As the chant concluded, Bernice was thinking furiously. It was just as Lazio had said, the classic myth found on so many planets.
The gods came from the stars, conferred great benefits on their humble worshippers, and then went back to whatever heaven they had come from – usually promising to return some day if their worshippers kept the faith.
They left behind them a group of fanatical devotees, waiting for the great day, fiercely intolerant of anyone who questioned the faith.
Some scientists had come up with the theory that the gods of these curiously common myths were in fact space travelling aliens, landing upon still primitive planets and accelerating the development of native species, possibly by genetic manipulation. The hypothesis had originated long ago on Old Earth, where it was sometimes known as the Von Daniken Myth, or the Quatermass theory, after the long-forgotten scholars who had originated it.
Bernice remembered Lazlo’s words in the tavern, just before the Harrubtii had killed him.
‘Suppose it really happened, right here on Sentarion? Suppose it’s still going on? There’s a secret temple, somewhere in the city...’
Lazio had been brutally murdered just for expressing such thoughts in public. She herself had been almost killed, and condemned to perpetual imprisonment, for investigating the Temple. She was well aware that the Lord Chancellor was speaking so freely only because of his certainty that she could never pass on her knowledge.
The Doctor had been right after all, decided Bernice. Some great secret was hidden here – and it wasn’t just the story of Sentarion’s old-time religion.
‘This Great Compact the scrolls speak of,’ she began – and broke off when she saw that the Lord Chancellor was staring upwards. She followed his gaze and saw a winged shape high in the sky overhead.
‘That is very strange,’ said the Lord Chancellor.
‘What is?’
‘Nobody on Sentarion would fly an ornithopter above the Temple. The area of sky directly above is called the Gateway of the Gods. It is fully as sacred as the Temple itself.’
‘Some stranger, like me, who doesn’t know the rules?’ suggested Bernice.
‘It is forbidden for anyone not native to the planet to fly an ornithopter,’ said the Lord Chancellor. ‘If he lands here, the Harrubtii will certainly kill him. Unless I save him as I saved you. It may be that you will have a companion in exile.’
Perhaps it’s the Doctor, thought Bernice, flying in on some mad rescue mission. Will I lose my immunity if I try to leave? If he lands will we survive to take off together?
Bernice and the Lord Chancellor watched intently as the ornithopter circled downwards.
The service staff of the space liner Hyperion were very worried about their young colleague Rye. Since the stopover on Station Beta he simply hadn’t been himself at all.
Usually cheerful, bustling and efficient, he had become vague and hopeless, scarcely able to carry out the simplest of his duties. The general opinion was that he must be ill.
Then there was the strange message from Beta just before they entered hyperspace. Some nonsense about Rye being killed. All the time there he was, large as life, dropping plates in the first-class passenger saloon.
Rye’s condition had degenerated so badly by the time they made the jump to hyperspace that the chief purser had ordered him confined to the sick bay. There he had remained, refusing food, drink and medical attention, until they emerged from hyperspace and prepared for planetfall on Sentarion.
When the chief purser visited him, all Rye would say was, ‘I must land on Sentarion.’
The chief purser looked at the slim, fair-haired figure sitting motionless on the bunk. He turned to the ship’s doctor.
‘What do you think?’
‘Perhaps it would be for the best. I can’t help him here. He refuses all medication, won’t even let me examine him. He’s in some kind of hypermanic state. My nurse swears he gave her an electric shock when she tried to bathe his face. Besides...’
‘Besides what?’
The ship’s doctor shrugged. ‘Sometimes the patient really does know best. Perhaps he’s developed an allergy to something about space travel itself. The hyper-jumps or the anti-grav field. Who knows? Maybe he’ll do better planet-side. There are good medical facilities at the University on Sentarion.’
‘I think something happened to him on Beta,’ said the chief purser. ‘Something so horrible that it affected his mind. When we get back to Beta I’m going to try to find out what it was.’
