Doctor Who_ Legacy Part 4

'Alec' fired at the high ceiling, bringing chunks of it cras.h.i.+ng down, rubble, books and computers going everywhere.

Instantly sirens sounded. In the confusion he had created, 'Alec' hauled himself up, pausing briefly to look at the body of Damajina, trapped beneath a lump of ceiling. An involuntary sneer on his face, he kicked out at her. On making contact, he realized her suicidal blaster shot had already succeeded. 'b.i.t.c.h!'

A glance at the smouldering remnants of her console told him that the disc was irretrievable, indeed it was probably vaporized, and there was no way of knowing how much of her findings had got back to the Galactic Federation. Or the exact whereabouts of his prize, the Ancient Diadem!

Three days later O'Brien and his leader, 'Alec', whose face was swathed in medicated lint, were smuggled away from Pakha, never to return. With them, a chest containing various planetary relics. One important item was missing, however. The Diadem. 'Alec' had not had time to locate it precisely, but nevertheless he could sell what he had got for a high enough price. High enough in fact for a decent surgeon to mend his face and still make huge profits for himself and O'Brien.

Then there was the Federation to deal with. He needed to know the organization totally to achieve his ends. But alone. People like Pegg and O'Brien were commonplace, hired mercenaries he could rid himself of at any given moment, or utilize when the time was right.

He looked across at O'Brien - a good fighter. With a criminal record as long as a Denebian slime worm.

Keeping him would not only cut into the profits, but narrow his chances of easy entry into Federation s.p.a.ce.

'Alec' smiled to himself. O'Brien was just another obstacle that was easily removed . . .

To the unprepared, the modern planet Peladon could be a death trap.

Occasionally, during the brief daylight hours, the distant sun shone brightly and long enough to encourage a few shoots of gra.s.s and wheat to grow, but unless cultivated and harvested quickly, any hope of food being utilized soon died. More often than not, terrifying electric storms sheared through Peladon's ebon sky. Sheets of lightning illuminated jagged mountainous regions and rocky lifeless plains. The planet's three moons reflected faint light down upon humble dwellings, built into the sides and feet of the mountains where villages survived through generations of experience and acceptance of the planet's harsh and unyielding atmosphere. Terrible winds howled through the plains. Canyons and valleys almost seemed to shudder under such violent onslaughts. Wild animals scurried back to their homes before being bodily plucked up by hurricanes and dashed to death on the rocks that inevitably lay scattered around.

Despite all of this, the Pels were deeply proud of their planet and although many opportunities had arisen over the past century, only a handful of inhabitants had left their homes to seek fortunes on less violent worlds.

Peladon instilled in its people a profound love and respect toward itself. A rare occurrence in the galaxy. The traditions and beliefs of the Pets were mostly unshakeable and pa.s.sionate.

Over the last one hundred and fifty years, Peladon had seen many changes. As it had emerged from its apparent medieval state, industries like mining and clothing had sprung up on the advice of the Galactic Federation, to which Peladon had allied itself. King Peladon of Peladon had been the ruler who oversaw the alliance and it had been furthered by his daughter, the late Queen Thalira. Peladon's current monarch, Tarrol, surrounded himself with advisors and historians, politicians and Federation representatives, in an effort to keep his planet and people in wealth and prosperity.

However, to even the most inexperienced eye, it was painfully obvious that Tarrol was slowly but surely failing in his task, and whilst the storms lashed the holy Mount Megeshra, upon which the royal Citadel was built, Tarrol was being lashed equally violently by the tongue of his historian and high priestess Atissa.

'Never, never ever have we faced times as dark as those that approach, Your Majesty! Our history is littered with misdeeds and mistakes and each time the spirit of our sacred planet has reared up and smitten evil! This time will be no exception!' Atissa knelt before the young king, her body in the position of humility but her face, hidden from Tarrol's view, twisted in anger at her liege.

