‘That’s right, Agent,’ Daak said. ‘And sitting on a wrecked pod that’s going to blow up if it doesn’t blow away first is just way too safe for me. Let’s get out of here and into something really dangerous.’
Ace dropped to a crouch. ‘Down, everyone;’ she urged, and pointed up the slope. ‘Is that dangerous enough for you?’
Ten figures had appeared at the summit of the ridge. They were moving with difficulty, perhaps hampered by their long black cloaks, but they were coming downhill fast. East one was carrying a gun.
‘My guess is: not friendly,’ Defries said, unholstering her blaster. ‘Get down that rope, all of you. I’ll cover.’
‘Rats scurrying down the anchor chain of a beached ship.’
‘What?’ Britta lifted her head from Lacuna’s shoulder.
Lacuna pointed to one of the screens. ‘We have found them, pretty one. They are on the doomed planet below. See them, swinging in the wind?’
Britta leant forward. On the screen, three tiny shapes were climbing down a thread. A fourth was crouched on the silvery carapace of the wreck above them. ‘Are you going to attack them now?’ Britta asked. She found the prospect strangely exciting.
‘Soon. We must take care not to harm the one that Pool wants.’
The picture dissolved and was replaced by an image of the three climbers: almost at the end of the knotted rope, a slim man in black combat clothes, hanging with the agility of a spider, keen eyes scanning the gulley for cover; above him a young woman, similarly dressed, eyes bright with excitement, talking and gesticulating; and above her a giant of a man, his body barely covered by his torn clothing, waving a bizarre weapon, grinning like a wolf.
‘The one in the middle. The girl,’ Lacuna said.
The picture zoomed closer. The young woman’s face filled the screen.
She’s not really pretty, Britta thought. Not like me. Her mouth’s too wide. Her hair’s very straight and just an ordinary brown. I suppose it’s practical, tied back like that. And look at her shouting at those poor men. She’s obviously the bossy sort. But she looks as if she knows what she’s doing.
‘Isn’t she magnificent, little Britta?’ Lacuna was gazing at the screen. ‘Fit, strong, capable, clever. Look at her: she’s enjoying the danger. I can feel her excitement. The others have it too: the thin one and the other woman are experiencing a desire, a sensual thrill, and the big man is full of wild rage. But this woman has some of both of these feelings, as well as more fear than the others, and even the fear excites her. And above all of these emotions, there is a hunger to know the result of the conflict. It’s as if she is conducting an experiment, with herself as one of the ingredients. She needs to know what’s going to happen next. Fascinating. A remarkable woman.’
Britta said nothing.
Now all of the screens were showing the site of the pod’s crash-landing. The pictures, Britta realized, were the views seen by the Counsellors as they scrambled down the slope towards the wrecked craft. One Counsellor had hung back, and positioned himself near the top of the ridge, above the mouth of the narrow gulley: his viewpoint gave the watchers in the space station a panorama of the area. Other Counsellors’ viewpoints picked out the wrecked pod, various parts of the slope and the gulley, and the four human targets.
The slim man, the first to reach the floor of the ravine, had taken cover in a nest of boulders. Bursts of white light that shattered the rock showed that some of the Counsellors had started to direct their lasers towards him. Only the barrel of his blaster could be seen. Shafts of brilliant light issued from it continually. One of the screens went blank as he hit a Counsellor.
The big man and the woman were running up the gulley, towards its narrow end. Boulders burst into fragments behind them. They disappeared from sight behind the root of the crag on which the pod was perched.
The older woman was sliding down the rope now. Her image grew larger and larger – until her face filled the screen. One of the Counsellors had her in his sights. The pin-point brilliance of the targeting beam danced across her forehead. For a moment, she was looking directly out of the picture. Her blue eyes widened, and Britta was sure that her mouth formed the word No! Britta tensed: the woman was about to die. But instead, the screen blanked.
Britta scanned the remaining screens. The slim man? No: three Counsellors were concentrating on him, keeping him pinned behind his shield of stones. As Britta watched, one of the three screens flashed blinding white as one of the three Counsellors was hit.
