by Brian Hayles
"The delegate from Alpha Centauri," announced Hepesh, as politely as his distaste for both aliens would allow.
"Greetings, delegate Arcturus," said the gleaming hexapod. "Have you heard about the incident? A court official has been killed."
Inside its globe, the delicate organism grew agitated, its surrounding fluid darkening ominously. "If there has been violence, we could be in danger," rapped out the clinical voice. "Hepesh-explain!"
"An internal matter, delegate Arcturus," answered the High Priest. "Do not be concerned ..."
"We are on a planet alien to our own life-form" snapped Arcturus, "therefore we are bound to be concerned for our own safety. Self-preservation is of vital importance!"
"Members of the Federation," explained Alpha Centauri with appropriate tentacle movements, "are committed to the rejection of violence."
"But," grated Arcturus chillingly, "we are capable of self-defence when necessary. Observe!"
Hepesh and Alpha Centauri watched, slightly puzzled, as Arcturus turned to face the statue in the far alcove. With a cold click, a panel on the front of the creatures life-support unit opened, revealing the stub of a normally concealed weapon. Small in scale, it seemed innocuous until it fired. Then, with a spit of electronic power, the pencil-thin beam of laser light flashed out. Within a split second, the statue glowed, then disintegrated. Hepesh remained impassive, but there was fear in his eyes. Alpha Centauri flushed deep blue with disquiet and was happy to see Arcturus deadly laser gun retract and click shut again.
"Be warned," Arcturus cautioned. "Do not provoke us!"
Hepesh bowed politely and moved to the door. Before leaving he turned and said with dignity, "We desire only your friendship."
The deeper Jo and the Doctor went into the mountain, the darker the passage became, in spite of the natural light from the strange streak of phosphorescent rock. The Doctor, leading carefully, suddenly stopped. Jo bumped into him and clutched his arm anxiously. "What is it?" she whispered, straining her eyes to see what lay ahead, She could detect nothing.
"It's a light, Jo," murmured the Doctor. "It could be a door. Gently, now.. . "
But the light falling into the passage a little way ahead was not a door. As they crept closer to the source, they saw it plainly for what it was: a window guarded by a carved stone grille. Still wary, they peered into the chamber beyond, and Jo gave a little gasp. Inside the grille, she glimpsed a small room containing an altar. Over it hung a mask, carved, hideous yet proud, into the living rock. Jo got her breath back and stared at the carving, fascinated. Her forehead pressed against the stone bars that kept intruders at bay. The Doctor looked thoughtful and said nothing. Neither of them knew that they were looking on the face of Aggedor.
The stark simplicity of the inner chamber was strangely impressive. Jo turned from looking at it, to question the Doctor. She could tell that he, too, was impressed.
"Doctor," she murmured, "what is it? Some sort of shrine?"
"Yes, agreed the Doctor, "it could well be, Jo."
"Is that the god, then?" asked Jo. "Or is it a demon? I've never seen anything like it before. Have you?"
"No, I haven"t." The Doctor paused, then frowned. "Not on Earth, at any rate..."
Jo looked sharply at him. She understood just what he meant. Not on Earth! Then where were they? The Doctor didn't give her the chance to ask the question: "Lets move on, Jo," he said, and walked forward into the tunnel which loomed ahead. Jo quickly ran after him. Within the space of a dozen paces, they had stopped again. Ahead of them the tunnel forked, and neither the right nor the left branch offered greater hope of freedom. Jo looked up at the Doctor's brooding face and wondered what he was thinking.
"Eeny, meeny, miney, mo," recited the Doctor, as though in answer to Jo's unspoken question. Then, with a beaming smile, he gestured grandly towards the right-hand fork, implying that Jo should lead the way. Amused, Jo dropped a quick curtsey, and turned to lead on-but instead of moving forward, she flung herself against the Doctor's chest in desperation. For, out of the depths of the right-hand path, came the ringing, bestial howl of Aggedor. As Jo buried her face against him, the Doctor stared hard past her. He could see nothing but darkness beyond. Once more that terrifying cry rang out, closer now and with more menace. At last the Doctor moved, bundling Jo forward quickly.
"This way, I think, Jo," he muttered, and half-running, they took their chance on the left-hand path.
