Doctor Who: Combat Rock (7 page)

But his loyal cameramen would most certainly be on the streets of Jayapul to record what would undoubtedly follow it

– local civil unrest that would be sparked off by
agents
provocateurs
in the President’s own employ, thus justifying even more the urgent need for the Indoni army’s stabilizing presence in an uncivilized, violent corner of Jenggel.

A servant had entered his private rooms nervously. Sabit had been too preoccupied to hear him knock. He looked up with irritation, wondered what the fool would do if he ordered him disrobed and his buttocks beaten in front of his daughters.

‘I’m sorry President...’

‘Yes. What is it?’ He was too professional to allow irritation to show in his carefully controlled voice.

‘It... it’s your mother again, President. I’m afraid she’s very ill.’

Sabit said nothing. He stared at the armchair screen, longing to be able to immerse himself in the pleasure of the day’s politics again, but family, always family, got in the way.

‘Remind my mother that I delivered a food container to her a few months ago. If she needs medicine now, it can be sent.’

The servant fastened the top button of his tunic nervously, as if that humble act of propriety might somehow protect him from the lizard glare of Sabit’s dark, dark eyes. ‘She... she...’

‘Mmmm?’ Sabit prompted in a not unkind manner that the servant knew only too well belied the venom underneath.

‘She doesn’t want food or medicine, President. She simply wants to see you. She said it... it might be for the last time.’

‘Did she?’ Sabit hadn’t taken his eyes off the screen. He straightened the right cuff of his embroidered tunic.

‘Send her food. And send her medicine. And also make sure I’m not disturbed again.’

He scanned the faces of the Papul crowd on the small screen for any possible signs of sedition, or maybe even for disapproval.

Late afternoon in Jayapul, and Sabit’s predictions were fulfilled. Indoni-managed factories were attacked and burned down. Rocks were hurled at Indoni army barracks. A policeman was brutally beaten up on his way home to join his wife. Indoni journalists reported the news faithfully. What they didn’t report were the episodes of vicious retaliation against the ‘acts of terrorism’ that ensued. Papul men and women were torn from their homes, their businesses, summarily executed in the streets, tortured, raped, brutalised.

The executioners’ pulse rifles were to do a lot more searing before the evening began to fall and curtain the scenes of carnage.

Sabit’s democracy was efficient and all-encompassing: the Papuls would be protected whether they liked it or not.

The creaking of boards was constant, an unnoticed backdrop to Father Pieter’s life, he’d grown so accustomed to the sound.

The small Papul shanty town of Agat was situated on the fetid south-coast swamps of the island and its streets consisted entirely of wooden walkways raised above the tides.

Throughout the day, the clunking of planks as bare feet rocked them in their fastenings combined with the musical chattering of the locals to form a distinctive cacophony that was all Agat’s.

But today Father Pieter was actually listening to the boards, and hoping each creak announced the imminent arrival of Father Tomas. Staring through the grimy window of his wooden cottage, he saw only local Papul people, however, and the occasional Indoni trader. He forced his attention back to his report; Father Tomas would not be coming today.
Would
be be coming ever?

He pushed the thought away. He trusted in his God, and God would bring his friend home safely. He re-read what he had already written. He had listened to Sabit’s broadcast earlier that day, and heard about the supposed riots in Jayapul on a tinny radio he possessed (there were no viewing monitors in this back-of-beyond place). Father Pieter was intelligent and informed enough to be able to see through the hype to the humanitarian crisis that screamed behind the Presidential cover-up.

Father Pieter was not only a missionary sent by his Church to this Godforsaken spot to preach Christianity; he was also here to garner information about possible crimes against humanity in an outpost where the Papuls actually felt isolated enough from Indoni rule to be able to talk freely. And he had gained more than enough evidence so far for his Church to pass on a bruising indictment of Sabit’s practices. Earth authorities would be forced into taking more action, whether in the form of heavier sanctions or even a resumption of military intervention.

Where are you Tomas?

He couldn’t concentrate. He felt edgy, vulnerable. Alone.

He was, after all, not just the only missionary in Agat, but the only person from Earth as well.

A hunchbacked beast was watching from across the walkway directly outside his window.

He started and dropped his pen.