(Much later he looked at Rye’s mutilated body in the morgue on Beta, and wondered what he had carried to Sentarion.)
The ship’s doctor said, ‘Listen, Rye, we’ll drop you off on Sentarion if that’s what you really want. We’re landing to pick up a couple of homegoing scientists from the University. I’ll hand you over to one of the University staff, I’m sure they’ll look after you.’
Rye stared straight ahead. ‘I must land on Sentarion.’
And so he did. When farewells had been made and the scientists were safely aboard, the ship’s doctor explained Rye’s case to the University official who had been in charge of them.
The official, a spindly grasshopper-like creature called Hapiir, couldn’t have been more helpful.
‘Of course, we will be glad to help. I have my ‘thopter here, I will fly him to our medical facility myself. Poor young man.’
Rye was led down the ramp and handed over to Hapiir. As the liner prepared for blast-off, Hapiir led him across the little spaceport to the ‘thopter, helped him into one of the passenger seats and climbed into the cockpit.
They waited until Hyperion blasted off. Then with a clumsy flapping of its wings the ornithopter rose slowly into the sky.
As they approached Sentarion City, Hapiir heard a flat, dead voice from behind him. ‘Take me to the Temple.’
‘That is not possible,’ said Hapiir. ‘I see that you do not know our ways. It is forbidden even to speak of such things.’
‘Take me to the Temple.’
‘Please, this is most discourteous. You are not well, you do not know what you are saying. I will take you to our medical complex where you will be cared for.’
A palm slapped down onto Hapiir’s carapace. Before he could so much as protest, five thousand volts seared through his body.
Hapiir screamed thinly, once, and then died.
Rye scrambled into the cockpit and hurled Hapiir’s charred corpse from the ‘thopter. The controls were unfamiliar, but seemed simple enough. He flew on over the city, flying in great sweeping circles until at last the Temple appeared below him.
He began to descend.
The Lord Chancellor watched the descending craft with increasing indignation.
‘If he lands here, I shall let the Harrubtii kill him. You, at least, came reverently, as a scholar, but this intrusion is sheer insolence.’
Directly overhead now, the ‘thopter suddenly went into a descending spiral, clearly out of control. Bernice and the Lord Chancellor retreated to the bushes as the ‘thopter crashed to the ground before the central statue, disintegrating with the impact.
‘I do not think the Harrubtii will be needed,’ said the Lord Chancellor grimly. ‘No one could have survived such a crash.’
The Harrubtii were there all the same, though. Appearing with their usual mysterious suddenness, they gathered menacingly about the wreck.
A light flared briefly inside the wrecked ‘thopter and for a moment Bernice thought it was going to burst into flames. The light faded and a slender young man climbed from the wreckage, apparently quite unhurt.
He looked at Bernice and the Lord Chancellor without surprise and said, ‘Take me to the Temple.’
‘I shall do no such thing,’ said the Lord Chancellor and gestured towards the waiting Harrubtii. ‘Kill him!’
‘No!’ shouted Bernice. She tried to move forward but the Lord Chancellor’s claw held her back.
As the Harrubtii advanced, the
slender young man blurred, and changed. Suddenly, in his place, there was a hovering globe of light, trailing fiery tentacles.
The Lord Chancellor released Bernice’s arm and threw himself to the ground. The Harrubtii too prostrated themselves.
Bernice looked at the hovering sphere. It was the shape that was on the murals in the Temple, and on the statue before her.
The Shining Ones – or one of them at least – had returned to Sentarion.
20
Revelation
Commander Steg’s head fell forward onto his chest, and he slumped back against the wall of the communications room. With a mighty effort he forced himself back to wakefulness. If he slept now, he would die – and he would not die! Not until his mission was complete.
He glanced around the room and saw the humans watching him eagerly, waiting for him to succumb to the rising tide of weakness.
‘Not yet,’ he rasped. ‘Not yet.’ He swept the muzzle of his blaster in an arc around the room.
Suddenly one of the technicians called, ‘Mr Malic – look!’
