Martha in the Mirror

by Justin Richards

  He couldn’t believe that my dreams were purely for peace, for an end to the war and the death. Especially as it was I who had devised the strategy to recapture Extremis after the Second Occupation. He thought it must be a ploy, political manoeuvring for my own gain. He thought I was after his job, and he would defend that more fiercely than he would ever defend this castle.

  He thought long and hard about how he could puncture the bubble of public opinion that was growing in my favour as my part in the government and in the recapture of Castle Extremis became known. He considered reopening hostilities, but ultimately even Pennard realised that was madness. The people, now getting used to an uneasy peace, would never tolerate that.

  Which gave him an idea. What if he could prove that I – Manfred Grieg – was the one who wanted war, who really hated the Zerugians and was desperate to take the fight back to them?

  But it was not enough to denounce me. For all his failings, Pennard knew he needed me if he was to maintain the peace. From my negotiations and diplomacy, the Zerugians had recognised my very real desire for peace. As a result, I was the only man the Zerugians would even begin to trust. So Pennard’s challenge was to strip me of my status and popularity while keeping me as an adviser. He needed a way of forcing me to work for him, to keep the Zerugians in check, while giving up all my ambitions and aspirations – as he saw it – for power. Without my help, Zerugma might again wage war and strive to capture Castle Extremis.

  A prison wouldn’t work. I told you the mirror was not just a prison. I was no use to him in prison, so he devised a trap. He went to the Darksmiths of Karagula and told them what he needed. They can bend any material to their will – metal, wood, plastic, glass, and even light itself. They created the Mortal Mirror – named Mortal after the Mortal Monks, and also because that was the trap. Mortality.

  You know, of course, of the great feast. You know how Pennard pretended he was about to honour me and instead forced me into the Mortal Mirror. Everyone saw me – inside, cut off, hammering on the glass and screaming to be let out.

  And when the feast was over and everyone was gone, I was still there, trapped in the glass. And Pennard came and spoke to me. He took a chair, and he sat in front of the mirror and he explained what he had done, and how the mirror worked. And the trap.

  He told me how I could escape from the mirror. Any time I liked, I could come out and he would protect me if I worked for him. But always, I would live in fear of my own mortality. I would remember how brittle and fragile my life would be. I would live from second to second knowing that at any moment…

  Grieg stopped. He stared off into space as he remembered his past.

  Martha and the Doctor were sitting opposite him. The glass girl was beside them. No one had said a word as Grieg told his story.

  ‘But, I don’t understand,’ Martha said. ‘If you could escape from the mirror at any time, what was the point? Was he threatening to put you back in for good, or what?’

  Grieg turned his head to look at her. He held up his hand so that the light was behind it, shining through and illuminating the cracks and chips and blemishes in the coloured glass. ‘This is the point.’

  ‘They’d all seen him in the mirror,’ the Doctor said. ‘Just as Janna saw her own reflection.’

  ‘I had the last laugh,’ Grieg said. ‘Though there was no mirth in it. Only death. I refused to come out of the mirror. He shouted and screamed, and finally begged me to come out. But I retreated into the darkness beyond the reflection, a world that reflects our own but which grows progressively darker the further you move from the light admitted by the mirror. But despite the darkness, the loneliness, I vowed never to set foot again in the real world.’

  ‘And once you were gone,’ the Doctor said, ‘Zerugma went to war with Anthium.’

  He nodded. ‘They saw my fate – my death as it seemed – as an indication that Anthium had turned aside from the road to peace. Without me there to mediate, the war started again. Zerugma took Extremis again, and Orlo’s great grandfather took the Mortal Mirror.’

  ‘But he didn’t destroy it,’ Martha said.

  ‘No. He kept it safe, until now.’

  ‘And why have you come out of the mirror now?’ Martha asked. ‘After all this time?’

  ‘Because once again there is – finally – a chance for peace. If we stop General Orlo. If the treaty negotiations go ahead in good faith.’

  ‘You can have peace at last,’ Martha realised.

