‘It was. The Tiberian spiral galaxy. I’ve been hunting that thing for a long time,’ he said pointing at her left arm. ‘And they never die out. They always survive. It’s their prime motivator. No matter what. You could almost admire them if they weren’t so unutterably inhuman. And now you have the Mondas touch!’
The stranger quickly outlined a plan. She needed to speak to her most trusted guards – those Champions who had not yet volunteered for the upgrading process. Any of the original Companions, too. Those totally loyal to her and not in awe of or in debt to Litarsas. He asked her if there were any other force she could call upon and she smiled as it hit her: the Seekers. Sylen, especially.
‘Good,’ the man said. ‘They’re just a precaution. Hopefully we won’t need them, but you never know. Now! Your daughter. Bring her down here. We’ll set up base in the dungeons. They’ll never think to look here for trouble. I can treat her and then I need to kidnap you.’
He smiled again, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. The Queen managed a faint smile in reply.
Thank you,’ she said. ‘What should I call you?’
‘Oh,’ the man laughed. ‘Let’s not give them any clues. Just call me “Mr Clever”.’
Then she turned to go and make the arrangements.
‘One last thing?’ he asked.
Lydia stopped in her tracks. ‘Anything,’ she said.
‘Open the cell door?’
The Queen’s secret recruits quickly moved about the palace, bringing Mr Clever medical supplies and an upgraded infirmary kit, persuading the princess to attend the dungeons and trying to keep out of the Champions’ way.
The Champions themselves were now wearing the new helmets. Lydia came across three of them in the throne room. They were standing in a row, motionless. She walked right up to one of them and tried to peer through the eyeholes. She could see nothing beyond the black mesh that covered them. She asked one of them what they were doing there, but he didn’t answer.
She was about to give them an angry dressing down when she saw that small metal tubes were growing upwards steadily from the sides of the helmet where the ears should be. Similar pipes were protruding from the top of the head where the wedge-shaped crown was. Lydia watched, transfixed as the two ends curved towards each other and finally met, giving the helmets the appearance of having handles. She rushed to the dungeons to tell Mr Clever about them.
He was standing over her daughter who was lying on the cell bunk. The bed had been stripped of its grey blanket and had been replaced by a pristine white medical sheet. He had his sleeves rolled up and was wearing surgical gloves.
‘Handles,’ he said. ‘He was a good companion.’
The Queen had decided not to question him further about it but asked after her daughter instead.
‘She’s in a coma,’ he said. ‘I thought it best. The reversal process is very painful and while the Cybermen don’t care about that sort of thing, I do.’
She watched him working for a few minutes. He was gentle and assured. Every movement and action filled her with confidence that she had done the right thing coming to him.
‘Please,’ she whispered under her breath. ‘Save my daughter. I beg you.’
Without looking up and despite being on the other side of the open cell door he said: ‘I will.’
The Queen slept fitfully that night and when she awoke she was greeted by news that the Champions had started rounding up members of the public – even visitors to the planet. They called it conscription. She dressed and hurried to the dungeons.
A miracle greeted her. Mida was sitting up in bed, her arm completely back to normal, save for a few scratches on her shoulder.
‘No permanent damage,’ Mr Clever confirmed. ‘But I recommend a period of rest. I’ll leave you two alone.’
After an emotional reunion and promises made on both sides, the Queen found Mr Clever in the passageway outside the dungeons. He was eating a pasty on a wooden plate. She stared at him as if somehow she never imagined him eating.
‘Always have a hearty breakfast before a battle,’ he said.
‘Battle?’
‘Yes. Now Mida is cured, I need to take you prisoner and deal with the Cybermen.’
Again, he outlined his plan to her. If he was right, it would be simple. It only required one of the Champions who was best known to Litarsas to tell him that the Queen had been taken by a group of rebels led by an alien. In fact, Mr Clever would take Lydia to the gilded whirlpools on his own. The troops loyal to the Queen would only head there once all the Cybermen had left the Palace.