There – at the narrow end of the gulley. A glint of metal behind a spur of rock. A flashing stream of light, almost too sudden to notice. The picture on the screen dissolved slowly. The young woman was sniping at the Counsellors. Had hit one.
Three screens were dark now. On one of the remaining seven, the woman jumped from the rope, crouched to fire two bursts of light up the slope, and ran zigzagging into a cleft on the opposite side of the gulley. Three screens showed views of the slim man’s shelter of rocks, but all that could be seen of the target were the streams of laser fire that issued from his blaster. Two Counsellors had turned to scan the end of the ravine, where the young woman and the big man had taken cover. And the final screen continued to show a view of the entire valley: nine Counsellors were ranged in an erratic line along one slope. Three were still, their robes fluttering in the wind. The others continued to advance into the gulley, scuttling between outcrops of rock.
The big man appeared, suddenly. He leapt on to a boulder, waving his weapon above his head. He seemed to be shouting.
The young woman stood up, also shouting. The big man turned to her, briefly, and then started to run upslope, jumping from rock to rock, towards the line of Counsellors. Flashes of light exploded around him as he ran.
The young woman shook her head, as if in disbelief, and set off after him. She moved more slowly, stopping every few paces to aim and fire her blaster. One, and then two screens picked her out. Bursts of brilliance began to flare around her. She was thrown to the ground, staggered upright, jumped into a hollow, emerged again to fire her blaster and move on.
Another screen went dark. The older woman had started to fire from the ravine.
The picture on another screen suddenly swerved. An out of focus close-up: a scarred, unshaven face, a feral grimace, the whirling blades of a chainsword – and then nothing. On yet another screen: the young woman, hands on hips, laughing; a brief impression of rotating metal, and then darkness.
Visible now only in the panoramic view, the young woman appeared to be throwing something towards the few remaining Counsellors. Explosions: red, flames and chunks of rock spouted from the slopes where the Counsellors had been standing. All but one of the screens were now blank. The view of the gulley receded rapidly as the surviving Counsellor retreated towards its wider end.
‘They – they killed the Counsellors.’ Britta could hardly believe what she had seen.
‘Droids are expendable,’ Lacuna snapped. ‘One is enough to lead them to Landfall.’
Four walls do not a prison make, Bernice reminded herself tentatively. Utter rubbish, she concluded. She was getting decidedly fed up.
And she was worried abut Elaine. The transmat journey had been as brief, uneventful and nauseating as she had expected. She had been still recovering her wits when Elaine had been taken from the booth by two more of the misshapen, black-robed, gurgling Counsellors. The girl had struggled at first, but Bernice had reassured her: They’ll bring me to you in just a minute, she’d said. But they hadn’t.
The Counsellors had returned and, answering her questions with nothing but their phlegmy breathing, they had dragged her along corridors of metal and stone and into a large cell. There was no sign of Elaine.
Three of the room’s walls were made of metal, and, looked like the riveted bulkheads of a starship’s cargo hold. But Bernice was sure she was still on the planet: the fourth wall and the floor consisted of blocks of masonry, and the gravity felt exactly the same as
it had before the transmat trip.
Illumination came from a glowing sphere, recessed into the high ceiling and protected by a grille of thick, iron bars. There was one door: set into one of the metal walls, it had an electronic lock that, While not as sophisticated as the transmat, was certainly hundreds of years away from the medieval technology of Arcadia. Just as well the control panel’s on the outside, Bernice told herself, saves me wasting my energies on a futile attempt to crack the combination.
There was no furniture.
The stone wall is probably the weakest, she reasoned. It’s obviously an addition to the main structure. Best place to start my Count of Monte Cristo impersonation. It would be ironic to pick away at the mortar for a few decades only to break through into the next-door cell.
Elaine! It could contain Elaine.
Bernice knelt at the wall, pressing her ear against the stone. She could hear nothing.
She pounded on the masonry with her fist and then, after tearing at the fastenings round her right foot, with the heel of her boot.
‘Elaine!’ she shouted, heedless of attracting unwanted attention. ‘Elaine! Are you there?’ She beat the wall until her arm ached.