  But Grieg shook his head. ‘Oh no. Not me. I shall never have peace. That was Pennard’s trap, the curse of the mirror. As the Doctor said – I have been seen in the mirror. And so, thanks to the light-fusing technology of the Darksmiths, I am made of glass. Brittle, delicate, fragile glass. Every moment I spend in this world, I risk cracking, chipping, breaking, shattering. Our lives are fragile at the best of times. But now I am more fragile than ever. Every step I take, I grind down my own foot. Every moment I am here I risk my life. That was the trap.’

  He stood up, and Martha saw how carefully he planned every moment. How cautiously he moved.

  ‘Now you know.’ Grieg turned to the Doctor, who was also getting to his feet. ‘Now you know what to do, how to end this madness. Get to the ceremony and stop General Orlo.’ He held up his hand, clenching it into a fist so tight that Martha could hear the glass cracking like ice. Grieg’s features contorted in obvious pain as he held up his clenched fist. ‘Make this all worthwhile,’ he said.

  Hurrying back to the Great Hall, Martha knew what they had to do: ‘We must stop the ceremony.’

  ‘Oh no, no, no,’ the Doctor told her. ‘That’s just what we mustn’t do. Don’t you see? Orlo doesn’t understand. His plan’s based on a false premise. We have to let the ceremony go ahead. We have to finish this, flush them out, expose the truth.’

  ‘Doctor, Martha – thank goodness!’ Stellman came running up to them. ‘I couldn’t persuade Defron to postpone the ceremony. He’d already announced it at the press conference and won’t lose face by changing the schedule. It’s going ahead in a few minutes in the Great Hall.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ the Doctor said. ‘That’s terrific. The more people there to see what happens, the better.’

  ‘But I thought—’ Stellman started, hurrying to keep up.

  ‘That was minutes ago,’ Martha told him. ‘He’s changed his mind a dozen times since then.’

  Bill and Bott were clearing away the remains of the shattered glass that had once been Thorodin as they neared the Great Hall.

  ‘Coming through!’ the Doctor yelled.

  The two robots moved quickly aside. Bill had a vacuum attachment fixed to the end of one spindly arm. The Doctor leaped over it as he passed.

  ‘Might need you in the Great Hall soon,’ he called back over his shoulder.

  Then he skidded to a halt. ‘Might well need you actually.’ Martha and Stellman waited while the Doctor ran back to Bill and Bott and talked urgently to them. ‘Is the sound system all set up?’

  ‘Set up and tested,’ Bott said proudly.

  ‘Latest technology,’ Bill added.

  ‘With a top-end range amplifier and tonal distortion matrix built in?’

  ‘As standard,’ Bill agreed.

  ‘State of the art,’ Bott said. ‘And finished in chrome and black.’

  The Doctor beamed. ‘That is fantastic. Definitely going to be needing you.’ He lowered his voice as he explained to them what he wanted. ‘Soon as you can,’ he finished. ‘They’ll be starting in a minute.’

  ‘Happy to help,’ Bott called after the Doctor, Martha and Stellman.

  ‘Just so long as there’s no mess,’ Bill said.

  ‘Maybe there aren’t really any Galactic Alliance agents,’ the Doctor said as they neared the Great Hall. ‘Maybe it’s a bluff, or Defron got the wrong end of the stick, or they haven’t arrived yet.’

  ‘Don’t knock it,’ Martha said. ‘So long as everyone thinks it’s us.’

 
Stellman looked from Martha to the Doctor and back again as Martha spoke. ‘So, just who are you?’

  ‘That’s a very good question,’ the Doctor said. ‘Let’s save it for later. When I can think of a very good answer.’

  ‘We’re here to help,’ Martha said.

  ‘That’s a comfort,’ Stellman told her. He didn’t sound convinced.

  The doors to the Great Hall were standing open, and there was a GA soldier on either side of them. The soldiers snapped to attention as the Doctor, Martha and Stellman passed.

  Inside, the Doctor led them to empty seats near the back of the crowded hall. It had been turned into an auditorium, with a raised area at the end, in front of the Mortal Mirror. Massive speakers were arranged along the sides of the hall, and Martha could make out the tiny microphones the dignitaries on the dais were wearing. Behind her, just inside the doors, was a large sound-mixing desk like she’d seen at the back of theatres and nightclubs. Bill and Bott had sneaked into the hall and were watching from behind the desk.

