by BBCi Cult
'In a way. The shape of the pyramid is perfect. It's designed to focus power beamed from Osiris and from a relay station on Mars. It's that focusing ability which drew the TARDIS here when I tried to land nearby. She operates on a similar sort of energy.'
They reached a junction in the corridor, and the Doctor waved a finger tentatively at one of the passages. 'This way, I think,' he said, setting off down the other one. 'The power to operate the servicers - the mummies - the time travel sarcophagus at the museum, all the Osiran technology in fact, goes through this relay chain.'
'Chain?'
'Yes, the pyramids which are built in the shape of the constellation of Orion.' The Doctor stopped and turned to Atkins, who almost cannoned into him. 'Where did you think the power came from?' he asked abruptly.
Atkins shook his head. 'Can't we shut it off somehow?' he asked. 'Would that help?'
'I don't know what it would do,' the Doctor admitted as he set off again. 'But since that would involve destroying Osiris, which Sutekh has already done, the entire constellation of Orion, which nobody would thank us for, Mars, which would throw the solar system off balance in a rather big way, or most of Egypt, I don't think we're about to find out. Do you?'
The full moon shone across the dark rippling water of the swamp. Trees overhung the edges in the distance, framing the scene. Rassul watched the mummy wading through the water towards him, its bandages tattered, muddied, and riddled with pellet holes.
It was carrying the woman across its outstretched arms. The water was up above the mummy's knees, but it continued walking towards Rassul, seemingly unworried how deep the swamp might be.
The woman flopped like a doll, her long, straight dark hair cascading down from her lolling head and dripping into the water. Her features were classical, slightly aquiline. She was slumped as if unconscious, although her eyes were open. Cat's eyes with large pupils.
She was wearing a white night-gown, legs dangling from its white hem. In one hand, the she held a carved statuette of a cobra, gripping it tight. On her wedding finger was a ring inset with a blue stone shaped into a scarab beetle; round her wrist an ornate Egyptian bracelet of gold.
Rassul waited as the mummy slowly approached. His attention was focused on the woman. He did not see Vanessa, but another woman. A figure from across the millennia.
'But why Mars, Doctor?'
They were in a walkway close to the outer edge of the pyramid. As Atkins spoke, they reached a low window looking out over the desert. It was little more than a small square hole in the side of the structure, allowing the dying sunlight to creep in and wash across the stone floor.
'It's the one planet in the solar system without a magnetic pole. No disruption, so they could gather the energy from a fairly diffuse beam over such a distance. Osiran technology depends on magnetic monopoles, which only work outside the influence of a bipolar magnetic field. Some power keeps the Martian end of things running, like the Eye of Horus and the forcefield generators. The rest they re-focus, and relay to Earth.'
'Which does have magnetic poles?'
The Doctor nodded. He stopped and looked out of the window. 'The pyramids collect the energy beam, then pass the power on to the dispersal point. That gathers it all up again, boosts it like a transformer, and sends it out to power the mummies, the sarcophagus, and whatever else there is that the Osirans want to keep running.'
Kamose seemed to be following even less of the conversation that Atkins. 'What is this dispersal point?' he asked.
'Another pyramid?' Atkins hazarded.
The Doctor shook his head, and nodded at the window. Atkins and Kamose both crowded closer to see out. The sun was setting slowly, its flames licking round the head of the Sphinx as it fell. They both turned and looked back at the Doctor.
He nodded. 'The line the sun takes as it sinks traces perfectly round the head of the sphinx when viewed from here. What perfect geometry.' He shook his head in admiration, and set off down the corridor once more.
'The Sphinx?' Atkins hastened to catch up.
'It's older than most people think. When it was carved out of the living rock, and I mean living, between eight and ten thousand years ago, the sun would have risen exactly between the Sphinx's feet.'
'But that's older than the pyramids.'
'Of course. The dispersal unit was built and charged up by the Osirans. Then when they departed, they left strict instructions on how to build the pyramids to supply a constant stream of power. On Mars they either did the building themselves, or found another religiously fanatical people to do it for them. I can think of a couple of candidates.'