‘Benny?’ It was Elaine’s voice, quavering and barely audible, from the other side of the wall. ‘Benny, I’m scared.’ She was crying, and trying not to, Bernice could tell. ‘Benny, please come, please.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Bernice said. ‘I’m coming, all right? Just a few minutes.’
She pulled her boot back on. Her hands were trembling with anger. How could they do this to a little girl? It was inhuman.
The door opened. A Counsellor hobbled into the room. Another, holding a blaster, stood outside.
‘What do you require?’ the Counsellor gurgled. Bernice strode towards him. She caught a glimpse of a disfigured, oddly proportioned face in the depths of the shadowy hood, but this wasn’t enough to distract her from her purpose.
‘What I require, Rasputin, is that you let me out of here and let me see Elaine.’
The Counsellor took a deep and viscous breath. ‘You may have provisions. Food and water are available. Medicines are available. The light is controlled by voice command.’
‘Deaf, are we? Or just plain stupid? I want to be with my friend Elaine.’
‘Wait,’ the Counsellor said, and stood silent for half a minute. ‘Your request is not permitted,’ he said at last. ‘Provisions are available. Medicines are –’
‘Yes, I know. You’ve told me. You’re not very bright, are you? If I’m allowed to have food, why can’t I have it in the same cell as Elaine?’
The Counsellor paused again before replying. ‘You are the older female prisoner. You are to be kept alive. Provisions are available. Medicines are available. The other prisoner is of no importance.’
‘Isn’t she? I see.’ Bernice was so angry she could hardly speak. ‘If I thought you were even remotely human, dogface, I’d wring your neck. But as you’re obviously something else, let’s try this instead: what would happen to me if I take no food and water and medicine?’
The Counsellor pondered. ‘Humans require provisions,’ it said. ‘You would die. You are to be kept alive.’
‘Very good. Now hear this: I will take provisions only if you take me to Elaine and provide both of us with the things I ask for.’
Another pause. ‘You will survive long enough without food and water,’ the Counsellor said, and turned to leave.
‘Wait!’ Bernice’ said. ‘I’ll kill myself.’
The Counsellor turned to face her. She sensed disbelief in the tilt of its head.
‘I’ll hang myself from the bars under the light,’ she said, desperate to sound convincing. ‘I’ll bash my head against the walls until I break my skull. I’ll cut open my arteries.’
The silence was very long. What have I got myself into, Bernice thought. Now he’ll come up with all sorts of bright ideas like tying me up or pumping me full of tranquillizers for my own safety.
‘You may join the other prisoner.’ The Counsellor stumbled towards the door. Bernice followed. ‘What do you require?’
The Counsellor with the gun kept it trained on her while his colleague operated the lock of Elaine’s cell.
‘Coffee,’ Bernice said. ‘Black and strong. Bread, lightly toasted, and butter. A selection of local cheeses. Honey. Fruit. And a few centilitres of good whisky.’
The door opened. ‘Bread and water are available,’ the Counsellor said.
Bernice was too preoccupied to quibble. She ran into the cell. Elaine was sitting hunched in a corner, rocking back and forth, her head buried in her crossed arms.
The girl looked up as Bernice approached, and managed a small smile. Bernice could have yelled with relief. Instead she pirouetted and made a bow. ‘Summerfield rescue service,’ she said, ‘as promised.’
‘Are you going to rescue me, then?’ Elaine asked, straight-faced.
‘You’re not feeling too bad, are you? No, angel,’ Bernice said, sliding down the wall to sit beside Elaine. ‘I can’t think how to get us out of this one. I don’t even I now where we are.’
‘I expect it’s Landfall,’ Elaine said confidently. ‘That’s where the Counsellors live.’
‘Well, wherever it is, all we can do is wait. I wish the Doctor were here. He’d know what to do.’
‘Well, well, well. I think we must have arrived at Landfall.’
The Doctor had reached the summit of yet another bleak ridge, and turned to make this announcement to Francis and, the Counsellors, who were toiling upwards towards him in the face of a wind full of dust and hailstones.