On the other side of the throne, also kneeling but observing Tarrol closely was his chancellor, Geban, son of Gebek. Thalira had offered the post, previously held only by one of n.o.ble blood, to Gebek shortly after the Federation's altercation with the terrorist organization known as Galaxy Five. Geban and Atissa's opposition was absolute - Atissa's mother was a n.o.blewoman, former handmaiden to Thalira, now the king's lady-of-the-court. Geban's family were commoners, underground workers who three generations ago would have been put to the sword for requesting permission to enter the Citadel. Times and feelings had changed due to Peladon's involvement with the Federation, and now all cla.s.ses of Pel had freedom to go wherever they chose on the planet. Only the Palace itself was still sacrosanct - n.o.bles and commoners alike had to request permission to enter its hallowed halls. All around, the atmosphere reeked of history and heritage, and to be appointed as a guard to the Palace was still felt to be the greatest honour possible to a common Pel.

To Atissa, the liberalism was an accepted step, and one she would never dream of retracting. Indeed, all around her were examples of this liberalism.

The flambeau torches did not burn with real roak, but carefully regulated gas flames. The aroma of incense came not from traditional heated herbs, but from Federation devices that could simulate any known smell. The clothes they wore, the materials their frequently repaired dwellings required, even the food they ate were all replicated and supplied from off Peladon by the Federation. Nevertheless, Atissa was still the latest in a long line of fervent traditionalists and firmly believed that the new ways had to respect and uphold the past.

Geban was more informal and relaxed, a proud and patriotic lover of his planet, but more open to change and opportunities than the high priestess.

He found that his role demanded he act as a balance between the overt liberalism of King Tarrol and Atissa's frequently exaggerated traditionalism.

Geban s.h.i.+fted the weight of his powerful body onto his other leg and waited for Atissa to end her rather repet.i.tive tirade.

Every time a storm brewed, crops failed or someone spilt a goblet of wine, the priestess claimed the spirit of Aggedor, royal beast and protector of Peladon, had arisen with warnings of impending doom. Geban frequently wondered why Atissa maintained her stance; it had little effect on the king or himself. However, he admired her convictions and determination. In the event of tragedy, he knew perfectly well that whatever her personal feelings might be as to fault or blame, she would join Geban in fierce protection of the throne and Peladon.

The latest battle of wills between himself and the high priestess stemmed from King Tarrol's invitation to the Federation to send special representatives to the royal celebrations. It was the biennial restatement of King Tarrol's vows to the throne of Peladon, and His Majesty had made it abundantly clear that he thought a good party was in order, if for no other reason than to boost the morale of the Pels. Whatever else he might be, Tarrol was no political innocent and was aware of how precarious his planet's industrial future was.

'Your Majesty, in light of the Federation's recent termination of Peladon's mining contract, perhaps the words of Nic Reece should be noted and considered.' Immediately, Geban knew he'd said the wrong thing - he could almost feel the anger in Atissa swell up. She lifted her head imperiously and spat out her words like sparks from a disturbed fire.

'Your Majesty, it is because of Reece and his kind that our once-prosperous planet is in decline. Instead of entertaining his insulting, degrading suggestions, we should cut off ties with the Federation and rebuild our own economy.'

Atissa, you know very well how highly I value your opinions and statements, but to sever links with the Galactic Federation would surely be foolhardy. We have little or no industry to support our people. We need those links with the rest of the galaxy to survive. That is why my grandfather sought their help many years ago.' King Tarrol sighed and relaxed, expecting a sharp reb.u.t.tal as always from his high priestess.

Instead both he and Atissa were surprised when Geban said, 'Your Majesty, perhaps we should also examine that route. I do not suggest we decide here and now on a policy for the future of Peladon, but both the n.o.ble Atissa and Reece have potentially valid plans. I believe we would be best served by examining all our options and exploring the merits of each.'

Geban looked around him and pointed at a carved bust of Aggedor by the double doors. 'No one loves our planet more than myself, Your Majesty, and no one wants us to set ourselves on the proper path more. But I do believe we must make the correct choice and it will take much time, effort and discussion to find that choice.'