The plan was set in motion. In order to reach the whirlpools quickly, Mr Clever was persuaded to let Seeker Sylen pilot them there in her Hyperdart. They reached the amazing geographical structure in less than an hour.
Sylen explained to the newcomer that the area was a vast indentation in the ground – a mile deep and almost a hundred miles wide, covered almost entirely by naturally occurring pools. These pools were filled by water forced from the ground by volcanic activity beneath the planet’s surface. The liquid was forced through narrow vents at such high velocity that they became whirlpools. They were dangerous for two reasons: the speed of their currents and the fact that they could pull a person down without warning, through larger vents that acted to empty the basins as soon as they were filled.
‘Just like pulling the plug from a bath!’ Mr Clever said. ‘I love the idea of giving the Cybermen a bath, don’t you? Make sure they clean behind those ears of theirs!’
As they circled overhead prior to landing, the sun caught the valley and the pools glinted and flashed in the sun. Lydia had not been out there for a long time and had forgotten its natural beauty.
‘But that’s why we’re really here,’ the man said.
This was the source of Catrigan Nova’s fabulous wealth. Along with water, tiny nuggets of gold were also forced through the vents. They were swirled around by the current at very high speeds, but they also tended to settle on the bottom of the pools, too.
‘Gold,’ said Mr Clever, rubbing his temple. ‘I know for a fact that the Cyberiad still suffers from a weakness to it. I presume you use a suppressor to keep the speed of the water in check so that you can extract the gold?’
Lydia nodded. ‘But I don’t know where the control is.’
‘No matter,’ the man said. He pulled out a strange blue tool that had a light at the end. ‘Got this. All we need to do is wait for the Cybermen to come and rescue you and then we switch off the suppressors. Bathing the Cybermen in a suspension of gold will, I hope, be like putting them in a blender.’
‘But why will they save me?’ Lydia asked.
‘Because you are necessary,’ he said. ‘You are a figurehead. Although they have started conscription, they still need you to ensure the people don’t rise up. If they killed you too early, they would face resistance – however futile it might be.’
He put his hand around the Queen’s shoulders and led her away. ‘There is one other thing. This will be difficult,’ he said. ‘Both for you to hear and for you to do.’
Lydia nodded. ‘Whatever you say …’
‘When the time comes, you’ll need to put the gauntlet into one of the whirlpools, too. The gold will have the same effect on your arm as it hopefully will on the Cybermen. The same effect.’
The Queen looked puzzled for a second and then painful realisation spread on her face.
‘My arm,’ she said.
‘I’m afraid you will lose it. Below the elbow. It will be painful. I’m sorry.’
Lydia nodded, a grimly determined expression on her face. ‘So be it,’ she said.
They did not have to wait long for the enemy. The company of Cybermen came over the ridge of the depression, like a herd of silvery wildebeest. Their speed was breathtaking as they approached.
They stopped a short distance off. At the front of the ranks was what used to be Litarsas. His helmet was slightly different to the others; it had black h
andles rather than the same silvery colour the others had.
Mr Clever stepped forward. ‘Leader,’ he said, greeting Litarsas. The man furrowed his brow at the Cybermen, glowering from beneath his eyebrows in a manner no one alive would argue with.
‘You are known and recorded as an enemy of the Cybermen.’
‘Yes, yes. I’m sure I am.’ He put on a strange twanging accent. ‘But the question you need to ask yourself tonight is: sink or swim!’
He turned to the Queen and Sylen. ‘Whaddya say, folks? Sink or Swim?’ He pointed to the sky and everyone looked up, even the Cybermen. But there was nothing to see. Then Lydia noticed he wasn’t pointing. He had the blue tool in his hand and it was buzzing like a nest of angry wasps.
‘I hope your troops are here, your Highness,’ Mr Clever said.
Sylen nodded. ‘I received their signal just before they arrived,’ she said.
‘Tell them to open fire!’