An Enemy from the Past
Peladon was alone. He had sent Grun the Faithful from him, and Grun, although unable to put thought into words, had understood Peladon's deep need for solitude. The young king's thoughts were all on Torbis and the years past that he had spent guiding and teaching the boy who would one day be king. It had not been Torbis task alone: Hepesh, too, had played his part. Until the coming of the aliens, the two men had been as one: uncles to the young charge who had been placed so trustingly in their care by Ellua, the boy-king's Earthling mother. Was Hepesh right? Had she betrayed them into a new slavery? Peladon rejected this without question. Hepesh was a creature of the past. Peladon's mother had been blessed with a rare vision. What she foresaw must come true.
One particular memory drifted into his mind; the day when, accompanied by his mother, Hepesh and Torbis, Peladon had been brought to the throne room and told the meaning of his coming of age. He had refused to sit upon the throne, and had insisted that it could belong only to his illustrious father, the dead king. But Torbis had lifted him up and gently set him. on the throne, and Hepesh had spoken gently to him, telling him what was to be ... The words still echoed in his mind, proudly.
"Though the royal blood that flows in your veins has mingled with that of strangers, you shall be Peladon of Peladon, greater than your father, greater than any past or future king ..." Hepesh's intoned words had echoed clearly around the throne room walls. His mother had smiled and taken Peladon's small hands, placing the right in Torbis lean grasp, and the left in the softer, jewelled hand of Hepesh. Together, they had made a boy into a king.
But now Torbis was dead. The coronation would be an empty ritual without him, although his task would be so near to completion once the young king was anointed and crowned. Now he was king-elect, and not all-powerful; then he would be ruler with total power. Hepesh, the High Priest of Aggedor, was held in high esteem throughout the land. Peladon would need to lean heavily on him in the daily running of the affairs of the kingdom. Once there had been complete trust in the two men who guided him; now, Peladon's mind was filled with questions. Should he remain committed to the Federation, or was this the moment to reconsider? Was the death of Torbis a black omen, as Hepesh claimed? Peladon suddenly became aware that he was no longer alone. He looked up and frowned. Hepesh was standing before him as though summoned by the questions in Peladon's mind. The king did not hesitate to speak.
"Why was Torbis killed, Hepesh?" he said, his voice tight with emotion.
"Torbis saw your future as a servant of the Galactic Federation. That was wrong. I - and your people - see you as the independent ruler of a glorious kingdom."
Peladon frowned more deeply. The answer was not complete - Hepesh was using formal words to hide facts.
"And do you believe that he was destroyed by Aggedor?"
Hepesh replied smoothly, without pause. "It was a terrible warning. We dare not ignore it!"
Another evasion, thought Peladon. He leaned forward, sharp-eyed, determined to wring a clear-cut answer from the older man. "The Federation delegates are here at my royal invitation," he said pointedly. "Why, then, was it not I who was struck down?"
Hepesh remained unshaken. "It was Torbis blind advice that swayed you. It was his folly that would have destroyed you - and your kingdom. He would have made you a slave, not a king."
"Hepesh, it was you that told me, just as Torbis did, that a king must choose-and choose courageously," cried Peladon. "I made that choice!"
The High Priest inclined his head, acknowledging the im
plied rebuke, but his reply was firm; "Aggedor has shown us the true way..."
Peladon could control his anger at the old mans stubbornness no longer. "Backwards, into superstition?" he snapped, his eyes blazing. "Hepesh - it was you that taught me to fight, to ride - and to think! Help me to realise my dreams!" Hepesh did not answer, but met his young lord's gaze with impassive dignity. Peladon's hand gripped his shoulder.
"I know what is best for my people," said the king.
The priest, unflinching, spoke with a quiet intensity. "And I do not trust the aliens!" he said. "I will not let them lead you into a trap!"
Peladon drew back, and exclaimed icily, "They have been open and honest with us, Hepesh."
It was the priest's turn to show anger now. "To them, we are no more than savages! They despise and distrust us!"
"Then I will talk to them, freely, to remove all suspicion from their minds," retorted Peladon. "Summon the delegates!" The old man did not move, but the sharp disapproval on his face did not deter his master. "Now, Hepesh!" Peladon watched the High Priest leave. The massive doors closed after him. The young king had already made a decision: if Hepesh intended to hold back, it was time to seek new allies.