  ‘Aren’t we going to stop them, or say something?’ Martha asked.

  Defron was on his feet, pressing his hands down on the air to gesture for quiet. The assembled press – a mixture of humans and reptilian Zerugians, as well as various other ‘people’ that Martha wasn’t sure counted as either – became hushed.

  ‘I’m glad I ordered ice cream for the interval,’ the Doctor said. ‘Where’s Stellman gone?’

  ‘Over there.’ Martha pointed to where the man was walking up the aisle in the middle between the rows of chairs to take his seat on the dais. Lady Casaubon looked relieved to see him. General Orlo’s expression was unreadable, but Martha was relieved to see he cast a reflection – the back of his head visible above the back of his chair in the huge mirror.

  ‘Right,’ Defron announced, ‘now that we are all here, I think we can begin. I do apologise for the slight delay, which was due to circumstances beyond my control.’ His eyes sought out the Doctor as he said this. The Doctor waved. Defron did not wave back.

  Along the sides of the hall, GA soldiers stood impassive. The press waited expectantly. What looked like a video camera hovered silently in front of the dignitaries on the dais.

  ‘It is no exaggeration to say,’ Defron went on, ‘that today marks a turning point in the history of two great nations – Anthium and Zerugma. Today, here, now, history will be made.’ He gestured to a small table at the side of the room. A velvet cloth hung down almost to the stone floor, and on it was an open book.

  ‘That must be the treaty they’re going to sign,’ Martha whispered.

  The Doctor yawned. ‘Come on, Orlo,’ he murmured.

  ‘You want him to do something?’ Martha hissed.

  ‘I want him to think he’s in control. If he realises that he’s miscalculated… It’s a good job Thorodin never got a chance to talk to him. I hope.’

  ‘We are about to witness—’ Defron announced. But he got no further.

  ‘Be silent!’ General Orlo roared. The tiny microphone attached to his breastplate and wireless-linked to the sound desk at the back of the hall relayed his words through huge speakers arranged along the sides of the room.

  Defron turned, flustered and confused. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said, be silent.’

  The General rose to his clawed feet and stepped forward. ‘You are right,’ he announced, adjusting his eyepatch as he spoke. ‘History will indeed be made here today. But not by you.’ He grabbed Defron by the shoulders, lifted him off his feet and hurled the startled man from the dais to sprawl across the people sitting in the front row.

  There was confused muttering. Cameras began to flash as the press sensed a photo opportunity.

  Orlo stood at the front of the dais. Behind him Lady Casaubon made to stand up, but Stellman put his hand on her shoulder. Silently he gestured for her to leave the side of the dais.

  ‘Today you will indeed witness history.’ General Orlo stared out at the audience, waiting for silence.

  Martha gasped. ‘The mirror – look in the mirror.’

  There were murmurings as other people also saw what was happening. Heads turned, assuming that what they could see was a reflection of events in the Great Hall. But it was not.

  The mirror was angled so that the press could not see themselves reflected in it. All they could see was General Orlo, alone on the dais now that Defron, Stellman and Lady Casaubon were gone. And the line of Zerugian soldiers marching through the open doors at the back of the hall.

  Their heads appeared first, like the masts of ships rising over the horizon at sea. As they approached the mirror, Martha and everyone else could see the shining breastplates, the clawed hands holding their guns, the snarling dripping teeth.

  Orlo turned, so that it was his reflection that spoke out of the mirror to the confused audience.

  ‘Today, Zerugma will conquer!’ he announced.

  And the reflected image of Orlo stepped out of the mirror to stand beside the real General. His soldiers marching through behind them, weapons raised.

  The noise died away and for several moments there was silence.

  Defron struggled to his feet. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded. His voice was quavering as he addressed the two mirrored figures looking down at him. ‘General Orlo? What is going on here?’

  ‘Victory,’ both Orlos said together.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Of course you don’t, you snivelling wretch,’ the original Orlo declared. He stepped down from the dais and hauled Defron up until the man was on tip-toe, almost at eye level with the massive creature.

