by Unknown
'Not without you!'
'Lock the door and get away! Save Bel and Samewell! Run!'
The other Ice Warriors were advancing on the doorway. In another few seconds, they would have her, and the door would be wedged, and they'd all be prisoners of one of the Doctor's most implacable adversaries.
'Please, Amy,' the Doctor cried. ' Please.'
His eyes met hers. One last look.
One last communication that was beyond words.
Amy cried out in despair, and finally allowed herself to be dragged back through the hatchway by the two young Morphans. She rammed her hand against the palm-checker, and the hatch slammed shut in the faces of the Ice Warriors.
It closed with such force, a single woolly mitten on a severed strand of elastic fell onto the deck.
Chapter
13
Brightly Shone the Moon
That Night
The Doctor got to his feet. This was not an entirely voluntarily action. The Ice Warrior holding him by the wrist raised its arm, and the Doctor had no choice but to follow. It was either that or have one of his four favourite limbs snapped off.
The Ice Warrior that had hurled the axe plodded over to the smouldering console and wrenched the weapon out. A spatter of sparks, like the spill of a foundry bucket, followed it and fizzled on the deck.
The other Warriors formed a loose and menacing semicircle around their prisoner.
'Hello, everyone,' the Doctor said, trying to seem friendly and open to any options. 'Why don't we go around the room so that everyone can introduce themselves? You start.'
The Warrior with the axe returned and faced the Doctor. He raised a large pincer fist and shoved the Doctor in the chest. With a grunt of surprise, the Doctor was driven backwards into one of the padded chairs.
'Sit?' the Doctor gasped, the air having been rather compressed out of his lungs. 'Excellent idea. Excellent.
I've been on my feet all day.'
The Ice Warrior brought the axe down across the Doctor's middle. It came so close to cutting him in half, the Doctor yelped and breathed in hard. The axe blade bit into one of the chair's arms so that the handle was fixed across the Doctor's body, like a solid metal seat belt. The Doctor was pinned behind it. He wriggled his arms back behind the haft so he could press his palms against it and keep it at bay. There wasn't much room for movement.
'What, um, happens now?' asked the Doctor, looking up at his towering captors. Impassive red-lensed eyes glared down at him.
'Oh dear. I have this horrible hunch that it's going to involve killing me, or lopping bits of me off,' said the Doctor, 'and if that's the case, I just want to say, you know, that's not necessary. Or cool. I'm a reasonable sort. I'm sure we can talk about this—'
'Wordsssss!' hissed the Ice Warrior who had pinned him in place with the axe. The pronouncement was arctic. It was as though every single letter had been chipped out of glacial ice and then forced from the Warrior's downturned slit of a mouth by a blast of polar air.
'W-words?' asked the Doctor.
'Your elimination isss inevitable,' said the Ice Warrior, 'but firssst, there will be an exchange of wordsss.'
Each syllable of the statement could not have been any colder if the Warrior had personally fetched them from a walk-in freezer. They seemed to smoke in the air like dry ice. The sibilant lizard-hiss of the Warrior's voice sounded like the scrape of a blade being worked on an oiled whetstone.
'You're... proposing to have a conversation with me?' asked the Doctor.
'The conversssation will not be conducted by me,'
hissed the giant.
'Oh, interesting! Who do I get to talk to, then?'
asked the Doctor.
A figure had entered the chamber behind the half-ring of Warriors. He was not as tall or as broad as any of them, but he was just as imposing.
The Ice Lord wore a regal, form-fitting body suit of titanium mesh. It was the colour of verdigrised brass pipework or pellucid green sea-ice. His armoured mantle and long storm cloak were of a darker green, as though they had been woven from the needles of an evergreen tree. His sharply domed helm was like the nose of a burnished artillery shell. It was made of gleaming white steel with a faint threadwork of pale green. It looked as though it could have been sculpted out of the finest Pentelic marble. The eye slots were lensed with jade glass.
The Ice Lord came and stood in front of the Doctor.
'You talk to me,' he said. His voice was deeper than the wheezing, hissing tones of the bulky Ice Warriors.