Hepesh did not go immediately to do the king's bidding. Outside the throne room doors, he encountered the mighty Grun, King's Champion, and a dark plan began to form in his mind. Acknowledging the guards brisk salute, Hepesh motioned Grun to his side. He drew him to the corner of the corridor only a short distance from the throne room entrance. Grun's loyalties were traditional - to Peladon, to Hepesh, and, most of all, to the spirit that ruled the throne - Aggedor. As the defender of that throne, Grun would act - ruthlessly if necessary - to preserve his king. But clearly, he was not yet aware of the danger of the aliens. It was time for Hepesh to teach him.
"Grun," murmured Hepesh, and paused before continuing to study the handsome rugged face, "you have been honoured."
Grun stared back at him, not fully comprehending the High Priest's purpose in taking him aside. Hepesh contrived to place himself between the King's Champion and the statue of Aggedor that surmounted the throne room entrance, then spoke on, quickly and purposefully.
"You have seen the face of the living Aggedor - and yet you have been spared! It is a sign... "
Grun's eyes instinctively sought the great stone statue which was set on the high balcony. When his eyes met those of Hepesh, they revealed awe - and fear.
"I am the holy servant of Aggedor," continued the High Priest, "and it is for me to interpret such a sign. It is for you to act, if so ordained. Is this the truth?" Grun nodded; and behind the stern mask of his face, Hepesh smiled. He held the key to Grun's utter obedience.
His ornately ringed hand clasped the metal-studded wristguard of the warriors light armour, and he moved closer, his voice an urgent whisper. "You know the legend - the ancient Curse of Peladon - you know what it means, Grun?"
Grun nodded seriously as Hepesh's words thrust home. "Our kingdom is in danger, Grun ... and with it, our king. You are his protector, and it is to you that Aggedor has given a warning of his displeasure. He knows the future, Grun. He sees it as we cannot, and he is angry!" The mute warrior swiftly nodded in agreement. But Hepesh had not finished. "That future, Grun. Who brings the new future to us?" Grun's glance flicked down the corridor in the direction of the delegates" chambers. Hepesh nodded; Grun understood.
"Yes, Grun - those aliens are strangers to our great traditions. They blind the king with golden promises, but they bring only danger and mistrust!" Hepesh stared hard into Grun's eyes. "They are our enemies, Grun - enemies of the king, and of Aggedor. They must be ... dealt with. But cunningly. Do you understand?" He looked over his shoulder at the great statue which loomed over the doorway to the throne room. Grun followed his gaze, then looked back into the High Priests eyes, knowing what he had to do. Hepesh nodded, satisfied, and offered his holy ring, a huge jewel carved into the form of Aggedor's face. Grun knelt, briefly, pressing the ring to his lips then against his broad forehead, accepting Hepesh's blessing for the task that he must now perform. He stood and saluted formally, as the priest moved quietly away on his own errand.
"I go to summon the delegates to the King's presence, Grun. They will come this way shortly. Think only of this -" Hepesh threw one last glance at the grim-faced statue, "Aggedor has spoken ..."
The eerie cry of the unknown threat behind them had not reached the Doctor and Jo for several minutes now. Their pace had slowed considerably. The vein of phosphorus light had virtually dwindled to nothing and in the gloom, the rock-scattered floor had made walking dangerous. Suddenly a welcome glow appeared ahead.
"It's a torch," Jo cried excitedly. "Doctor, can you see? Civilisation at last!"
"Yes," the Doctor agreed, rubbing his chin and brooding, "but a rather unusual one. Look at the holder, Jo. It's the equivalent of the Renaissance on Earth - the late Middle Ages."
"They could just be antiques." offered Jo hopefully. "Let's get on. I don't like this tunnel."
The Doctor finished examining the metal torch-holder, and looked further along the tunnel. It bent to the right, and from the curve came the flickering glow of what appeared to be other torches. He took Jo by the elbow, and moved onward. Neither of them noticed that the floor was smoother now - not ridged and rough-hewn, but laid with flagstones.
"Come on then, Jo," smiled the Doctor, "I've a feeling that we're coming to the end of it at last ..."
It wasn't until they turned the corner that they realised how right the Doctor was - the tunnel ended in a blank, man-made wall. Jo turned to the Doctor, her face miserable with despair.
"We're trapped," she said plaintively. "All this way, and its a dead end!"