Steg looked too, and saw, with enormous relief, the War Wheel looming up on the main monitor screen.
A Sontaran voice blared out over the com-unit. ‘War Wheel to Commander Steg. Respond!’
Steg lurched forward. ‘Commander Steg to War Wheel. Request immediate pick-up. I repeat, immediate! Top priority.’
‘Stand by.’
Steg stood by. He stood by until he heard the clang of a docking assault craft, until a Sontaran lieutenant and a squad of troopers marched into the room.
The lieutenant saluted. ‘Commander Steg.’
‘Return me to the War Wheel immediately,’ ordered Steg.
‘Shall we kill the humans?’
Steg looked round the room, at the terrified humans who had been waiting for him to die, who had seen his weakness.
The one called Malic whispered, ‘You promised. You promised we wouldn’t be harmed if we co-operated.’
As if that meant anything, thought Steg. It would to a human, of course. Humans had different standards. For some reason the words reminded him of the captain of Tiger Moth, the human female. Lisa – Lisa Deranne...
Shaking his head to clear it he ordered, ‘Destroy the communications equipment. Do not harm the humans.’
He straightened up and with an immense effort marched steadily from the room.
Admiral Sarg’s suite on the War Wheel was a dark, metal-walled chamber, devoid of all luxury.
Commander Steg marched in, freshly uniformed and immaculate, and saluted, a little stiffly.
Sitting behind a massive war-desk, the admiral raised his grizzled head and regarded him steadily for a moment. As if satisfied by what he saw, he said, ‘Report.’
‘My assault craft captured the solar yacht Tiger Moth as ordered. We conducted a search, and evidence was discovered suggesting that the Rutan was indeed on board.’
‘What kind of evidence?’
‘Partially dissected dead bodies – human and Sontaran.’
‘Continue.’
‘I organized a search and the Rutan was located in the power room. It escaped, killing a number of my troopers and several of the human crew. Since my forces were already much reduced, I entered into a pact with the surviving human prisoners, promising them freedom in return for their aid in trapping the Rutan.’
The admiral looked mildly surprised. ‘Did you intend to honour this agreement?’
‘Naturally not, Admiral. Once the Rutan had been destroyed any surviving humans would have been killed to preserve the secrecy of this operation.’
Reassured that Steg had not given way to undue sentiment the admiral nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘Unfortunately the humans acted first. Led by their captain, they revolted against us, killing another of my troopers and Lieutenant Vorn.’
‘Did Vorn die well?’
‘He fell honourably in battle, Admiral.’
The admiral made a note. ‘His clan will be so informed.’
‘With only one trooper surviving,’ said Steg, ‘I judged it best to destroy the human ship – and the Rutan with it. I armed a destructor bomb, set the timer and placed it in the airlock between our two ships.’ Steg paused, recalling the last desperate flurry of events. ‘The human captain and her last surviving crew member ambushed us. My trooper and myself were both shot down. The Rutan appeared in the shape of one of the dead humans then reverted to its own form. It departed through the airlock, with the intention of escaping in our assault craft.’
‘A difficult situation, Commander,’ said the Admiral drily. ‘And then?’
‘I recovered sufficiently to inform the captain of the presence of the destructor bomb in the airlock tunnel. She succeeded in putting it through the door of the assault craft just as it closed.’
‘Why should this human captain wish to aid you?’
‘It is rather that she wished to destroy the Rutan. It had killed an older human with which she had formed some kind of emotional relationship. Humans do this.’
Steg did not feel it necessary to inform the admiral that he himself had held back the airlock door, saving the human female’s life. The admiral would have wanted to know his reason for this extraordinary action, and Steg had none to give him.
He hurried on. ‘At this point, I collapsed from my wound and went into anabolic coma.’
(A badly wounded Sontaran automatically shuts down all systems, falling into a protective coma. Usually, this condition ends in death. More rarely, anabiosis occurs and the subject returns from the brink – as had happened with Steg.)
