by Unknown
'We won't be disturbed here,' said Bel.
'It's splendid,' said the Doctor. 'We just need somewhere to think, just for a minute. There's no sense in running around the countryside looking for Vesta in this weather. We need to work out where she might have gone.'
Til raise some heat,' said Bel, heading for the stove.
Amy was rubbing her hands together briskly. As Bel moved away, she leaned close to the Doctor.
'Really?' she asked quietly. 'No sense in running around the countryside? Not even to, I don't know, get away from here?'
'We're safe enough.'
'And not even to look for my husband?'
'Rory's safe enough too,' said the Doctor. 'He's probably sitting in the TARDIS right now, making a cup of tea.'
'I don't believe you sometimes,' said Amy.
'Trust me, Pond,' the Doctor replied, flashing an impish smile. He began to look around the spare and simple room. 'Something's going on here, and it requires attention.'
Bel returned from banking up the stove. A rumour of heat began to infuse the room.
'Everything's hand-crafted,' mused the Doctor, looking at the furniture and the construction of the house itself. 'Beautifully made, but old. A lot of wood.
Local timber, I'd guess, and expertly cut and finished.
And the nails and handles, you see? The screws?'
'Shipskin,' said Bel. 'Not much of that left now.'
'Shipskin,' the Doctor echoed. 'Of course it is.
Shipskin.' He looked at Amy. 'Hull metal,' he said,
'salvaged from the vessel that brought the Morphans here.'
'Earth before and Hereafter,' Bel said.
'And how long have you lived here, Bel?' asked the Doctor.
'All of my years,' she said.
'I meant, how long have the Morphans lived on Hereafter?'
'Twenty-seven generations,' she replied. She paused, and stared at the Doctor. 'Guide help me, why would you ask that?' she said. 'You cannot be a Morphan and not know that, but there is no one else on Hereafter who is not a Morphan.'
'There is now,' said the Doctor. 'Arabel? Bel? I know it's a lot to grasp, but you have to keep trusting us. Think of it this way. Guide sent us to help when you needed us most. Tell me this, Bel, why were the men who found us armed?'
"They were searching for Vesta,' Bel began.
The Doctor shook his head.
'The Morphans have no weapons, no firearms or anything,' he said. 'They had to grab makeshift weapons... axes and pitchforks, that sort of thing. Why would men do that to go looking for a missing girl?
Why would they arm themselves when they're not even used to bearing arms?'
'They...' Bel began. She stared down at the old kitchen table as she thought about her answer. 'We...
we have lost livestock. Just this winter, never before.
Something has been feeding on sheep and goats. We think maybe it is a dog that has got out and run feral.
Maybe from another plantnation.'
'It would have to be that, wouldn't it?' said the Doctor. 'Because there are no other animals here. Only the ones that you Morphans brought with you.
Hereafter has no indigenous animals that could kill a sheep.'
'I don't know what that word means,' said Bel, 'but the men took staves and axes because they were afraid that...'
'That whatever's doing the killing might have gone after bigger prey,' said the Doctor.
Bel nodded. Her lip trembled.
'How long has there been trouble here, Bel?' asked Amy.
'Life here is always hard,' said Bel, with forced lightness. 'But three years ago, the winter started going white, and worse each year. Then we really started to struggle. Not enough food, not enough fuel to get by.
We used to see people from the other two plantnations quite regular, particularly at festival time, but not since travelling got hard. It's not just that the winters are cold, it's what the cold winters mean.'
'They mean it could all be failing,' said the Doctor.
'The entire terraforming programme.'
'The Terra Firmers will never fail,' said Bel emphatically. 'It's part of our duty to maintain them.
Our plantnation is called Beside because it is beside the Firmers. That is the great task Guide has given to us.'
'Now, you told me,' said the Doctor, 'that Guide tells you that can happen sometimes. That sometimes the winters get worse before they can get better.'
Bel nodded again. 'That is what Guide says.'
'But you don't believe it, do you?'
Bel shrugged. 'We must trust in the Elect and the council, but I don't think Bill Groan believes it either.
It is hard to trust that things will get better when they get worse.'
'There's more to it, though, isn't there?' asked the Doctor.
'There have been signs. The livestock dead. And some say they have seen people in the woods around the plantnation. The shadows of tall men, watching us.
No one has seen them clearly, but they are big. And they cannot be men, because all men from Beside are accounted for.'
She looked at the Doctor.
'Until today,' she said.
'Yes, but I came and said hello, so it can't have been me,' said the Doctor.
Bel sat down at the table and rested her nose against her clasped hands as though she was praying.
'I told Vesta not to go about alone,' she said quietly.
'I told her. She said there were no giants in the woods, and she could scare off any rogue dog. But I had seen the stars, and she had not.'
'The stars?'
'It was the other sign. Stars that go by at night, overhead. They make no sound. I've seen them, and a few others have. Old Winnowner says that the stars are an omen. The worst of all the signs. They warn us that the world is in turmoil, and that despite all our patience, the Morphan effort is in danger.'
'You said something just now,' said Amy quietly.
The Doctor and Bel looked at her.