Then he laughed softly, leaning back in his chair. It was only Bagire, the large, tame Horrakbill bird that hopped regularly around the dirty town, its grotesquely oversized beak nuzzling at passers-by. It lifted its head and stared him in the eye. His grin faded.

He was so tired of being alone.

The first hut puffed into flame as the beam of energy pointed like a finger from the hovering cruiser, touched it briefly, and then withdrew.

The silvery, albeit battle-stained and filthy cruiser looked completely incongruous against the backdrop of green jungle and primitive collection of mushroom-shaped grass huts. Sleek and streamlined, it floated like a mutated metal insect above the compound, its blunted nose spitting forth another gob of energy.

And another hut bloomed fiery petals.

Villagers were already beginning to emerge from their homes and scatter like ants. Twist was guffawing as he fondled the control stick, strafing them as they ran, watching bodies glow white and crumble into the grass.

Pan watched the gunner at work and would have smiled.

But he realized death didn’t really amuse him that much anymore. Maybe he was too old.

This one or that one, the skull, or the woman with horns?

He could always be perverse and have ‘mother’ tattooed
on his arm. Then when anyone ever asked him about her be
could just laugh. But no, that would get tiresome.

Then inspiration came, and it came from the oddest of
sources. There was a tattoo picture of Winnie the Pooh eating
from a honeypot displayed next to a half-naked woman with
tarantula legs.

‘Wind in the Willows,’ he told the bearded biker who
emerged from the parlour looking at him expectantly without
greeting or smile.

‘Ya what?’

‘Piper at the gates of Dawn. Access it on your web. I want
the original illustration of Pan.’

‘Don’t follow ya, mate.’

‘Pan,’ he repeated patiently. ‘God of nature.’

Peace. No torment. Pan meant leaves chuckling in an
autumn breeze. It meant a rustling of small animals in a dark
copse, the only one for miles around not polluted by humans
and their stinking debris. It meant trees creaking in the purple
night and the singing of the celestial mushrooms in his soul.

It meant one time in his life he actually believed in
something instead of death. It made him think of her too,
because she was wild and natural and gave him...

The touch of Pan.

It had almost saved him that night on Earth, as the
psychoactive fungus whispered to his brain and told him of a
quieter way.

Another hut wisped and then erupted. Several semi-naked Papul villagers managed to make it into the protective fringe of the jungle.

Pan continued to watch Twist playing the Exterminating Angel and then allowed himself that smile.
You Mafiaaa,
baby... and
nothing
could ever save you.

While Wemus, with Jamie’s assistance, pulled the motor canoe firmly up onto the beach, the others peered expectantly into the dense wall of jungle that waited for them, perhaps daring them to enter.

‘How on earth does he expect us to make our way through there, Doctor?’ Victoria asked. The jungle seemed completely impenetrable. Birds called to them, as if mocking their impotence.

Wemus joined them with an ever-present grin, having overheard Victoria’s comment. He gestured at a section of the jungle where a dead palm lay in the sand, poking out across the beach like a finger. He didn’t say anything, merely began walking towards the tree. The others followed.

As they got nearer, it became obvious the fallen tree marked an entrance of sorts into the green inferno. A hollow space amongst the trees, like a cave entrance, and Wemus was stooping beneath dangling blossoms, teased by huge, pastel-coloured butterflies, and Ussman was directly behind him.

Budi followed.

Victoria glanced nervously at the Doctor. This was her first experience of a jungle and she didn’t look too elated at the prospect of venturing inside the moist, dark wilderness, bursting as it was with unusual sounds and smells.

The Doctor put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her encouragingly ‘Don’t worry I’m sure Wemus knows where’s he’s going.’

Jamie peered into the depths of the jungle. ‘Aye, well, let’s hope so.’

‘Jamie scared?’ Wina put her hands on her hips and pursed her sensuous lips in a half-smile. Behind her, Santi said nothing, merely glaring at her fellow Javeenesian as was her habit whenever Wina spoke.

Jamie bristled. ‘Och, I’m no scared of a few midges and snakes. Come on!’ He pushed forwards into the opening. His shoulders danced with butterflies for a second, and then like the others, he disappeared from sight.

‘Snakes?’ Victoria turned to the Doctor with a horrified expression.

