Part 16 (1/2)

Lianna felt a chill drive through her body. 'You . . . you have no right to invoke the curse upon me.'

'Your mind, your body, your being - all are evil,' Atissa repeated.

Lianna turned on her heel and left the sanctum.

Ten minutes later, Atissa was still murmuring the curse but no one was there to listen.

An hour later, her life. changed forever.

'h.e.l.lo-o-o.'

Over here-ere-ere; came the reply.

Bernice grinned. Gotcha, she thought. Second cavern on the right. Which she had come down a few moments earlier, noting the side caverns. She looked across at the third cavern - about seven meters down should be a small tunnel linking the two. She could nip down that and come out behind him.

'Coming-ing-ing,' she yelled, her voice echoing around the cold walls of the Pel catacombs. As she rushed into the third cavern it occurred to her just how childish this all was. Two grown people scampering around tunnels, yelling echoes to each other like schoolchildren. It had been Nic's idea but Bernice thought it reminded her of home. One of the better memories, before the Daleks came. She shrugged the old memories off - that was then, this was now and she could see Nic hiding behind a stalagmite, ignorant of her approach.

She got as close as possible and yelled, 'Boo!' in his ear. If she was expecting a jocular reaction, she was mistaken. Instead an elbow jabbed back, catching her expertly in the solar plexus, driving all the air out of her lungs. She was floored, gasping in less than a second, tears of pain blurring her vision. As Nic bent over her, muttering astonished words of apology, Bernice was momentarily convinced that his eyes said a different story. But what . . . She couldn't concentrate on that, she just wanted to breathe properly again, and allowed Nic to gently pull her up, rubbing his hands over her back, as if pumping air back into her.

'Frag it, Benny, I'm so sorry. You caught me completely unawares and frightened the life out of me.'

Bernice managed a weak wave-away of the apology. 'Stupid. . . move,' she said. 'Someone did that to me on a dig once when . . . when I was concentrating.' She managed to stand upright, but her stomach felt as if someone had sliced it open. I nearly hospitalized him. I thought he'd never speak to me again.'

And did he?'

'Clive? Yeah, became my best friend: 'Good,' said Nic Reece. I hope the pattern repeats itself.' He looked at Bernice and she smiled. 'Pax?' She laughed, glad to have the air back inside her. 'Pax? I haven't heard that in centuries.' Bernice suddenly realized that their faces were unusually close. She could see the laugh lines etched in his cheeks, around his eyes. She could almost count the stubble hairs on his chin, feel his breath . . .

She took an involuntary step backwards. He looked as if he'd been struck.

'Why?' she thought. 'd.a.m.n it, why did you do that? He's a nice guy and he likes you. Stupid!' She moved slightly forward again. As she looked closely her eyes rested upon the skin around his temples. Tiny, almost invisible scars on both sides. Most people would never have noticed, but Bernice prided herself on her instinctive and detailed examinations of everyone she met. Her frown must have caught his attention, because he slowly rubbed the right temple.

I . . . I had one of those blasted Neysc.r.a.pes. Put it in when I was fifteen.

Stupid, really. We all went out one night, had too much to drink and dared each other. Needless to say, I was the first to have one.'

'You're not a follower of Gaia then?' Reece looked puzzled, so Bernice explained what Kort had said to her about her lack of Neysc.r.a.pe.

Oh, right,' he said. 'No, I got rid of it because . . . because . . . well, it doesn't matter.'

Bernice found herself placing a hand on his wrist. 'Nic, whatever it is, you're going to have to talk about it sooner or later. Now, tell me to b.u.g.g.e.r off if I'm interfering, but I want to help. To be a friend. And a confidante.'

'Later.' Reece reached out and stroked her face. 'Nice skin.'

Bernice suddenly squealed and backed away once more.

She ran her finger along her cheek and realized she was bleeding.

Nic looked shocked. I . . . I'm sorry. I guess my nails are longer than I thought . . . I . . .'

'Hey, it's not a problem,' soothed Bernice. It's only a little scratch.'

Nic reached out and wiped some blood off her cheek but again Bernice instinctively flinched at the touch.

'Now I'm sorry,' she said and grinned. 'Look, let's head back, eh?' She turned and started to walk up the pa.s.sage.

Behind her, Nic Reece rolled the blood between his finger and thumb and slowly licked it off. As he watched Bernice wander into the gloom his face split into a wide grin. 'Hey, Professor, wait for me!' If he'd waited a second longer he might have become aware of the figure who had watched the whole incident. Two seconds and he would have seen the figure lumber off in the opposite direction, towards the apparently disused refinery. But he didn't and as a result missed the opportunity to drastically change his destiny.