'You said you were only letting us out to help your sister, because you didn't want her to die too. Who else has died?'
'Our mother died years ago,' Bel replied. 'Then we lost our dad four years ago to a fever. I won't lose another Flurrish, I swear to Guide, I—'
She stopped abruptly.
'Oh Guide help me!' she cried, looking at the Doctor and Amy in dismay. 'I think I know where she went! I think I know!'
'Where?' asked Amy.
'I had forgotten the day,' said Bel, scraping back her chair and getting up. 'Vesta remembers these things, I don't. It's the anniversary of our father's death. She...
she would have gone out early to lay flowers on his grave. She would have gone up to the memory yard before the start of labour.'
'Then that,' said the Doctor, 'is where we should look first.'
Out of breath, Rory slithered to a halt. He tried to get his bearings from the three mountains that the Doctor had said weren't mountains at all. He could see them through the trees, pluming steamy white clouds against the perfect blue of the winter sky.
It felt like it was past midday. The air was clear and the sun was high and bright, but it was still as cold and hard as glass.
Rory had a stitch, and his legs ached from bounding through the snow. Panting, he turned in a full circle, checking the trees around him.
He heard a sound. A crunch of snow. A footstep biting into the soft fall. Surely, after all that running, he'd outdistanced those dreadful lumbering figures?
He edged forward, listening intently. The woodland clearing was silent, the light bouncing off the snow so bright it made him squint.
Another crunch.
He took another step, his heart beating very fast.
A figure stepped out in front of him. He was big, but he looked scared too. He was holding an axe.
Rory recoiled. 'Oh, hello,' he said in surprise.
'Who are you?' the man asked, his voice thickly accented. He took a step forwar
d and the axe rose a little.
'Listen,' said Rory, 'listen to me. There's something in the woods. These... figures. Very, very big figures...'
He glanced from side to side. Other men dressed like the bearded man with the axe were emerging from cover, surrounding him. They carried an assortment of picks, mattocks and pitchforks.
Have you seen the Doctor at all?' Rory asked hopefully.
'Where are you from?' one of the men demanded.
'Urn... Leadworth?' Rory tried.
'What kind of unguidely answer is that?' asked one of the others.
'I don't know his face,' said the man with the axe.
'I'm a friend! I'm friendly!' Rory declared, holding up his hands.
'He's a stranger,' said a man with a pick.
'Where is Vesta Flurrish?' the man with the axe asked Rory.
'Is it... near Leadworth?'
'Take him,' said the man with the axe. 'Bind his hands. The council can decide what to do with him.'
'There's really no need for any of that!' Rory cried.
'Why don't I just come with you? Without any need for binding of any sort? Why don't I just come along with you?'
Despite his protests, they grabbed him. They were strong, they pinned his arms behind his back and turned him around, steering him by the shoulders.
Then they all stopped.
Something had walked into the clearing behind them. It stood gazing at them through glinting, red, triangular eyes. It was green, the colour of moss on the underside of a stone, and its thick skin was whorled and ridged like the hide of an alligator. A faint rasping, hissing wheeze of respiration was coming from its barrel-thick chest.
It was at least two metres tall and built like an oak tree.
'Told you,' said Rory.
Chapter
5
The Hopes and Fears
of All the Years
The green thing hissed out a breath and took a step.
Rory flinched. The man with the beard let out a great howl of fear and fury, and swung his axe.
The axe was a good one, with a head fashioned from shipskin. It struck the green thing square in the centre of the chest, and actually bit into the crocodile skin bulge of the scaled armour.
The green thing didn't even jolt. It was as though the bearded man had buried his axe into an ancient and unyielding tree.
The axe was stuck fast. The bearded man tried to pull it out for another swing. The green thing made a grunting hiss and lashed out with its left arm. A massive, pincered hand caught the bearded man on the upswing and hoisted him into the air. The impact was an ugly, bone-cracking sound that made Rory flinch again. The bearded man flew backwards and upwards, particles of snow fluttering off his legs, and tore into the low canopy of the trees. He crashed back down onto the snow, bringing broken branches, twigs and a heavy fall of snow-gather with him.
Once he had landed, he stopped moving.
The other men registered a moment of shock at the sheer force that the upswing had communicated. A single swipe had propelled their leader metres through the air. Chastened, they hurled themselves at the green thing, raining blows with picks and mattocks and other stout farm tools.
It was brave. It was a terrible mistake. The blows rebounded ineffectually. The green thing threw out its right pincer and knocked a man sideways into a tree.
The impact jolted snow out of the branches. Taking another step, the green thing reached up, grasped the haft of the axe buried like a handle in its belly, and pulled it out. Then it swung the axe, catching another man in the face with the back of the axehead. The impact lifted the man clean off his feet. He landed on his back in the snow with his mouth open, dead or profoundly unconscious.
A man with a pitchfork rushed the green thing, trying to run the tines through its deep torso. He yelled as he charged. The green thing tossed aside the axe, which disappeared through the trees, spinning end over end and making a slow whupping sound like a ceiling fan, and raised its left pincer. The movement was fast and oddly precise for something so stiff and ungainly.