'I have heard it said,' Kamose spoke quietly, and they slowed to let him catch up so they could hear, 'that there is a Sphinx on Mars.'
Atkins guffawed loudly. Then stopped suddenly. 'Is that true?'
'Oh yes,' Kamose said seriously. 'But it was an American, from Oregon. I do not know if they can be trusted any more or less than other Americans.'
Atkins frowned. 'I meant, is it true that there is a Sphinx on Mars.'
'Of course,' the Doctor was off again, lengthening his stride. 'That's how the re-focused power gets beamed on to Earth. And both Sphinxes have had their heads reshaped, as it were, to resemble a great local ruler. The original face of the Sphinx was the face of Horus.' He paused at a junction, then continued along the passage they were in. 'There's an identical set of pyramids too, though they look like a range of mountains from space.'
'A great undertaking,' Kamose offered.
'Yes. Ingenious. But not without its problems.'
'Such as?' asked Atkins.
'Well, as the angle of the Earth slowly alters, the alignment moves off. So the power is dissipated over time. Constellations shift, alignments change, sunrise is in a slightly different position. The sunset is a less perfect match to the Sphinx's shape as the Earth moves and the Sphinx erodes. Also, the Sphinx periodically gets buried, that fogs the focus, so to speak.'
'So it's best to keep it clear of sand?' Atkins asked. 'I see it has been dug out since I last saw it.'
Kamose looked sideways at Atkins, but said nothing.
The Doctor nodded. 'There's something of a fail-safe for that though, I fancy. Remember the story that Thutmose was told by the Sphinx in a dream to dig it out. More than likely that was a pulse of Osiran mental energy focused on someone with the power to make it happen while he was in a particularly receptive position relative to the pyramids and the Sphinx.'
Atkins recalled the legend. 'He was sleeping by the head of the Sphinx, which was buried up to its neck. He rested in its shadow during the heat of the day.' The Doctor stopped again, and this time Atkins did walk into him. The Doctor spun round, but seemed not to have noticed the collision. 'Of course,' he said, 'I should have realized.'
'What?'
'Napoleon had the Sphinx dug out as well. And just before he gave the orders, he visited this pyramid. According to contemporary reports, he insisted on taking just one trusted captain inside as a guide, and he left him outside the great chamber when he went in. When he came out of the pyramid he was white and shaking with fear.' Atkins struggled to fit this into the facts they already had. 'You think he saw some manifestation of the Sphinx's power?'
The Doctor bit at his lower lip. 'It would be an enormous coincidence if he didn't.' They had reached a corner in the corridor. The Doctor rounded it first. 'Ah,' he said loudly, and they hurried to catch up. The corridor opened out slightly ahead of them, and in the distance, they could see the opening. An iron gate barred the end of the passage, the darkening desert visible beyond.
'Now then,' said the Doctor as they reached the gate, 'we'll just let our good friend here through, then we'll see if we can't find some record of who was behind the expedition.' He pulled a piece of wire from his top pocket, and set to work on the lock. After a few moments, it clicked free, and the gate swung open. The Doctor gestured for Kamose to go first. 'Thank you for all your help,' he said. 'If anything else h
appens to occur to you, perhaps you could leave a message with whoever mans this gate tomorrow?'
Kamose stood for a moment in the gateway, looking out across the desert as the sun set behind the Sphinx. 'Is the shape of the Sphinx significant in itself, Doctor?' he asked.
The Doctor and Atkins followed his gaze. The Sphinx was back-lit by a glorious crimson glow. 'I don't know,' the Doctor admitted. Probably it's geometrically primed to accept and hold the energy, but it's more complex than the pyramid designs.'
'I remember little of detail about the excavations,' Kamose said quietly, 'except what I have already told you. There was great care taken in the cataloguing and packing, but an unhealthy speed to the excavation work itself. There were accidents, of course. One in particular I remember.'
