The Slitheen Excursion

by Simon Guerrier

  Then it pounced.

  ‘Help!’ cried June as she fell back from the outstretched claws, the teeth, the whole huge creature launching itself at her. In her fear, her legs wouldn’t respond. She tumbled into the hard ground, eyes open wide on the lioness barrelling through the air towards her, the great silhouette blacking out brilliant stars . . .

  And a slender shape darted between her and the lioness. It twisted in and up, pressing itself into the nook of the lioness’s shoulder. The lioness was spun deftly over onto its back. It crashed down into the earth just beside June, the impact jolting right through her body.

  She and the lioness exchanged startled looks. Then the lioness looked up at the silhouette of the man that had thrown it over his shoulder. And, with a kitten-like mew, it slunk off to rejoin its friends.

  June scrambled up onto her feet, behind the Doctor. He stood perfectly still, majestic in front of the three lions.

  ‘In your own time, then!’ she told him, but he didn’t respond. His eyes were open but she saw the same lack of expression on his face. He’d snapped out of his coma to save her, but now, just a moment later, she had lost him once again. ‘Oh, come on,’ she said, slapping her hand against his shoulder. ‘This isn’t fair!’

  The lioness he’d thrown now skulked behind the other two lions. June almost felt sorry for it. But its friends weren’t so easily put off. The male stepped forward and roared at the Doctor, filling the still night with its challenge. It was so loud it made June’s ears ring. Yet the Doctor didn’t seem to notice. The male shifted back on its haunches, ready to pounce on him. There was nothing June could do.

  And then it and the two lionesses just turned round and fled. In a moment they were lost in the long grass, completely invisible within it. What might have been the movement of three lions could just as well have been the breeze.

  Only then did June hear the low rumbling behind them. She turned to see a horse racing towards her, dragging a simple, two-wheeled chariot behind it. A short, slender woman in a gleaming, egg-shaped helmet gripped the reins, a second woman behind her brandished a bow and arrow.

  The horse snorted as the chariot came to a halt beside June and the Doctor. June held up her hands, showing she carried no weapons. She smiled her sweetest smile but felt her heart turning over. The woman with the bow leapt nimbly out of the chariot and came over, the bow pointing right at June. She wore a simple tunic. Long dark hair ran down her back in plaits, tightly coiled ringlets framed a pretty face.

  ‘I thought we were cat food!’ June told her, eager to make friends.

  The woman with the bow couldn’t have been more than one and a half metres tall, and gazed up at June warily. Thick black mascara emphasised almond-shaped eyes. June realised with a shock that these slender, capable women couldn’t be out of their teens. And that they wouldn’t understand her, even if she spoke to them in Greek.

  ‘You’ll come with us,’ said the woman with the bow – in English.

  ‘What?’ said June, taken aback. ‘Please,’ she told the two warrior women. ‘My friend is sick.’

  ‘You’ll come with us,’ repeated the woman with the bow. ‘Or you will die.’

  ‘Oh,’ said June. ‘Well, if you put it like that . . .’

  The chariot sped across the rocky ground and June had nothing but the Doctor to hold on to. He lay curled up, like a giant child, his top half in her lap. She cradled him, not knowing what else to do.

  June had no idea how the two tough warrior women stayed on their feet as they raced along. It was hard enough just sitting in the chariot, her legs hanging over the back. The chariot was a low, oblong box, the frame made from slender branches of wood, the panels just pale, stringy leather, springy under their weight. June supposed it worked like suspension, but they didn’t half bounce around. She could feel the vibration through her teeth and limbs.

  She glanced up at the warrior women piloting the thing. They wore long swords on their belts, the dark metal scuffed and tarnished with use. Their bare legs were tanned and scarred. June felt puny sat with them on the chariot. She wondered what they had planned for her and the Doctor. Were they prisoners, or slaves, or worse?

  The two warrior women leant back as they clasped the reins, but otherwise had nothing to hold on to. They just had to balance expertly, a bit like they were water-skiing. It would only take a slight mistake to throw them out onto the rocky ground. No seatbelts, thought June and gripped the Doctor a little tighter.