It reminded the Doctor of a distant rumble of thunder, like a ferocious ice storm lurking below the horizon of a bleak antarctic waste.
'Great!' declared the Doctor. 'Let's start! What shall we talk about? I think the weather's always a polite topic of conversation. Shall we discuss the weather?
Been a bit chilly of late, hasn't it? Real overcoat weather. What do you think?'
'Tell me about the new weapons you have arrayed against us,' said the Ice Lord.
'I don't know anything about any weapons,'
answered the Doctor, 'new or otherwise.'
'Disinformation is not a good strategy to employ,'
said the Ice Lord. 'New weapons have been produced and used. Account for them. Explain them.'
'I can assure you,' replied the Doctor firmly, 'I have no knowledge of any weapons deployed against you.
My only participation in your business today has been trying to prevent you from killing me and my friends.'
The Ice Lord stared down at the Doctor for a long time, longer than any human would have held a silence. He didn't seem to be having any difficulty comprehending the remark. It was more as though the Ice Lord believed that, if he waited long enough, he would get the answer he was waiting for.
This, the Doctor knew, was entirely typical of Martian psychology. As a result, he did not respond.
He fixed his gaze directly on the jade eye slits and waited. You didn't win an argument with an Ice Warrior by arguing. You won it by staying silent for longer.
Behind the jade lenses, black eyes gleamed like oiled obsidian.
'This is disinformation,' the Ice Lord said at last. 'In the surface woodland earlier tonight, you evaded one of my combat echelons. You, and three other mammals.'
'That could have been anyone,' replied the Doctor.
'It was you. Heatprints do not lie. It is verified.'
'They were chasing us,' said the Doctor. 'They didn't seem all that friendly. We were obliged to run.'
The Ice Lord remained silent for another over-long moment.
'When you refused to surrender,' he said eventually,
'they fired upon you. You withstood their sonic disruptors. I return to my original question. Tell me about the new weapons that have been arrayed against us. New weapons that can repel sonic attack.'
'Oh, that?' said the Doctor. He tried to appear relaxed, leaning back and attempting to casually cross his legs. The axe wedged across his chest rather cramped his style. After a couple of tries, he was forced to put his leg back down and pretend he'd only been trying to pick lint off his coat. 'I wouldn't characterise that as a weapon. It was an improvised defence against your unprovoked and lethal assault.'
'Make an account of it,' the Ice Lord growled.
The Doctor sighed. 'I can show you,' he said. He shrugged helplessly against the axe that caged him in the chair. 'Can I get to a pocket?'
The Ice Lord looked at the attending Warrior and nodded. The Warrior reached forward, grasped the axe and plucked it out of the chair.
The Doctor breathed out, smiled, and fished around in his coat for his sonic screwdriver. He took it out and showed it to the Ice Lord.
'A simple multifunction tool,' he said. 'Not a weapon. Attacked by your cohort, I adjusted it to generate a noise-cancelling field that blocked the effects of their disruptors. Passive resistance. Do you understand me? Not a weapon.'
'Demonstrate.'
'I can't. Fendin
g your warriors off pretty much exhausted this device. It is non-functional.'
There was another long pause.
'On the other occasions,' said the Ice Lord, 'were devices such as this employed?'
'What other occasions?' asked the Doctor.
'Do not evade.'
'I'm not,' said the Doctor. 'What other occasions?'
'This conflict is escalating,' the Ice Lord said. 'The latest advance gained by your side is a resistance to our sonic weapons. It has required us to re-equip with blade weapons. Are you the architect of this tactical advantage?'
'Oh, come on,' said the Doctor. 'I block your sonic blasters during one skirmish in the woods – a frantic improvisation, I might add - and you revise your entire combat strategy? You dump your high-tech guns in favour of ritual blades? Seriously, I'm impressive, but I'm not that impressive.'
'Your arrival in this theatre coincided with the sudden negation of our sonic arsenal. Can you deny that you are the architect of this tactical improvement?'
'You are misreading the facts,' said the Doctor.
The Ice Lord did not reply. At an almost leisurely pace, he crossed to the other high-backed chair, rotated it to face the Doctor, and sat down.