  ‘You want to negotiate the red-line clauses?’ Defron asked, his voice rising an octave.

  ‘We will negotiate nothing. This fiasco ends now. I hold Castle Extremis, and my troops will crush any resistance.’ Orlo let go of Defron, who sprawled on the floor at his feet. ‘Negotiation is over.’ He swept his arm across, pointing to the assembled audience. ‘You will report that Zerugma holds Extremis through right of conquest and might of arms.’

  ‘This castle is neutral territory,’ Defron thundered. He seemed to have regained his confidence as he stood up again. ‘It is under the jurisdiction of the Galactic Alliance. Colonel Blench!’

  Blench was at the back of the Great Hall. Martha saw he had been watching events impassively. Now the Colonel stepped into the aisle. ‘Sir,’ he acknowledged.

  ‘You will please relieve the Zerugian troops of their illegal weapons and escort the General – the Generals,’ Defron corrected himself, ‘to the negotiating chamber. We will sort this out in private.’

  ‘And what do you suggest, High Minister Defron, sir, if General Orlo doesn’t agree?’ Blench asked calmly.

  Orlo laughed, his reflection mirroring him. ‘I most certainly do not agree.’

  More of the GA soldiers were arriving at the back of the hall. They deployed along the side and down the aisle in professional, practised moves. Their weapons trained on the dais.

  ‘Could I say something, before anyone does anything a bit, well, silly?’ The Doctor was walking slowly up the aisle, hands deep in his pockets. ‘Won’t take long, promise.’

  Behind Orlo and his reflected self, the Zerugian soldiers had spread out across the dais and to the side of the hall.

  ‘What is it, Doctor?’ Orlo’s reflection demanded.

  The Doctor stopped in front of the dais. He leaned forward slightly as if to get a better view of his own reflection in the mirror. He licked the ends of his fingers and slicked down his hair. ‘Surrender,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Surrender. You’re outnumbered and outgunned. Defron is right, this isn’t the way. You want glory and honour for your people? Then fight for it at the negotiating table. That’s the way wars are won and victory is achieved – victory for everyone. This way, your way, everyone loses. So do the right thing. Be brave. You have one chance – surrender.’

  ‘Outgunned?
’ Orlo, the real Orlo, laughed.

  The Doctor shook his head in exasperation. ‘Is that the only word you listened to? Didn’t you hear any of the other things I said? But yes, if that’s the only argument you’ll understand, surrender because you will lose.’

  For an answer, Orlo raised a hand. He snapped his clawed fingers together. Immediately, the Zerugian soldiers arranged behind him levelled their weapons.

  ‘You forget, Doctor, my troops are armed.’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘With guns that work.’

  The Doctor seemed to freeze. ‘Ah.’ Then he smiled. ‘Maybe I don’t need guns.’

  Blench was standing close behind the Doctor now. ‘Give us the release codes,’ he said. ‘As a special agent and representative of the Galactic Alliance, you can authorise use of weapons. Give us the codes now – our guns won’t work without the codes.’

  The Doctor was still staring at the two generals, indistinguishable except that they wore their eyepatches on different sides. ‘Is that what you want?’ the Doctor asked. ‘I give Blench and his men the codes and you all shoot it out? I tell you, Orlo, it’s over. Surrender now, lay down your guns and we can still negotiate. But if I have to give the release codes then that means weapons will be released for use. And if that happens it’s tantamount to a declaration of war. Zerugma against the Galactic Alliance – that’s not the way to win anything.’

  At the back of the hall, Martha held her breath. Of course the Doctor didn’t have any codes to give. The GA troops really were powerless. But would Orlo take the risk? She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as Orlo said:

  ‘Very well, Doctor.’ The two Generals turned to look at each other. Then the real Orlo went on: ‘Give Colonel Blench the release codes.’

  The Doctor’s mouth dropped open. ‘What?’ He leaned forward. ‘What?’ He shook his head. ‘What?!’

  ‘Or could it be,’ Orlo’s reflection said quietly, ‘that you don’t know the codes?’

  ‘Doctor!’ Blench said urgently.