King Tarrol looked towards Atissa, a questioning look on his face. With a cursory glance at Geban, she lowered her gaze once more. 'Geban counsels well, Your Majesty. I cannot pretend that Reece's suggestion does not fill me with loathing just to think upon it, but nevertheless I too believe time is needed to find the right and proper future for our planet.'

She again looked towards Geban, who nodded at her, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Atissa did not return the smile.

The king leant forward wearily in his high-backed throne. 'My advisors are, as always, loyal and trustworthy. Chancellor, seek an audience with Mister Reece and suggest a meeting between us. High Priestess Atissa, as always, I value your wisdom. I seek an inventory of the relics to offer Reece so that we can examine his suggestions with solid evidence to support it.'

Scooping up her robes, Atissa stood, bowed low and left the throne room.

Geban watched her go. 'She has much fire, Your Majesty. She will fight you and Reece with every breath in her body.'

And do you think she is right, Geban?'

As yet, I have not decided. As I said, I believe strongly in having all available information. But my instinct is to follow the Federation representative's advice. The Federation has done much to improve the standard of living on our planet, I would not see that casually discarded.'

Tarrol reached out and touched Geban's shoulder. 'You have given me much wisdom and advice, as always, Chancellor. I will remember it. Please leave me now, I need to prepare for the other Federation visitors' arrival.'

Geban bowed and followed Atissa's route out.

Alone, King Tarrol leant back in his throne, coughed sharply and remembered.

He remembered his childhood, running amok through the caverns and tunnels of Mount Megeshra, the halfhearted angry shouts of his nurse as she chased him.

He remembered his mother scolding him, telling him that one day he would be old and wise and rule the planet in her place.

He remembered meeting Atissa, a few years older than him, and not ever willing to play in the tunnels, always telling him that they were sacred.

He remembered meeting Geban when both men were in their teens. Tarrol immediately decided that once he was king, should Gebek the miner pa.s.s away, he would have no hesitation in appointing his son as his replacement.

Finally, he remembered his mother's handmaiden, Lianna, Atissa's mother, breaking the news that Queen Thalira, Chancellor Gebek and six courtiers had died in a s.p.a.ce shuttle accident in s.p.a.ce, sending their bodies, entombed forever, spinning somewhere millions of miles away to drift for eternity. An empty coffin lay in the royal tomb, the only reminder of his mother.

Now he ruled. Atissa and Geban stood beside him. Yet everything his mother and grandfather had believed in was beginning to turn sour. He did not know what to do next.

'Mother, what would you do?' he coughed, a tear rolling down one cheek. I need your help!'

The Galactic Federation. The last bastion of democracy.' The Doctor twirled his fedora hat on the end of his umbrella point; subconsciously making sure it never stopped moving, without paying it the slightest attention.

Bernice wasn't sure which impressed her most - the Doctor's endless ability to absent-mindedly perform conjuring tricks whilst piloting the TARDIS, or the vast sprawling empire on the surface of the moon of Jupiter below.

'Io. One of the seven hundred wonders of the universe, Benny,' the Doctor continued. He slipped on his old and rather worn sweater with the bright red question marks sequenced across it, unaware of his companion's disinterest. It took seventy years of hard terraforming and many millions of Federation credits, but on the whole it was probably worth it.'

I wonder how much it'd take to get you to stop making me giddy,' Bernice muttered. 'Besides, I've seen just as impressive terraformed worlds all over the place. Hardly special enough to be a wonder of any universe, I'd have thought.'

The Time Lord turned to look at Bernice, his deep-set eyes almost glowing with antic.i.p.ation, enthusiasm etched in each of the many laughter lines that were engraved into his face. Desperately trying to ignore the hat, now suspended at ninety degrees along with the umbrella but still spinning round, she immediately returned his gaze and put on an innocent and wholly insincere grin.

'Sorry? Did you say something?' The Doctor casually flicked his umbrella, dislodging the cream-coloured hat which spun towards the hat stand by the corridor door. Bernice tried not to look too impressed as the little hat not only landed safely on a hook, but continued spinning, albeit slightly slower.

She returned her gaze to the Doctor, who was beaming rather childishly.