'Where have you and the other new arrivals come from?' the Ice Lord asked.
'We arrived yesterday,' replied the Doctor.
'All of you?'
'Yes.'
'How?'
'In my ship,' replied the Doctor.
The Ice Lord paused again. 'We have not detected a ship. Orbital surveillance is continuous and comprehensive. We have not detected a ship, certainly not a ship large enough to contain all of you.'
'Well, there you are,' said the Doctor. 'I'm telling the truth. Your instruments must be wrong. So, you're monitoring the human population on Hereafter?'
'Of course.'
'How do you distinguish between the existing population and any new arrivals?'
'Heatprints do not lie,' said the Ice Lord.
The Doctor nodded. 'Ah, yes, right. Everyone's thermal image is as unique as a gene-scan or a retina,'
he mused. He turned his head and took a wistful look at the hatch that Amy had sealed behind her. The woolly mitten was on the deck where it had fallen.
'Or a palm-print,' he added, ruefully. He looked back at the Ice Lord. 'All right. This is interesting. You detected heatprints that didn't match any on your database, so you despatched troops to find and identify the new arrivals.'
'Precise monitoring must be maintained,' replied the Ice Lord. 'Constant threat evaluation and analysis keeps us ahead in this war.'
'This cold war,' the Doctor said. He sat back. 'How long have you been here?'
'Ten Earth years.'
'But only in these last few weeks or so have you revealed yourselves?'
'Alterations made to the climate engines were sufficient at first. We were waiting for the effects to manifest. However, we have been forced to become more proactive.'
'Your plan has run into difficulties?' pressed the Doctor.
'It has turned into open war.'
'Has it?' asked the Doctor. 'Has it indeed? Again, and I'm sorry if I offend, you are simply misreading the facts. You are traumatically altering the climate of this planet and, as a direct consequence of that policy, you are going to exterminate a sentient population.
Progressive genocide. I'd say that puts you in a difficult place, morally speaking, just to begin with.
Then I arrive, and get caught in the middle, and my actions are misinterpreted as your victims fighting back. Now, in your eyes, it's a war? You are simply misreading the facts.'
'And you know more than you claim to know,'
replied the Ice Lord. 'In this complex, just a short time ago, you addressed my Warriors as you fled from them. Ssord, repeat the words the prisoner used.'
The Ice Warrior with the axe took a step forward. In a compressed air-hiss, he said, 'The captive ssspoke thusss: "Warriorsss of the Tanssor clan line of the Ixon Monsss family, inform your warlord that the Belot'ssar greetsss him.'"
'Explain how you know these things,' the Ice Lord said to the Doctor.
'It's obvious,' replied the Doctor. 'You are of the Tanssor Clan. The characteristic pattern of scales and ridges on your breastplates and helmets is unmistakable. The emblem on your pectoral confirms that your clan allegiance is to the Ixon Mons family, which is one of the most code-honourable families on Old Mars. It's a simple matter of observation.'
'And also a simple matter to conclude that you have encountered my species before,' said the Ice Lord.
'I never claimed I hadn't.'
'Your knowledge of our culture is considerable. You know how to fortify against our weapons. You understand the lineage and hierarchy of our bloodlines.
You distinguish the polymorphic traits of our physiology, a habit seldom known in other races. And you know words in our language. Belot'ssar.'
'Indeed,' smiled the Doctor. ' Belot'ssar. I was wondering when we'd get to that.'
'As I was wondering why you used the term.'
'It means cold blue star,' said the Doctor.
'Curiously enough, I know what it means,' replied the Ice Lord. 'Why did you use the phrase in, so it seems, reference to yourself?'
'Because that's how I'm known to your people,'
replied the Doctor. He looked quite pleased with himself. 'Traditionally, I mean. Your people, particularly the Ixon Mons family, know me as cold blue star. It's a reference to the ship I travel in. The title is an honorific. It shows me to be a true and lasting friend to the Ixon Mons dynasty, but also a fair and daunting adversary.'
The Doctor rose to his feet. The Ice Lord stood to face him. The Doctor drew himself up, narrowing his eyes to look at the Ice Lord. He was fearless. The gloves were off. It was time to play his ace.