‘Don’t worry my lovely. I’ll take good care of you if anything nasty and slimy should make a move on you.’ Drew patted her backside and grinned with dark-stained teeth.

Victoria spun away with a cry of disgust. The Doctor eyed Drew disapprovingly, until the tourist held up his hands and took his turn at entering the jungle.

Budi chortled and shrugged meaningfully at Santi and Wina. Santi giggled back, flashing her wall of glistening teeth.

Budi was the last to leave the beach, taking up the rear directly behind Santi, watching her brown arms and legs moving through the undergrowth appreciatively. He was taking a bit of a shine to her, and if he could just keep that snake Drew out of the way, he could foresee fun times ahead.

He heard a cry from Wina, then an expletive from Santi.

‘What’s wrong?’ he called. The denseness of the hanging vegetation prevented him from seeing too far in front, but he could just make out Wina’s lithe figure as she stopped in the middle of the makeshift pathway.

Santi turned to flash him another grin. ‘She tear nail on finger. Now she must go home.’

Wina turned to give her an acid glare, but said nothing.

Ahead of them came Jamie’s voice. ‘Och, are you two lassies fighting again?’

Then the Doctor’s face popped into view from around a thick bamboo stalk. ‘Don’t worry. Wemus says it’s not far to the Mumi village, and that we are meeting a friend of his on the way.’ He beamed like a delighted child. ‘And apparently these jungles are home to a wonderful species of exotic bird that is absolutely breathtaking to behold.’

‘Yeah, well, don’t that make me feel a whole lot better.’

Drew barked from somewhere ahead of the Doctor.

They carried on along the slight path. As they progressed further inland, the path became a little wider, and soon Budi could make out most of their party, apart from Wemus who always seemed to be just a little further ahead than any of the others. Vibrantly coloured birds with bizarre bills watched them from trees and jabbered at them like naughty children as they passed. None of them seemed breathtaking to behold in Budi’s opinion, but then what did he know? He was just a local Batu fisherboy with ideas above his station of becoming a fabulously wealthy merchant. At least that’s what Ussman had told him he would become. And Ussman always seemed to know what he was talking about.

It was sweltering in the rainforest, and soon Budi’s clothes were drenched with sweat. He consoled himself by watching the similar effect the heat had on Santi, in particular the way her tight top stuck to her body, but then felt immediate contrition as he realized he was beginning to act just a little too much like Drew.

At least the heat took the two Javee girls’ minds off quarrelling. Still, that had been rather fun in its way too. He heard Victoria give an outraged yelp as a twig snagged her, and grinned. This was the most unusual group of people he had ever had the privilege to be stuck with. It was promising to be an interesting trip, all right.

The rain had just stopped as Julius left his hut and made his way along the gangplanks towards the museum. His friends smiled at him or hailed him with the traditional afternoon greeting. Agat almost smelled good after the rain. Almost. The filthy swamp tide had retreated beneath the walkways revealing trenches of mud, but the sun was comfortably warm on his back and he found himself thinking of his wife; Silla.

She was one of the most beautiful Papul girls in Agat. All his friends had been jealous when she’d agreed to marry Julius.

Some of them had insinuated it was only because he had a good position in the town as the museum curator; others said it was because he was so well in with the missionaries. Julius didn’t care what they said. He had Silla, and he loved her. She loved him too, he knew that.

He stopped for a brief chat with his brother who was on his way to do some fishing, then continued along the plankway, the constant thumping of the loose boards comforting beneath his feet. He remembered the first time Father Pieter had arrived in Agat, when Julius was no more than a boy. How he had laughed at the look of horror on the missionary’s face when he saw the primitive state of the shanty town with its tin and wood shacks and dangerously unstable walkways – had laughed even more when Father Pieter first tried to walk along the plankways, almost ending up in the swamps below when he trod on a loose board. They had quickly become friends, and Father Pieter had done a great deal for the Papul man. Perhaps sensing a strong natural intelligence in Julius, he had concentrated on teaching him not only English, but also the word of God. Julius had accepted Christianity gratefully, unlike many of his fellow Papuls in the area who had moved to take the hand of the Lord somewhat more grudgingly and suspiciously. He had recognized the need to embrace civilisation, and if a belief in some alien God meant he secured learning and a good job, then Julius was all for it.