What the h.e.l.l was wrong with her? Twice in the s.p.a.ce of half a day she'd been too late.

Too late to save the Pakhar and now too late to save the humans. She knelt over the student with the broken neck. Young. Attractive. Probably about nineteen years old. All the years of growing up; being fed and clothed, learning to walk and talk. Somewhere, some proud parents had paid for his education at the University of Pakha, and now all those years of learning, probable ambitions and plans, all wasted by a few seconds of savagery. She'd seen death many times - she'd killed more than she cared to remember, but somehow the loss of this one life seemed so . . . so cruel.

So totally wrong.

There was a time she wouldn't have cared. But now? Now she cared.

'You're growing up, Dorothy. 'Bout b.l.o.o.d.y time, too.'

She gritted her teeth as she stared at the pain-wracked face, eyes staring in a rigid death-mask. The body was cold but not stiff. The blood around the mouth (he'd bitten into his tongue as he died, she guessed) was sticky.

He'd only been dead an hour or so. Ace thrust a hand inside his jacket and took out a data-pad. There was a small rectangle of microfilaments in one corner. She pressed and stroked but nothing. There must be some way . . .

Her eyes settled on his dead fingers. The index finger of his left hand had a similar mesh and then she saw another, slightly larger one on the side of his face. She ran the finger over the data-pad mesh, but nothing. d.a.m.n.

She sat down. 'Think, Ace. It's the thirty-ninth century. You got the TARDIS to show you how the clip-blaster worked. Think techno.' She cupped the dead boy's hand again and ran his finger down the strip on his face. The data-pad glowed faintly. 'Low batteries or low contact,' she shrugged.

'Name?' Nothing.

She thought about what she had learned from the TARDIS. Most personal equipment was individually coded by a DNA scan, therefore stopping anyone else accessing the information or whatever. That's right! The DNA scan is connected by the two microfilaments triggering each other and, like the gun she had, was initialled by a mental command. Therefore, it had to be not just any order but a personal one. Whatever brain activity was still fading within the young man's head had been enough to trigger the data-pad - she just had to ask the right questions.

'Who am I?' she said.

A hologram grew out of the pad - about seven centimetres high, the young man smiling happily. Probably taken in this centuries equivalent of those photo booths that used to litter stations and such like. Ace remembered herself and some friends . . . Who was there? Manisha? No, but Shreela was. And Ange. And Julian. All ducking and diving just to make silly faces four times over to use as their travelcard photocards. Julian was dead.

Could he have guessed that so soon after farting around in that photo booth he'd be gone? Nor could her unnamed new soulmate. Her dead soulmate.

'Hi, Julian Winmill here. Blood group O. I'm not telling you my age, but h.e.l.l, I can remember when music was real music and not that modern guitar junk. Bring back the samplers, that's what I say. And memo to me; dupe this for Mom. I promised her a record of everything within reason - regarding this semester: Julian. His name was Julian. Just like her Julian.

If I ever have a son (G.o.d help us), remind me never to call him Julian,' Ace said. Okay. Play me back my last diary entry.'

The hologram flicked off, to be replaced by one of Winmill in the clothing he wore as a corpse. 'Well, Joolz, tomorrow's the big day. Sharrod's taking us to some cavern to find some artefact. Pol Fehler is coming - what a surprise, his tongue's so far up Sharrod's . . . oh, what the h.e.l.l, who cares!

Hey, Nezz Larroq's coming. I wonder . . . Oh, dream on kiddo. You know, I have this reputation of getting to lay anyone I want. How? For Christ's sake, I'm a fragging virgin! I mean, where do these stories come from?

Christ, I can't believe I said that. I better wipe that in case someone ever slices this.' The hologram turned its head slightly and then back to facing front. 'Right. That was Vega Lexus calling, time to go. After this is over and I'm back tomorrow night, it's wipe-out time for you, dear diary. Seeya!' The hologram leaned forward, flickered and vanished.

Ace stared at the pad. Then down at Julian Winmill. She reached down and closed his eyes. I'm sorry, Joolz. I don't even know you and I'm really sorry' Her eyes were p.r.i.c.kling so she breathed in deeply and stood up.

Instantly she knew she was being watched. Her blaster was primed and aiming in her hand faster than even she thought possible. A shrill squeak of terror told her where her observer was crouching.

'Come on out, or I'll fry you.'