I learned that trick from a friend in the Moscow State Circus. Impressive, isn't it?'

'Not really,' returned Bernice. 'So what's so special about this Galactic Federation of yours?'

The Doctor lazily pointed at the image on the TARDIS scanner. It showed vast gleaming spires that rose from various points around the many buildings on the moon below. Huge skysc.r.a.pers vied for the record of tallest building, whilst below, long metallic buildings connected them all like strands of a huge spider's web. Despite their distance from the system's sun, the buildings reflected back what light they caught, making the whole place iridescent, frequently changing hue as if it were actually breathing.

Around the spires and skysc.r.a.pers, tiny flyers darted in and out like insects, whilst around the base, transparent covered walkways were peppered with tiny moving dots, the people of the Galactic Federation going about their business.

'Ten million living beings, Professor Summerfield. Representatives of every civilized race, and a few less so, brought together under the common banner of peace, prosperity and universal harmony. It's taken many decades of work on the part of a few founder members, but it is really quite wonderful. And,' he grinned broadly at her, his puckish, lined face almost turning entirely upwards, 'we're about to land.' With that, the Doctor flicked a couple of switches and the TARDIS, released from her 'pause' mode, reactivated her time rotor and with the familiar swell of resonance, the s.h.i.+p materialized.

'And once we're there? What next? A quick spin around the offices to amuse myself and Attila the Hun in there?'

Bernice nodded her head towards the door from the TARDIS console room.

Somewhere down the corridor, in her room, the Doctor's other companion Ace was probably sitting in her room, testing her twenty-fifth century weaponry whilst simultaneously charging up her patented cans of Nitro-9.

'Come on then, Doctor. Let's see what's out there!'

'In a moment. First I have to tell Ace something.' The Doctor scurried into the depths of the TARDIS before Bernice could reply. With a shrug she leaned over to the TARDIS databank, built into the console. She punched up references to the Galactic Federation. 'Might as well get a bit of homework done,' she grunted to herself.

The Doctor didn't venture into Ace's bedroom too often. He was almost frightened of what he might find there. Discarded cans of Nitro-9; half eaten McDonalds; he'd once seen her knock the stuffing out of a large teddy bear with her old baseball bat, swearing at it and accusing it of betraying her. A short while later he had sneaked in whilst she was having a bath and found the wrecked toy. On its shabby back was the name Mike Smith in permanent black ink. That was when he'd realized how much he misjudged Ace. How he'd never really noticed how much she kept bottled up.

Now the room looked quite different, stark and uncluttered. There was no evidence that the occupier was a young lady from 1980s Earth. Instead, it gave off the impression of a hotel room, somewhere that no one allows themselves to get comfortable in. Like an army barracks. Part of the reason for this was the recent loss of the TARDIS. Now, the travellers occupied the less-than-reliable Type 40 TT capsule that had belonged to an earlier incarnation of the Doctor, an incarnation from an alternate timeline. Despite the cosmetic changes the Doctor had wrought, he was also aware that neither Ace's nor Bernice's room contained any of the mementoes that they had previously possessed.

Her familiar black bomber jacket, 'Ace' emblazoned in loud, proud silver letters across the back, was lying in a crumpled heap in a corner. On top of it, a trooper's blaster, a reminder of her military training. Discarded but always in sight, the two objects seemed strategically placed as if to underline her two different lives.

The Doctor took all this in in a moment. That, and the fact that Ace was nowhere to be seen. He paused for a moment as he closed the door and looked down the corridor.

'Of course. . : he muttered after a few seconds.

'Ace?'

She didn't move. She didn't blink. Perhaps she hadn't heard him. In front of her, ten video screens were rapidly flas.h.i.+ng schematics. It took the Doctor only a moment to realize that Ace was examining some very lethal-looking weaponry.