He turned towards the Doctor and Atkins. They were listening carefully, and Kamose went on: 'The man in charge, the man I think you seek, got careless. He climbed a pile of stones that had been cut from the tomb, I think to see how the work was progressing beyond them. The stones shifted, moved, and he fell.'
'Was he killed?' asked Atkins.
'Oh no. But his leg was trapped and broken in the fall. He refused to take time to have it set, insisted on remaining at the site and continuing to oversee the work. The physician did his best, but he said the Englishman would never fully recover.'
'Englishman?'
'Oh yes, he was English. I told you - the excavations were for the British Museum.' 'And did he recover?'
Kamose shook his head. 'I was reminded of the incident just now. The Englishman bought himself a walking stick from one of the expedition who had worked on it in the evenings, between the shifts. The handle was carved into the shape of the Sphinx.'
* * *
London, 1991
The smell of petrol was everywhere. He had to hold the handkerchief tight to his face to keep the fumes out, and still he was coughing. He held the can away from his body, careful not to get the clear viscous liquid on his clothes. He was backing down the stairs, shaking the can as he went, spilling an intermittent stream of fluid over the carpet.
When he reached the bottom, he continued to back round the staircase. He came level with the door, and set down the jerry can. He had checked the floor twice already, but he ducked through the door into the area under stairs once more. The cupboard was dark, but the light from the hallway illuminated the floor. And the fresh cement which concealed and protected the trapdoor beneath.
Satisfied, Aubrey Prior closed the door behind him. They could chip out the cement afterwards, could dig their way back in to the cellar. To the mummy.
He paused in the doorway, looked round the hall for the last time. Then he struck a match, heard the zip of the match-head along the strip of sandpaper, watched the flare of ignition, and tossed the tiny flame into the house. He jumped back, slamming the door before the hall erupted into a mass of flames.
From his car across the road, Sadan Rassul watched as Prior ran from the house. Then he lifted the hourglass from the dashboard, and held it up to the light of the fire as it took hold in the main hallway of Kenilworth House. The sand trickled almost imperceptibly from the upper bowl of glass. But Rassul smiled and nodded. So soon now and it would be finished.
So soon.
The flames licked up the staircase and swirled along the hall driven by the draft from the open windows. In the cellar, the mummy lay calm and still, oblivious to the inferno raging above her.
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
They picked their way over the broken splinters of the front door, and looked round the debris-strewn lounge. Norris immediately slumped into an armchair and sank his head into his hands. Tegan stood over him, hands on hips as she watched Norris rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.
After a while, he looked up, his face sagging and his eyes sunken, perhaps from rubbing them, perhaps from the strain of holding back his tears. 'I should have known,' he said quietly. 'It was all too good to last. When I found out about her, I should have known something would happen.'
Tegan looked at the ceiling for a while. She could see that there was no easy way to shake Norris out of his mood, and she appreciated something of what he must be feeling. But she had to persuade him to help himself. 'Look,' she said after consideration, 'the Doctor will be back soon. He'll know what to do.'
Norris leaned back in his chair and exhaled loudly. 'I don't see he'll be able to do much good.'
'Why not?' Tegan was getting exasperated. Then she remembered something else Norris had just said. 'And what did you mean, you found out about her? What did you find out?'
Norris did not react to Tegan's frustration or rising voice. He continued to stare at the carpet. Then abruptly, he looked up and his eyes met hers. And Tegan could see the depth of distress and the very real emotion lurking inside him.
'I found out,' he murmured quietly, 'that Vanessa Prior does not exist.'
Atkins was not bored. He had sat and watched Lord Kenilworth studying manuscripts and volumes for hours, just as now he sat watching the Doctor go over his notes yet again.