  They rode on, round the base of the high rock which would one day be the Acropolis. Cold air seethed past them as they went. June considered escaping. She could easily hurl herself from the back of the chariot and just keep running into the night. By the time the women noticed and had turned the chariot round, she might have found somewhere to hide. But she wouldn’t be able to take the Doctor with her, not in his current state. And without him she would never get into the TARDIS, she would never get back home. Her fate was bound to him. She could merely sit on the back of the chariot and wait to see where they ended up.

  But they were not going far. Up ahead, between the main bulk of the Acropolis and a smaller outcrop of rock, stood a wooden wall. It looked crude but strong enough to keep out wild animals. And, as the chariot drew closer, June could see it had been built quite recently.

  A door creaked open in the wall and the chariot slowed up to trot easily through. They entered a small open area surrounded by new, wooden stables. Horses snorted and shuffled around in the shadows. As the warrior women brought their own horse to a stop, human faces peered from the dark openings. When June looked round to stare back at them, the faces melted back into the darkness.

  The warrior women leapt out of the chariot and began to tend the panting horse. They murmured encouragement and wiped the sweat from its flanks. One of the women began to uncouple the chariot from the ties around the horse’s neck and body. The other, the woman with the bow, came over to June and the Doctor.

  ‘I will take him,’ she said, and before June could protest she had scooped the Doctor up in her arms and put him over her shoulder. His long skinny body hung like a dead weight. The warrior woman carried him away.

  ‘Hey!’ June called after her. She scrambled off the back of the chariot, legs all pins and needles from the ride. ‘I need him!’ she called as she followed the warrior woman up a flight of simple wooden steps leading to the great rock. The wood smelt new, freshly hewn, and shifted slightly underfoot. It looked like the planks were only held together by rope. She hoped it wouldn’t collapse underneath her. Then she emerged onto the top of the rock.

  She started in amazement. The Acropolis she knew so well now looked so different, devoid of its ancient monuments. Instead of the great temple to Athene, a few wooden dwellings clustered round each other, a tiny community on the long expanse of rock.

  A single stone building stood to one side, its roof the same shape as a beehive. Smoke coiled from the chimney at the top. The warrior woman carried the Doctor towards it.

  ‘Let me help with him,’ called June as she hurried to catch up. The warrior woman bowed her head to step inside. June reached the doorway and stopped. She could feel the warmth from inside on her bare, cold face. But there was also a strange, spicy stink emanating from the darkness. It made June’s nose tingle. But she couldn’t let them take the Doctor from her. She stepped into the darkness.

  It took her eyes a moment to adjust, and then to make sense of what she was actually seeing. Through the low porch she emerged into a simple, square room with a large space for a fire at its centre. Embers glowed warm and red in the fire, the only light in the room. It made for a solemn, religious atmosphere, a place of peace and contemplation. Scented smoke curled from three-legged pots placed at regular intervals round the room.

  The warrior woman stood on the far side of the fire, where she lay the Doctor down on the ground. Shoes squeaking on the stuccoed floor of coloured zigzags, June hurried round to reach her. The low light made it diffi
cult to tell what the colours might have been, but June guessed red and gold. Everything seemed red and gold in here. Firelight glittered in the polished ceiling and from the golden clothes of the people painted on the walls.

  By the time June reached her, the warrior woman was on her knees beside the Doctor’s body, her head bowed low in prayer. A bearded man in a striped tunic squatted down on the other side of the Doctor and ran his fingers over his face. He wore thick gold rings on each of his fingers and gold bangles on his wrists. June could see he must be important, so she knelt down beside the warrior woman and tried to look respectful.

  The man continued to work, placing his hands over the Doctor’s eyes and intoning some kind of prayer. He was a wiry, athletic man who had seen a fair few battles. A savage, long-healed scar cut down his forehead, missed his eye then continued down his cheek and under his thick, dark beard. Long gold earrings dangled from his ears and he wore some kind of gold tiara. He looked up at June with beautiful, dark eyes.

  ‘You have no magic of your own?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t have anything,’ said June, her voice wavering with awe. ‘I think he just needs rest.’