Suddenly the water in the whirlpools became wilder and louder, thrashing over the sides, splashing the glittering suspension over Mr Clever, the Queen and Sylen as well as several Cybermen.
‘Fire!’ yelled Sylen into her wrist communicator.
‘Kill him,’ intoned the Cyber-Leader.
Everything became a blur then. Before the Cybermen could operate their weapons, the laser fire from the ridge hit them. This threw them back, but did no permanent damage. By now the flow of liquid gold was a torrent and it quickly rose to waist height and as the cyborgs stumbled backwards under the impact of the gunfire, some of them fell into the deeper pools.
Immediately the tiny grains of gold ripped into the Cybermen’s enhancements. Lydia watched as one had its helmet torn away piece by piece to reveal a horrible visage beneath: the woman who had been on parade only days before. Her eyes were gone and a silvery material that clung close to the undulations of her skull had replaced most of her skin. Wires and circuits stuck out from the cranial area and she raised a hand – whether as a gesture of defiance or as a signal for help was impossible to tell – as she slipped beneath the waves.
There were now only a handful of Cybermen left above the surface and even those that were, collapsed as their legs and knees were worn away. But still the Cyber-Leader stood. In fact, he was wading forward, his hands outstretched for the Queen.
His silver hands grasped at Lydia’s throat, but she, too, had a strong Cyber arm and managed to hold him off. But the thing that had once been Litarsas was stronger. Then the Queen recalled her personal protection training. If ever she was attacked, her old teacher had said, she should use the assailant’s strength and momentum against them.
So she did.
Lydia rolled backwards, which took the Cyber-Leader by surprise. He fell forward, stumbling into a nearby whirlpool of the deadly liquid. He struggled to remain above the waterline, but the Queen not only had the strength of a cyborg but that of an enraged mother. She pushed down on the metallic ear handles and the face of the Cyberman disappeared beneath the surface.
So did her arm. Lydia screamed in agony as the metallic part of her arm was flushed with the golden suspension. But she clung on.
It was Mr Clever who gently lifted her from the water, pointing to a metal body as it was carried away by the golden rapids and eventually sucked down into one of the pools. Then he once more lifted his whirring device into the sky. Almost as suddenly as it had burst forth, the water receded. He ran a hand through his soaking pewter hair and smiled at Lydia.
‘Like a blender,’ he said.
‘Mummy!’ They all turned to see Mida running across the sodden ground. She was about to throw herself into an embrace with her mother when she saw that her mother’s arm had vanished below the elbow. She came to an abrupt stop and started crying.
Lydia gently pulled her daughter to her and they embraced for a long time. She had given up the magic gauntlet; the one that had promised technological salvation and delivered the exact opposite.
Mida looked up at her mother and smiled. ‘You were so brave,’ she said.
Lydia smiled and thought it was due to Mr Clever. She turned to look for him. But the mysterious stranger wasn’t there. He had vanished. The Queen smiled and tasted a tear that had trickled down her face. It was one of happiness, and they owed it all to him.
THE TERRIBLE MANUSSA
WHEN SHE WAS eight years old, Persisalevatolla had looked into the Untempered Schism and seen one thing: the possibility of adventure. The trouble was, she was from the Patrexes chapter and for them adventure did not come easily. That is why she had made it her business to find out everything she could about the Celestials.
She had first heard of the Celestial Intervention Agency in connection with the Shakri. But few spoke of the interventionists, and when they did it was in hushed voices. Persis had tracked down small references to the CIA’s activities in the library, but they were oblique at best. Every other enquiry for information was blocked or brought up zero results.
As she approached her graduation, Persis became convinced that the life she sought was beyond her and a career at Space-Time Control beckoned, logging TARDISes on and off Gallifrey. Then, something incredible happened. On her last day – hours before the graduation ceremony – her temporal classics master, a Prydonian cardinal called Kroshen, sidled up to her in the Rothe Tower library and whispered in her ear.