They were in the TARDIS library, sitting on opposite sides of a reading table in a small bay between the infinite lines of bookcases. The Doctor's main focus was the notebook in which he had copied down the inscriptions from the hidden chamber of Nyssa's tomb. But round this lay concentric semi-circles of books and papers, scribbled notes and rolls of papyrus. As he went through the notebook, the Doctor would reach out, usually without looking, and pull some ancillary document towards him. Then he would peer through his half-moon spectacles, frown, make a hurried annotation in the margin, and push the document away again. Occasionally, the Doctor referred to the illuminated screen set into the tabletop, pressing areas of the glass with his finger and staring at the streams of text and pictures which flowed across the surface like lilies across a pond. But most of the time he stared at the copied inscriptions, shaking his head.
Atkins watched. He enjoyed watching academic work in progress, experienced a vicarious excitement from research. It had been years before it had occurred to him that he could join in, could learn things for himself in the same way. But he still enjoyed simply watching the process of discovery. And in the current circumstances, he was sure that any help he offered would merely impede the Doctor's progress. As it was, the Doctor seemed grateful for his presence. He would look up, say something completely incomprehensible, then smile as if he had scored a major point and continue working.
'Of course,' he said on one such occasion, smacking his palm to his forehead. 'They actually convinced Scaroth that building the pyramids would help hasten human evolution in the way he needed. So he oversaw the construction work for them.' The Doctor shook his head in disbelief. 'Staggering.' Atkins nodded in agreement, and the Doctor returned his attention to his notes.
As he watched, Atkins reflected on the way the last few days had turned out. Certainly he had not expected to be caught up in the Doctor's life to any extent when he had left to deliver the invitation. But he was beginning to gain an appreciation for the tricks Time could play, and could start to believe some of the things the Doctor had been saying about the inviolable nature of past events. 'Whatever will be, has been,' he had told Atkins at one point, and this seemed to be ratified by the way in which Kenilworth's accusations and assertions concerning Atkins' part in the expedition had subsequently been born out. He had been there. And at the same time (or was it actually earlier?) he had been in London helping Miss Warne to keep house.
Miss Warne. Atkins had thought a lot about the housekeeper while he had been away. He had thought about how he was finding that he missed her. He had thought about how she was still poised with soup over the stove waiting for his return from the British Museum. He had thought about whether she was missing him, although at the same time he knew that she probably did not know he was away. It all depended on when he returned. If he returned. And until he did, he would not know when it would have been
. Whatever has been, will be.
He thought about Tegan too. She and the Doctor were a strangely well-matched pair. They seemed forever to be arguing, yet they also seemed so much in accord. There was a complementary synergy between them, in the way the Doctor was calm and measured while Tegan was rash and impulsive. Yet the Doctor's calm was often hurried and noisy, while his measured manner gave an impression of improvisation. And Tegan's rashness smacked of common sense, while her impulsiveness was often justified as if she had thought through her actions to a degree which belied the manner of their execution.
But it was the fact that Tegan showed her emotions so clearly, and that she brought out extremes of emotion in others which impressed Atkins the most. He had read and heard of the value of expressing one's emotions. But Tegan was the first case study which bore out the theory. Watching her, being with her, hearing her tell people like the shop assistant who was too busy to help a potential customer just what she felt, he could begin to appreciate the value of being emotionally honest and sincere. For the first time he was realizing that he did actually have emotions which were valuable and useful rather than a waste both of energy and of time.
It was a subject, Atkins thought, as he watched the Doctor reach for a book just out of range, that he might raise with Miss Warne at one of their evening discussions. He passed the book to the Doctor, placing it into his outstretched fumbling hand. The Doctor took it, looked up, and smiled. And Atkins felt himself return the smile.
'Careful,' said the Doctor as he returned his attention to the book, 'you'll be enjoying yourself before you know it.'
Atkins continued to smile. He was enjoying himself. He knew things were bad, that there was real danger. But he was exhilarated by the experiences he was having, enthralled at seeing the future, amazed at the things he had witnessed in Egypt. And above all, he was excited at what the future held in store.
The lounge was not large, and the splintered remains of the front door lay spread across most of the area not taken up with furniture. The TARDIS chose about the only remaining free space in which to materialise, the pile of the carpet flattening as the blue box faded into existence.