Why doesn’t his hat blow off, Francis wondered. All such speculations were banished by the sight that met his eyes as they followed the Doctor’s pointing finger.
Landfall. The legendary retreat of the Counsellors. The secret, almost inaccessible haven where the black-robed savants hoarded the wisdom that sustained the people of Arcadia.
The land sloped gently downwards from Francis’s feet, and from every rocky height that he could see, to form a vast oval bowl ringed with sharp-toothed mountains. The floor of the wide valley was carpeted with hummocky grass. The storms that threatened to pluck him from the summit where he stood barely rippled the grey waters of the lakes that were strung like pearls along the centre of the grassland far below. And in the midst of the valley, set on a plinth of rock that was like an island in a sea of green grass, stood Landfall.
Few Princes had ever made the journey to see the sight that Francis now gazed upon; few Princes, and hardly any of lesser rank. Only Apprentice Scribes were obliged to make pilgrimage to this unique seat of wisdom, and those that returned never spoke of it.
The four Counsellors had reached the top of the ridge and were standing stationary in a line, like, four badly-constructed scarecrows, their robes billowing in the wind. They seemed in no hurry to escort their prisoners into the valley. The Doctor too was rapt, his keen eyes studying every detail of the scene.
‘I could almost believe in magic,’ Francis said, raising his voice above the howling storm. ‘Or that Landfall was built by giants. The symmetry of the curtain wall! The width of the internal roadways, the vast stone archways! And the towers, so slender and graceful, dressed with beaten silver. Such wealth, such magnificence – such sheer size!’
The Doctor turned to him. ‘How interesting,’ he said. ‘I take it that you see that architectural dog’s dinner down there as a skilfully-planned structure – some sort of enormous palace.’
‘The ruler of even the meanest Principality has a palace,’ Francis said scornfully, ‘and everyone has a half-finished tower, or a carelessly added gatehouse in a different style. There,’ he pointed downhill, ‘is perfection. And not merely on the scale of a palace. Landfall is – a citadel.’
‘I have to say I see it rather differently,’ the Doctor said. ‘Shall we make a move towards it, by the way? These androids don’t feel the cold, but we’d be rather more
comfortable off this wind-swept mountain-top, I’m sure.’
The Doctor set off down the slope. Francis caught up with him. ‘Differently?’ he asked.
‘There are at least three separate periods of building,’ the Doctor said, ‘and the oldest-looking, all the monumental masonry made of weathered stone, is the most recent.’
Francis stopped and peered down at the complex of buildings. ‘But the entire citadel is made of stone!’ he said.
‘No it isn’t,’ the Doctor snapped. ‘Look again. The central structure, there.’
‘The six hexagonal towers?’
‘Yes. It’s been built over, of course, but that is, unless I’m very much mistaken, the original survey camp. It would have been domed, at first. Nearly everything else follows the ground plan of the later, and much larger, colony base station. Runways and hard standing; hangars; warehousing. The thin towers aren’t covered with silver, they’re made of metal: they were rockets, once, presumably for emergency launching of satellites – perhaps even for defence. The stone walls are the last – Francis, are you listening?’
The scribe shook his head. ‘I understand only a little of what you say. Landfall has always been. The Counsellors have always provided. This is their place. Their ancient home.’
‘Use your eyes, Francis!’ The Doctor’s voice was low and angry. ‘Use your brain. The whole complex is only a few hundred years old. Your forefathers landed here only a few generations ago. I know the Counsellors restrict your access to books, but there must be legends, stories handed down through the years. Didn’t you hear tales of the first settlers from’ your father? From your grandfather?’
Francis was sullen. The four Counsellors had skittered down the slope and were harrying him to walk more quickly. The wind had dropped, and in spite of a thickening drizzle he felt hot and flustered.
‘My father?’ he said. ‘I can hardly remember what he looked like. What is a grand father? My father wasn’t grand.’
The Doctor stopped in his tracks. ‘Of course! I’d forgotten the genetic manipulation. They’ve tampered with everything, including the colonists. Life expectancy as well.’
Deceit Page 17