‘So your mission was successful?’ said the admiral. ‘The assault craft blew up and the Rutan was destroyed?’
‘Such was my belief, Admiral.’
‘Was?’
‘I recovered consciousness in the morgue on Station Beta. There was a body there, a human, which had clearly been killed by a Rutan. I took control of the communications room. Interrogation of the humans present revealed that the dead body had been killed on the solar yacht – after its arrival on Beta.’
‘Explanation?’
‘A second Rutan must have been concealed on the ship.’
‘Or the first reproduced,’ said the admiral, ‘passing on all its knowledge.’
‘My interrogation also revealed that the Rutan, wearing, no doubt, the shape of the dead human, had taken ship for Sentarion.’
The admiral’s fist crashed down on the desk. ‘You bring me disturbing news, Commander Steg. Is this operation compromised or not? I must know.’
‘There is worse news still,’ said Steg. ‘Tiger Moth is also en route for Sentarion – chartered by the Doctor.’
The admiral sat quite still for a moment, absorbing the news.
‘The Doctor has a habit of appearing when there is a crisis in Sontaran affairs. Always he interferes, never to our benefit. Suggestions, Commander Steg?’
‘Compromised or not, the Sentarion project must go on – we are committed now. Give me a new assault craft and a new crew and I will go to Sentarion at full speed and investigate the situation. The War Wheel can follow close behind me.’
Steg waited while the admiral considered. His own reputation as well as Steg’s was now at stake. Success would mean immortal glory, past failures forgotten. Failure meant death, and worse still, disgrace.
Steg was a veteran with valuable experience of this mission – but his success had been qualified. Would the admiral gamble on him once again, or appoint some new commander? He became aware that the admiral was studying him closely.
‘Are you functional, Commander Steg?’
‘The medical team has given me a full efficiency check. At my own request I have been given the maximum emergency power burn, regardless of the possibilities of permanent damage.’
‘Present health status?’
‘Currently there is slight impairment of motor function, extensive tissue damage and some discomfort. But I am still capab
le of functioning at peak efficiency for the duration of this mission.’
Admiral Sarg studied him for a few moments longer. ‘Very well. We shall proceed as you suggest. I shall give you our fastest assault craft and a crack assault team. Try not to lose them this time, Commander Steg.’
Steg saluted. He turned and, lurching only slightly, marched from the room.
Lisa Deranne entered the control room of Tiger Moth and found the Doctor busy at the scanner.
‘Nearly there,’ she said. ‘Soon be time to come off automatic. What are you doing?’
‘Well, you know I’m going to Sentarion, to pick up Bernice Summerfield? First I’ll have to find her.’
‘One woman on a whole planet?’
The Doctor smiled. He had a very nice smile, thought Lisa, and dismissed the thought as irrelevant. This odd little man was a customer not a friend.
‘Exactly – but it’s not quite as bad as it sounds. She’ll be somewhere near the University. And if she’s in trouble, which she probably is by now, I can locate her with this.’ He produced something that looked like an old-fashioned pocket watch and opened it. A light pulsed steadily. ‘Yes, she’s already signalling,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’ve succeeded in programming your scanner to receive her signal on the same frequency. We can establish her general location with the scanner, and track her down precisely with this once we’ve landed.’
Lisa took her place in the command chair and flicked the com-switch. ‘All crew stand by. We are about to leave hyperspace.’
‘If I might assist?’ murmured the Doctor, and slipped in the seat beside her.
‘I take it you’re a fully qualified space-navigator, Doctor –’ She broke off. ‘I know, you’re a fully qualified everything.
‘We are leaving hyperspace – now!’
Her hands moved over the controls, correcting and stabilizing, with the Doctor checking instruments at her side.
Reality blurred, and she had the usual feeling that every cell in her body had turned inside out.
Tiger Moth flicked into existence in orbit around Sentarion.
The Doctor hurried to the scanner. It showed a stylized map, with, at its centre, the spires of Sentarion City.
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