  ‘Then he shall have rest,’ said the man with satisfaction. ‘I command it.’ He smiled, his teeth in pretty good order so many thousands of years before the invention of toothpaste. June smiled back, eager to win him over.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘He’s my only chance of getting home.’

  The man nodded. ‘You are from the future,’ he said.

  June stared at him. ‘How did you know?’

  The man laughed. ‘Your clothes. Your size. Your expectations.’ He nodded at the warrior woman. ‘We will eat,’ he told her. The warrior woman hurried out.

  The man stood, and took June by the hand, helping her to her feet. She towered over him. Some men she’d met didn’t like that, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘My name is Actaeus,’ he said, bowing to her. ‘My people and I are at your service. Your friend seems comfortable. His breathing is regular. His hearts are beating steadily. Perhaps he just needs to sleep.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said June. She didn’t ask what he meant by the Doctor having hearts, plural – perhaps it was a belief thing. ‘I’m June. Forgive me, but you said “your people”. Are you the king?’

  Actaeus smiled sadly. ‘I was the king of a great province once. Had a home in a town of stone buildings. But an earthquake tore it down. And then my sons were taken . . .’ He tailed off, a terrible look in his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said June. Actaeus looked up at her, surprised. For a moment, June thought that she had said the wrong thing, that it wasn’t done to pity a king. But then he smiled.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Please. Won’t you sit by the fire?’

  She perched on the wide bricks running round the fireside, a warm and homely spot. The Doctor lay perfectly still on the stuccoed floor, just as if he were asleep. Actaeus gathered some logs from a heap and tossed them onto the fire, then came to sit next to her. The embers crackled and spat at the dry logs and bright yellow flame erupted round them. June felt the heat pressing through her clothes, the muscles in her neck and shoulders starting to unwind. Perhaps the past wasn’t so bad.

  Actaeus looked about to say something. But then there was a movement from the far side of the fire. June turned to see two young women run in, carrying trays. They were beautiful, dressed in tight bodices and long flounced skirts. In fact, they moved with such girlish elegance and grace that June didn’t recognise them at first. But these were the two warrior women who had captured her and the Doctor.

  ‘My daughters,’ Actaeus told June. ‘Aglauros and Pandrosos.’

  ‘How do you do,’ said June to the two princesses. They smiled at her, though she saw something cold and dead in the eyes of Aglauros, the scars of some terrible calamity. Aglauros glanced quickly away, then looked back with a forced smile on her face, defiance in her eyes. Eager not to offend, June looked away, admiring their exquisite jewellery, delicately hewn pieces of gold and lapis lazuli in the shapes of butterflies and flowers.

  ‘I’ve never seen gold worked so beautifully,’ she told them, though she had seen something similar behind glass in a museum.

  The princesses – if that was what they were – grinned and giggled back at her. They behaved like children, nothing like the warriors she’d seen before. But she also realised she had misunderstood them. They hadn’t threatened her, they had offered her sanctuary. If they’d left her and the Doctor out in the open she would have been eaten by the lions. ‘Come with us,’ they’d said, ‘or die.’ They had meant it kindly.

  ‘Your daughters saved our lives,’ she told the king. ‘They saved us from three lions.’

  She’d expected the king to be pleased but his expression darkened. ‘They must learn to hunt the lions,’ he said. ‘It is all I can do to protect them.’

  ‘The lions attack you?’ June asked.

  Actaeus glanced away from her, over at the paintings glittering on the wall. ‘My daughters will be ready,’ he said. He clearly didn’t want to be drawn on this, so June let it be. With the Doctor unconscious, she needed these people on her side.

  Aglauros, the older of the two princesses, knelt down before June with a clay basin and jug. Again, June could see the girl struggling with some inner torture, but thought better of asking about it outright. Maybe if they were alone together sometime, she could have a quiet word.

  They took turns to wash their hands in the clay basin. Aglauros only put her right hand forward, keeping her left to one side. It took June a moment to realise why: just as with the Greeks and Romans, these people ate only with their right hands. Until people invented toilet paper, their left hands were used for something else. June copied Aglauros, washing her right hand. When she was done, Aglauros held out the cloth.