'I have been a friend to the dynasties of Mars,' said the Doctor, 'but I have also been a foe. I have fought them many times and I have won every time. Ice Lord Azylax, warlord of the Tanssor, personally named me the Belot'ssar as a mark of respect, so that future generations would know me and tread carefully. The situation on this planet will end. You will disengage, and you will cease your prosecution of the human population. That's your final warning. I am everything your ancestors warned you about. I am the Belot'ssar.'
The Ice Lord stared back at him. There was no expression.
'Never heard of you,' he said.
'What?' asked the Doctor.
'I am Ixyldir, warlord of the Tanssor Clan,' said the Ice Lord. 'There has never been a warlord called Azylax. We know nothing of a respected foe known as the cold blue star!
'But...' the Doctor began.
'Hang on...' he floundered.
'That's just not...' he added.
He sat down and rested his forehead on his hand.
'Time travel,' he murmured. He slapped his palm against his forehead repeatedly, scolding himself.
'Lets you down every! Single! Time! I have got to learn to set my watch!'
He looked up at Ixyldir and the Ice Warriors.
'All that,' he said, gesturing vaguely into the space where he had just been standing, as if to encapsulate his bold and defiant performance. 'All of that showy-offy stuff, could we just pretend that never happened? I can see from your faces that we can't. You're going to kill me.'
'You were going to die anyway,' replied the Ice Lord.
'Yes,' said the Doctor, 'but now I'm going to be really annoyed when it happens.'
'We've got to go back!' Amy raged, fighting against the firm grips both Samewell and Arabel had on her.
And do what, precisely?' Arabel asked.
'Save him!' Amy blurted. 'Rescue him! Poke the Ice Men in the eyes with sticks! I don't know!'
'Ice Warriors,' Samewell corrected her.
Amy turned on him. 'Oh, really? Really? Now is the time to focus on that? Is it, Samewell Crook? Is it really?'
Arabel pulled Amy away from the cringing Sam
ewell. 'You're upset,' she said.
'Damn right!' Amy cried. 'We just left the Doctor to die! We left him trapped there, surrounded by the giant green lizard things! That's just... just.
'Just what?' asked Bel.
'It's not how I do things!' Amy declared.
She turned away from them. She was breathing hard, trying to control her anger. They'd been running for a few minutes, following an access corridor into a warren of tunnels that had finally led out onto the walkway where they were now standing.
In the vast gulf of the rock-cut cavern below them, huge turbines pumped and rumbled. There was an amber cast to the light. Vapour rose up around the suspended mesh walkway that supported them.
'He's always there for me,' Amy said quietly. 'He's always got my back. He's crossed time and space to save me, more than once. And I just ditched him.'
She turned to face them. Samewell and Arabel were watching her with great concern. Amy held up one baggy sleeve of her duffel coat.
'Also, I lost a glove,' she sniffed, 'which I know is a completely different scale of things to be upset about, but it's annoying, you know?'
'He will be all right,' said Bel.
'How do you know that?' asked Amy.
'Well,' said Bel, 'I haven't known your Doctor for anything like as long as you have. I realise that. But just in the short time I've been around him, I've been filled with a confidence. He knows what he's doing.
I've... I've never met anyone who seems so capable.'
'Bel's right,' said Samewell. 'The Doctor wanted us to go. He told us to. He was quite plain about it. It was the only way.'
'Those things, they had us cornered,' said Bel. 'He wanted us to escape.'
'That won't be much consolation to him when he's dead,' said Amy.
'But it might be consolation to him as he's dying,'
replied Bel.
Amy breathed out hard. She turned away, gripped the metal handrail and stared down into the pit where the mighty terraforming engines were performing their slow toil.
'He always has more than one plan,' she said quietly.
'How do you mean?' asked Bel.
'He wanted us to escape,' said Amy, turning back to face them. There was a new expression on her face. 'I mean, of course he did. He was trying to save us, and he'd lay down his life for anyone. But I know the Doctor. He's like one of those chess grand masters, you know?'