The pincer neatly caught the thrusting pitchfork between the tines and blocked it. The man lurched and stumbled as his pitchfork stopped moving. The green thing tightened its clamping grip and snapped the head of the pitch fork off its wooden shaft. The man holding the pitchfork jabbed the broken end repeatedly against the thing's ridged torso. The green thing pointed its right pincer at him.
There was a small tube attached to its forearm. It was a weapon of some kind. The discharge made a nasty, throbbing sound, and the air seemed to warp and bulge. Caught by this twisting, pressurised force, the man dropped dead.
Rory was running by then. In attacking the green thing, the men had entirely forgotten about him. The sheer, clinical brutality of its response had proved to Rory that his first instincts had been correct. The giant green figures were not to be bargained with. They were lethal and malicious, and they existed only to be avoided at all costs.
Rory's ears were ringing from the awful sonic discharge of the thing's weapon. Even though it hadn't been aimed at him, it had given him an awful headache and, from the blood he could taste on the back of his tongue, a nosebleed.
The other men - those still on their feet – were fleeing too. Rory gasped as he heard the sonic weapon fire a second time. The air shimmered and buckled, and a man fleeing a dozen metres to Rory's left crumpled into the snow, rolled over, and lay still.
The next one was going to be him.
There was no cover.
The next blast was definitely going to kill him.
They left Beside and followed the North Lane track up past the frozen well and out of what Bel called the Spitablefields. These large, gently sloping areas were blanketed with snow, but the Doctor and Amy could see that they had been carefully cleared and ranged into strips for cultivation like a market garden. Amy noticed lines of planting canes and frames, all edged with snow like ermine, left over from the growing season. The pathway itself, a climbing track, was screened on the settlement side by a box hedge that, snowbound, looked like a giant frosted slice of key lime pie.
Dogs barked in the village below.
'What was that?' asked the Doctor, stopping to listen.
'Dogs,' said Bel.
Amy looked back. An afternoon whiteness was beginning to hollow out the blue of the sky, and the vapour around the mountains had become more of a haze. There was a smell in the air that she associated with approaching snowfall. It was a smell she had cherished as a little girl.
'Not dogs,' said the Doctor.
They continued. Beyond the Spitablefields and the hedged track line, a stand of trees marked the edge of snow-dusted woodland.
The Doctor stopped again. He cocked his head to one side. 'Did you hear that?' he asked.
'What?' asked Amy.
'That sound. I know that sound.'
'What sound?' asked Amy.
'Just dogs,' said Bel.
'No, the other sound. It's a long way off, but it's carrying. It's distinctive. I know that sound. Where have I heard it before?'
Amy listened. 'I can't hear anything,' she began, and then stopped. 'Oh, wait,' she said. 'I heard something then. A funny noise.'
The Doctor nodded. 'A funny noise...' he echoed.
He turned around suddenly and stared at the hedge.
'I think you should come out,' he said.
A man stepped out of the shadows.
'I think you should tell me where you're going, Arabel,' said Samewell Crook.
Rory ducked behind a tree. Dread had a grip on him, and he desperately wished that breathing didn't make so much noise. Exertion combined with panic was making the air suck in and out of his lungs in gasps.
The sound was going to give him away.
He'd heard two more of the blasts, the earshredding throbs of the green thing's energy weapon. The second blast had been accompanied by the agonised yelp of a man being felled by lethal, contorting air. The green th
ing was close. What did it want, apart from to kill them all? Was it trying to eliminate witnesses?
Witnesses to what? Was it just out for revenge for getting an axe swung at it?
Was it after something else that Rory couldn't begin to imagine?
His mind was all over the place. It was hard to focus. That was shock and the panic response. He forced himself to concentrate. He needed to listen.
Hiding behind the tree, the only way he could tell how close the green thing was, was to listen, but he couldn't hear anything over his own panting. He held his breath.
It was a considerable effort. He held on, and listened. It felt like his eardrums were going to burst.
After a few seconds, he heard deep, crunching footfalls in the snow, the steady march of the towering monster. It was drawing level with his hiding place.
There was nowhere else to hide. Snow was all around, a white backdrop against which he would stand out, no matter where he went. Trees were no good. Sooner or later, you could walk around a tree.
There were no boulders, no bushes, no holes in the ground.
He heard the crunching footsteps again, and a wheeze of respiration to go with them. It reminded him of his own need to exhale. He eased out the breath he had been holding in, trying to do it soundlessly. He so wanted to greedily suck in fresh air.
The green thing appeared about twenty metres to his left, side on to him. It emerged from between two trees and stood still, slowly scanning to left and right.
Rory, gently and ever so slowly, melted himself back around the tree trunk he was sheltering against, putting it between him and the creature.
It turned and looked his way.
How could it have seen him? He was barely moving. The thing looked like a giant, humanoid reptile. Did reptiles have acute sight? Hearing? Did they have other senses? How did they hunt? He had a feeling that he'd once read something about crocodiles having amazing night vision.
Rory realised that terror was flooding his mind with jumbled thoughts. Nothing he was thinking about really mattered. He had to find an escape route. What the Doctor would call a 'wise exit strategy'. What Amy would call a 'not at all stupid bit of proper running away'.