn't allowed to be put off by a green lollipop wearing a yellow smock. Typical of the man.

Savaar, meanwhile, was hissing satisfactorily. 'Ah. At last. Amba.s.sador Alpha Centauri arrives. I wonder who that is with him.'

One of the miners, judging by his hair.'

'You are familiar with Pel . . . fas.h.i.+ons, then, Doctor?' inquired Savaar, putting his helmeted head at a slight angle.

The Doctor ignored the sarcasm and simply replied, 'No. You just have to know their customs. Most Pels wear their hair long and slicked back, the traditional mauve stripe therefore highlighted. The miners, however, dye theirs black with white flecks and wear it wide and bushy. It keeps the roak dust out of the eyes and ears.'

Bernice leaned over the back of her chair. excuse me for asking, but if this is such a feudal state, why is a miner greeting what must, in effect, be like visiting royalty?' The Doctor swung round, jabbing his umbrella at her. And you, Professor Summerfield, ought to know better than to rely on textbook descriptions and evaluations.'

Kort snorted in derision. Instead of arguing, why don't we get out of this shuttle and go and say h.e.l.lo?' All eyes turned to look at him. 'Well, it seems the polite thing to do.'

As Sskeet operated the door controls, Bernice muttered something about the word 'polite' not being in Kort's normal dictionary, to which the Doctor mumbled back something about leopards changing their spots when it suits them. Unable to work out whether he meant Kort, the Martians or herself, Bernice picked up her orange woolly sweater and followed the Doctor out into the cool Peladon cavern.

King Tarrol sat on his throne. Around him, courtiers and requisitioned guards were decorating the room with brightly coloured banners and pendants. Near the door Neal Corry was telling a smartly dressed Pakha holocam operator where exactly to aim the lenses. All that could be done to make the restatement vows as important, resplendent and fun as possible was being done, but something was gnawing at the king's heart. Something Atissa had said a few days before. Something about Aggedor feeling mocked and seeking retribution. Tarrol was not a superst.i.tious man deep down, yet something made him wonder whether what he and Geban usually dismissed as hok.u.m from Atissa's over-active imagination might have a grain of truth in it. Could he, Tarrol, be the first royal victim of Aggedor's many prophesies and curses? Did he have the right to so easily dismiss his ancestry? He had two days before the vows to make up his mind. Would he accept Nic Reece's proposals or would Atissa's fanaticism win him over? Either way, his restatement speech would reflect his ideals and drive for Peladon's future development under his reign.

Surely no king or queen in history had to make such difficult decisions.

It's b.l.o.o.d.y dark down here! Where's the frobbin' flashlight?' Fehler stumbled forward swearing and cursing his way towards the supplies box.

Behind him Professor Sharrod was wrapping up their abseiling gear.

'For heaven's sake, Fehler, do stop whining. Your eyes will get adjusted to the dark in no time at all. Just do what I did - as we entered the darkness, close one eye. Your brain then adjusts quicker and you can see instantly in the dark.'

Fehler muttered something incoherent about mohrrube, but Professor Sharrod was now engaged in ceremoniously unclipping his flashlight from his beltpack. He liked to make every move a dramatic one, flouris.h.i.+ng his tools of the trade with outrageous flair, as if thirty thousand people were watching him. Fehler tutted to himself as his own flashlight illuminated the cave system in front of them. He'd been the professor's a.s.sistant ever since they'd met at university, drawn by the middle-aged don's complete devotion to archaeology and single-minded determination not to let political or personal sniping affect his decisions about where or what he worked upon. Fehler was totally devoted to Sharrod, but of course would never let it show.

'Fehler! Fehler! Get back here, m'boy! Look at this!' With a sigh, Fehler turned back and saw the professor crouching by a pile of pebbles.

'What is it, Professor? Fossilized Pakha droppings?'

'Don't be ungracious, Fehler. It's their planet we're on, remember?'

'They're not likely to hear me down here, are they?' Fehler shook his head and crouched down.

Under . . . here. . .' The professor was tugging at the pebbles. Fehler frowned. They didn't look heavy enough to cause that much exertion.

It's as if . . . they're magnetic . . . attracted to whatever they're burying!' the professor wheezed. Fehler added his younger strength to the struggle and moments later the pebbles were all pulled away.

Revealed was a small circular object. Although grimy and battered, Fehler could see a bra.s.s - or was it golden? . . . colouration. Dowdy gems adorned what Fehler could only a.s.sume was the front.

It's a circlet or crown of some sort.'