‘You’re interested in the Celestial Intervention Agency, aren’t you, Persis?’
When she graduated with a double first, she went straight into training with the CIA. And while the staser ranges were exciting, it was mostly more lectures and study. Reading about alien planets and strange creatures was certainly more lively than the dry times of the Academy but she wanted to see them for herself.
And now her moment had come.
The briefing room was a plain, white cell with two white chairs designed for discomfort and a white desk with no discernible function. Persis had never seen a briefing room before and had no idea what she should do.
Without Persis noticing, a Time Lord dressed in black appeared behind her. A clipped, male voice told her to sit down so she sat.
The Time Lord moved around the table as if floating. He wore the tight black hood and elongated collar that marked him out as a former member of the ST-ST: the Special Time-Space Troopers. His face was calm but weather-beaten. Not the usual pudgy, pasty complexion older Time Lords had. Persis found herself automatically respecting him.
He sat down on the adjacent side of the table and smiled. ‘Welcome, Persis,’ he said. ‘Please pay attention to the screen.’
Straight away an image appeared on the wall opposite her. It was a beautiful young woman: lustrous dark hair, hazel-flecked eyes and a poise that told Persis the woman was extremely comfortable in her own skin. Around her neck was a red crystal pendant.
Information flowed to the left and right of the image, as the man in black gave some biographical details.
‘The woman you are looking at is an alien princess called Manussa, a native of the planet G139901KB – the fourth planet of the Scrampus system. For several decades now, she has become increasingly powerful through the use of special crystals.’
The image changed again and Persis sat back, frowning. It was only just possible to see that the face belonged to the same woman. Gone were the glowing complexion, dark chocolate hair and soft brown eyes. In their place, Manussa now had her face tattooed with the scales of a reptile. Her hair had been plaited and painted to look like snakes, and her eyes had become as red as the pendant she had worn in the previous photo.
‘Through guile, a singular determination and a distinct lack of morals, she has now become queen of her people and channelled all their resources into creating these great crystals using the most powerful telepaths the species has ever developed.’
The image changed again to show a five-sided blue crystal. Then another in red and a third in orange. The screen reverted to the image of Manussa.
‘If you loo
k closer at the ornate armour she wears, you’ll see that it is actually made up of the orange and red type of crystals. We believe each colour reflects a different use but we are not certain. They are manufactured off world on the moon of Grey-Eye in anti-grav environments.’
Persis stared at the screen, rapt by the exotic and alien images it was showing. She tried not to let the thrill show in her body language. If he noticed, the man in black did not comment.
‘These crystals can be used for many things. But we now know they have also been used by an interstitial creature known as the Mara to cross over to our reality. Manussa is now not only queen of her planet – and a ranged empire beyond – but also her species’ religious leader. At first she was simply the head of a cult called the Union of the Snake, but now hers is the only religion on G139901KB. This took place after she outlawed all other creeds and converted their temples to Mara worship.’
Persis nodded. She had heard of the Mara. ‘The Mara itself is a huge snake-like creature of legend,’ she said. ‘A powerful being of temptation, fear and hatred that is said to live in the dark places of the mind.’
The man in black looked at her like a proud father would look at his favourite daughter. ‘Your interest in the more esoteric aspects of your training clearly stand you in good stead.’
‘The crystals are impressive,’ Persis said. ‘But what is the CIA’s interest in this woman and her snake myth?’
Her fellow agent bobbed his head and waved a hand over the table. Immediately it lit up and a holographic display of a throne room appeared in miniature on its surface. The crystal-armoured figure of Manussa sat raised above a group of viziers and advisers.
‘ … and the workforce needed for the Grey-Eye weapon is being transported to the moon now,’ said one of the viziers – a woman with a sight-visor.
‘Good.’ Manussa looked down from her throne. She licked her lips and Persis clearly saw a fork tongue. ‘But I also hear that there has been a problem with the crystal growth vats.’
Doctor Who: Myths and Legends Page 3