'Again!' she barked at the screens. Then: 'Two up.' The second screen seemed to grow larger, its image becoming clearer. 'Okay TARDIS - this one'll do. 3-D plus complete history. Text, not verbal.' She sat back in her chair and swung her legs up onto the desk top. The ten screens melted into thin air and the image she had requested became a semi-solid schematic, turning in front of her. Part of it was encased, revealing it to be a blaster of sorts. Other portions were sectioned so she could see inside it and admire the sophisticated structure.

She reached out with her hands, as if stroking the gun, although it wasn't really there - just an image created holographically by the TARDIS.

The Doctor was impressed. Only a handful of his companions had ever managed to get the TARDIS to work for them like this - and Ace had actually reprogrammed a lot of it. She had convinced the machine to reconfigure itself so that the computer-based parts resembled the twenty-fifth century hardware Ace'd been used to. Voice commands, holographic representations . . . she'd even replaced the old food machine with a more sophisticated replicator that dished up real edibles rather than nutrient bars.

All things he'd intended to do but never actually got around to.

I'm impressed,' he said.

The images all dissolved, the darkened room brightened and the black militarian walls once again became cream-coloured roundels.

Then, as if she was moving in slow motion, she turned her head.

She was wearing a pair of personal stereo headphones. The player itself lay between her legs. The Doctor smiled: this was the Ace he'd known before - before the distrust, the arguments and the bitterness. Recently, after their struggles in Earth's alternate timelines and more recently on Olleril, she, Bernice and the Time Lord himself had found themselves on a more even keel. And he couldn't be happier.

'Not interrupting, am I?' he asked with a smile.

Ace tugged an earphone away. 'Suede,' she said.

'Goat skin. Rubbed to a nap and worn in cold weather by selfish humans who think it looks better on them than it did on the goats.' He smiled broadly. 'Somehow I don't think that's what you meant, is it?'

Ace shook her head. 'Indie band. Circa 1994. Picked this tape up when we stopped off in Liverpool last week.'

'Ah. After Professor Summerfield's field trip to "Ancient Mersey" as she called it. Wanted to see the birthplace of the Beatles, I think she said.'

Ace nodded. 'Yeah. She bought a tape of Sgt Pepper. Then claimed it was cla.s.sical music. Some people!'

The Doctor squatted down. Another friend of mine from Bernice's era said something similar.'

Ace removed the other earphone and switched the Walkman off. After a second's pause, she smiled up at the Doctor. 'Hey, Professor. . .'

It's been a long time since you said that.'

I know. Still, it's a long time since you've worn that awful jumper. Going somewhere cold?'

The Doctor just smiled and pointed at the s.p.a.ce where the schematic had been on view.

'What d'you think?' asked Ace.

As I said, impressive. Only Susan and Romana ever accurately got the TARDIS to reconfigure things. Adric tried but his mathematics wasn't quite up to it. He should've asked K9.'

I wanted to check up on the thirty-ninth century. You said you had something for me to do.'

The Doctor nodded. And I imagine that large gun you were looking at may come in handy.'

'That? Bog-standard really. Obviously things haven't changed much in the armour-stakes over the last thousand years. Anyway, what'll I need a new gun for on Io?'

'Ah,' said the Doctor. 'Now, there's the rub. Benny and I are going to Io.

You're not. Well, not for long.'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning that I've been invited somewhere, but with a few built-in conditions. Here's what I need you to do. . .'

Lianna rarely questioned anything that her rulers did. She was conditioned that way, a product of her upbringing. When she had been a young girl, King Peladon had invited the Galactic Federation to become involved in the planet's progress.

As Lianna grew older, she became a handmaiden, lady-in-waiting and general confidante to Peladon's daughter, Thalira. When the Galaxy Five organization tried to make Peladon their outpost to launch their attack on the Federation, Lianna was amongst those who, in however small a way, helped save Peladon's honour by defeating the aggressors.

She both cursed and praised the day that Queen Thalira had announced she was to visit the headquarters of the Galactic Federation, at the invitation of the Draconian Chairman. Thalira had taken Lianna aside, saying that she was determined to prove to the Federation that Peladon could stand on its own two feet, and that the lessons of the Galaxy Five event had been learned. Thalira was to go alone, with just two bodyguards to form her retinue.