  Pandrosos came forward with shallow clay bowls of what looked like stew, chunks of meat in an oily sauce. Following Aglauros’ example, June dipped her fingers into the hot, sticky sauce and extracted a cube of meat. It squished between her fingers, drooling oil down her hand. She popped it into her mouth and chewed. Her eyes widened in delight and she made appreciative noises at Pandrosos.

  They didn’t talk as they ate, which was good because it took concentration. June couldn’t help getting oily sauce down her wrists and chin, but the king and princesses didn’t seem to be doing much better. She found herself grinning as she ate. Being messy was fun.

  When they had finished, Aglauros came forward with the basin and jug so they could wash their fingers. Actaeus burped loudly, making his daughters laugh. Then he offered his hand to June and helped her to her feet. The princesses began to gather up the bowls.

  ‘Can I help?’ June asked them. The princesses looked surprised.

  Actaeus laughed. ‘You are an honoured guest,’ he said. ‘And a worse fate awaits you.’ June froze. But Actaeus only smiled at her. ‘The history of our people is painted on the walls.’

  ‘He bores everyone with the paintings,’ said Aglauros, like her dad was getting out the family photos.

  ‘Not everyone,’ Actaeus chided. ‘Only honoured guests.’

  ‘Then I’d be honoured,’ June told him, which made Aglauros laugh. Actaeus led her over to the walls. He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he stood back, letting June look over the pictures, making sense of them herself.

  The scenes, painted right onto the plaster, showed slender warriors in the same egg-shaped helmets Aglauros had been wearing on the chariot. They marched in formation and fought in a war and perhaps one scene showed a wedding. As well as the soldiers there were women and children, and scenes of strange, mythic creatures.

  June tried to match the creatures to the Greek legends she knew – things that might have been griffins, or the giant bird of prey called a Roc. But she couldn’t place the enormous, bald monsters with claws the length of a man and staring, wide black eyes. They emerged from a building with slender
fins and engines, clearly some kind of spacecraft.

  ‘Aliens,’ she said, in horror. ‘They’re aliens!’

  ‘They are our masters,’ said Actaeus, loyally. But June could see he didn’t like it, his whole body bristled as he said what was expected. ‘They feed us and help us, and in return they only ask for a small payment. That we pay them willingly.’

  ‘But who are they?’

  Actaeus looked confused. ‘They are our masters,’ he said. ‘They are called Slitheen.’

  ‘They’re not your masters,’ said a voice from behind them. They turned in surprise to find the Doctor sitting up. Light glittered in his eyes, alert and intelligent. His expression was deadly serious.

  ‘I’ve met them before,’ he said. ‘And trust me, you don’t owe them anything.’

  FOUR

  ‘DOCTOR, YOU’RE ALIVE!’ said June, running over and hugging him. He patted her back rather awkwardly and after a moment she withdrew.

  ‘Sorry if I scared you,’ he said, scooping up some of the stew in his right hand. ‘But you seem to have done OK. Where are we? Who are the people in all the bling?’ He stuffed the meat into his mouth and his eyes opened wide as he chewed.

  June glanced back at the king and two princesses. ‘This is King Actaeus and his daughters, Aglauros and Pandrosos. They rescued us. From lions.’

  ‘Thank you,’ nodded the Doctor. ‘This lamb is really good. Lentils. And some coriander?’ Pandrosos nodded eagerly. ‘We’re very flattered.’

  Pandrosos bowed. ‘We only had a little left,’ she said.

  ‘But it’s just what I needed,’ said the Doctor. ‘Something to latch on to. Focus the synapses and . . . Those other things like synapses. It’ll come back to me.’ He ran his tongue round his teeth and then grinned. ‘You know,’ he said to June, ‘some people show their love by cooking. I love people like that.’ He took another great handful of food.

  ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better,’ said Actaeus, coming forward to sit with them. It struck June as odd that a king would sit on the floor. But he seemed keen to welcome them into his home as equals.