"Don't be so sure, Jo. Don't you notice something rather ... unusual?" observed the Doctor drily.
"Apart from the fact that were very probably stuck in the middle of some freaky planet in the Dark Ages, no."
"Its the torches, Jo . . ". indicated the Doctor. "If this tunnel is never used, why are they alight?"
"A brilliant deduction, my dear Doctor," grumbled Jo wearily, "but you still haven't told me how we get out!"
The Doctor moved to the torch nearest the end wall of the tunnel and fumbled with it as he muttered half to himself. "They were an ingenious lot of fellows in the Middle Ages, Jo ... Got up to all sorts of tricks. Ah, yes, I thought as much!" With a low groan, the wall swung open - and they were inside the citadel.
Alpha Centauri was restless. The unaccustomed austerity of the castle was not exactly soothing to the nerves of a Galactic civil servant. The primitive surroundings didn't seem to effect Arcturus, but Alpha Centauri felt obliged to complain anyway..
"These backward planets," the hexapod sighed despondently, "so uncivilised ... no atmosphere purifier ... no protein dispensers."
The thin rasp of Arcturus" metallic voice brought no comfort. "This is a diplomatic mission," came his reply, "not a holiday!"
"A Galactic official deserves some consideration at least!" twittered the octopod-headed alien. "And have you seen the colour scheme in my living quarters? They obviously have no idea what "peaceful means!"
"We are here," rapped out the Arcturian delegate, "to bring order and political unity to this planet - not to decorate it like a Centaurian fun-palace."
Before Alpha Centauri could think of an effective reply, the door opened. Standing there was Hepesh, cold-faced and haughty. Both Arcturus and the mildly agitated hexapod swung round to confront him, but he wasted no time in casual greetings. "King Peladon sends greetings and requests your immediate presence in his throne room", he announced.
"Does this mean that the Earth delegate has arrived at last?" grated Arcturus, moving towards Hepesh.
"Not yet," replied the High Priest, addressing himself to the quivering organism within the tinted globe.
"But we cannot proceed without our Chairman!" protested Alpha Centauri, tentacles rippling in vague alarm.
"Th
is is an informal meeting requested by his majesty for personal reasons," blandly replied Hepesh, turning abruptly to lead the way out. He checked at Arcturus" sharp voice.
"The delegate from Mars-"
"He has been informed." said Hepesh brusquely. "He and his assistant are on their way to the throne room now. You will follow me there. The King is waiting."
The entrance to the secret tunnel was concealed behind art ornate tapestry, and it took Jo and the Doctor a full minute to extricate themselves from its heavy folds. Looking about, they found themselves in a deep alcove set off from the broad main corridor. With a quick glance, the Doctor took in the manner of building, its style and rather heavy aspect. It confirmed his earlier guess, and he smiled at Jo rather smugly.
"Definitely an emergent civilisation, Jo. Probably with strong ties to an earlier, more barbaric hierarchy."
"That makes all the difference, of course," remarked Jo, sarcastically. "All we need is King Arthur and his knights!"
"Wrong period, I'm afraid Jo," smiled the Doctor, "and this certainly isn't Camelot. Rather fine castle, though, don't you think?" Jo shrugged, and followed the Doctor as he paced forward into the deserted corridor. "Let's try this way," he said, brightly - but Jo wasn't listening to him..
"Doctor!" He turned. Her face was full of alarm. Then he, too, heard the noise ... a heavy, shuffling stride, overlayed with a rhythmic hissing sound. Jo pulled the Doctor into the shadows of the alcove. Neither of them spoke, but huddled there listening intently as the eerie noise drew nearer ... nearer ... and at last came into sight. Jo's eyes, wide with fright, could barely smother a gasp of horror; even the Doctor grew tense at what they now saw.
It was a biped, but totally unlike any other walking creature Jo had seen before. Its massive feet shuffled along as though dragged down by heavy weights. Its huge hands were like crude, stub-fingered clamps. It was entirely covered with an armoured skin that was ridged and plated like an alligator or prehistoric reptile. Its helmet-like head showed a lipless, scaly-skinned lower jaw that seemed to struggle desperately to draw in air from the atmosphere about it. Set in the terrifying head were, two blankly menacing eyes, screened as if by perspex. Moving as relentlessly as a battle tank, it strode past them down the corridor and out of sight.