Sharrod was nodding enthusiastically. 'You know what it is, of course! You know what we've found!' Fehler suddenly felt a chill go through his body. As if someone had walked over his grave . . . He shuddered and looked at Professor Sharrod. For a second he could have sworn that the professor's face was illuminated from below, as if the circlet had been brand new and s.h.i.+ny, not old, battered and covered in Pakha's carbon dust. Sharrod looked up and Fehler stepped back in alarm at the professor's intensity. His eyes seemed to be . . . 'possessed' was the only thought that entered Fehler's brain.

'Professor Sharrod, I think we should tell someone about this.'

Sharrod turned back to the circlet, sharply. 'No! No, this is mine. . .' He breathed in slowly. After thousands of years, we . . . I. . . have found what others had sought. The rumours, the legends and the mysteries are solved.

I have the Pakha Ancient Diadem. Never again will anyone mock me. No one will scorn my theories or discoveries. . .'

Fehler tugged at the professor's sleeve. 'No one ever did, Professor . . .'

Oh, yes, they did. Everyone mocked me. Sharrod the Fruitcake, isn't that what you students called me? You all thought I didn't know, didn't see the smirks! But I did, Fehler! You're just as guilty!' Fehler was getting worried.

Sharrod's normally mild, almost submissive and absent-minded demeanour had vanished. Fehler didn't care for the aggressive, paranoiac professor now facing him.

'Professor, let's take your discovery back up top. Let Vega Lexus examine it - ' Sharrod lunged towards Fehler, an unnaturally strong palm slapping into the student's chest, sending him sprawling on his back. 'That . . . that shrew thing!' Sharrod was spitting as he spoke, his face twisted in unreasoning fury. 'That alien creature! I wouldn't give it the time of day!' He lunged forward and scooped up the Diadem, wrapping it in the folds of his safari jacket. He unravelled the coiled abseiling plastic rope from his tool pack.

Up!' he snapped. Like an artificial snake, the hooked end of the rope flicked forward and then darted up into the darkness. After a few seconds, while Sharrod just stared at the bundle under his jacket, an electronic beeping told him the rope had tethered itself to the next available ledge.

Clipping the bottom of the rope into his belthooks, Sharrod grabbed it and, without a glance at the dazed Fehler, shouted, 'Pull!' He started to rise as the plastic rope tugged him upwards.

Fehler stared at the professor's form departing into almost pitch darkness.

He thought he could see the Professor illuminated faintly by his flashlight.

As he stepped forward, his foot kicked something. He shone his light on it - it was the professor's torch. He looked up again and then realized: the professor's illumination was from the Diadem as it glowed with renewed energy.

Bill Cook lay back and smiled. Lazily he reached out and wrapped an arm around his sleeping partner. Her soft but regular breathing amused him - such fire and drive when awake, such stillness and innocence when asleep. He stroked her pony-tailed brown hair, rubbing a couple of strands between his fingers. He wondered what her mission was - she hadn't been one for pillow talk - straight into action, no playful coyishness or flirtation.

She was trained military: even a civilian servicer like him could tell that. She was obviously used to deep-s.p.a.ce missions on her own she travelled lightly, anything she needed was attached securely to her body suit. Her conversation whenever he brought her food always neatly steered away from any details about what she was actually up to. Apart from her name being Ace, he'd actually learned very little about her. He shrugged mentally. Did it really matter? He heard a click outside his door and turned his head slightly.

Before he could register anything else, he was aware of a sudden blur of movement across his field of vision as the door slid open. Framed in the doorway, bright corridor lights silhouetting the figure, was Captain Riddler.

He knew it was her by the sudden exclamation of 'Cruk!' she gave. It took him a second to say, 'Lights' and another second to see the cause of Riddler's consternation.

Ace was totally naked, but evidently that didn't concern her. She had her blaster jammed tight into Riddler's cheek, her left hand patting Riddler's waist, obviously looking for a weapon.

Cook waited until she'd finished the frisk before he spoke.

er . . . Ace, meet Captain Riddler.' He tried to smile. He failed to convince either of them he meant it. Ace . . . meet Captain Riddler. . .' he tailed off helplessly.

Without taking her eyes off Riddler and keeping her blaster levelled, Ace walked back towards the side of the bed she'd slept on. With professional ease she scooped up her discarded body suit, tossed her blaster into her left hand and began pulling it on. The blaster never wavered, even as it was returned to her right hand as she completed her dressing. As she finished Ace lowered the gun, sliding it into the holster on her thigh. She shook her head as if clearing it of cobwebs and without a glance back at Cook marched through the door. At the last second she looked back and stared at Riddler.

'Sorry, Captain.'

Riddler stared back, then spoke. 'For sticking a gun in my cheek or for being in my cabin?'

'Take your pick. Probably both.' Ace turned and walked away, aware that Riddler's gaze was following her. She looked back momentarily. 'Yeah.