Doctor Who: Planet of Fire (13 page)

Peri bided her time, the deadly shoe raised over her head. Her prey broke cover, but not where she had expected and the little man was halfway across the floor before she saw him. She hurled the.shoe, and missed. She ran forward, but the Master had reached the sanctuary of the console and had disappeared through a cable duct in the base of the pedestal. Peri knelt in front of the tiny aperture, like a cat beside ahole in the skirting board.

The Master stood quaking in the warm darkness. Above him, components shone like stars in a night sky, and, as his eyes adapted to the light, he could make out the shapes of a thousand gigantic chips and transputers. The air was full of strange sounds: the hum, the buzz, the rattle of the million secret parts used to control a time-machine.

An ominous shadow hung over the enhance. It was that terrible girl. ‘Peri! Peri!’ cried the Master. ‘Listen to me!’

Peri lowered her head towards the faint but insistent voice inside the console. ‘There is no way you can escape, either from my TARDIS or the control centre.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ said Peri, picking up her shoe.

‘Peri... Miss Brown. Help me, and I will spare your life.’

‘Oh, sure. I know how much your promises are worth.

I’d rather wait for the Doctor.’

‘The Doctor!’ The Master cursed his old enemy, and looked around his hiding place. He recognised one of the outsize units above his head and hauled himself up onto a nearby block. From there he clambered, like a boy chimney-sweep, up the narrow shaft between two panels.

Panting, he reached a flat landing of printed circuit. All he needed was a conductor to short-circuit two of the strips and the way would be open for Kamelion to rescue him from that girl. He plucked a silver thread from his collar and pressed it to the board. There was a distant clunk from one of the servos. The Master laughed.

Peri was getting anxious. It was far too quiet inside the console. She jumped to her feet at the sudden whirring.

The double-doors had opened and the Kamelion-Master would be through in seconds. She rushed to the inner door.

‘Kamelion!’ screeched the impatient Master.

‘Kamelion?’ whispered Peri, from where she had paused in the corridor.

Neither of them could see the minuscule metamorphosis projector, on its side and out of control beside the fallen laboratory.

‘Kamelion?’ said Peri, more confidently, and tiptoed across the control room and out through the double doors.

Kamelion lay, a fizzing wraith of himself, on the rock floor outside the Corinthian column. Peri came to the entrance and smiled. ‘Pleasant dreams,’ she murmured, and stepped over the paralysed robot, out into the cavern.

She ran to the tunnel entrance she had spotted earlier, hoping it would lead to the open air and a path down the mountain, back to the Doctor.

The Doctor scraped with his spatula at the sticky rock wall of the sacrificial cave in the Hall of Fire and examined the slime in his pocket microscope. ‘Just as I thought. Trace elements of numismaton.’ He looked up at Turlough. ‘Very useful to a Time Lord who can’t regenerate!’

There was a shout from the Hall and Sorasta carne running from the portico as the Doctor and his companion emerged from the cave. ‘Doctor, Malkon is much worse.’

The Doctor nodded. He had expected as much. Though Turlough’s brother had escaped being killed outright, the Time Lord feared, as soon as he had examined him, that the boy who had prevented his own execution was dying.

‘We must get him to the TARDIS,’ pleaded Turlough.

‘No.’

‘Doctor, please!’

‘Thanks to the Master, he’s better off here,’ said the Doctor dashing out of the Hall.

Malkon’s racing pulse was weaker, his breathing more shallow and he had a fever. Roskal stood up from where he had been kneeling beside the bed as the Doctor clattered down the stairs of the bunker. To the surprise of the young Unbelievers, the visitor did not immediately examine his patient, but went to the controls of the machine.

‘There is a healing power in one of the volcanic gases,’

he explained. ‘That’s why the old Trions constructed the Hall of Fire. Some sort of curative centre.’ He began pressing buttons on the panel. ‘We need to release the gas flow–strictly for medicinal purposes.’

They came to the Hall of Fire from all over the city: the maimed, the diseased, the crippled, the blind. Amyand was appalled as he watched the sick people of Sarn carried up the steps into the Hall.

‘Don’t stop them,’ said Turlough, as the invalids gathered round the cave.

The Elders now entered, following the injured to the mouth of the grotto. Timanov smiled at Turlough. The new Chosen One had indeed brought them the favour of Logar. ‘The gift of the Fire Lord.’ He bowed and handed the Doctor’s companion one of the finest trinkets from his own secret treasure store. Turlough looked thoughtfully at the shining object–he had handled one of those many times before.

They were all distracted by a sudden roar from the cave.

The flame burned brightly once more.

‘Excellent,’ said the Doctor running up the steps.

‘That flame will burn,’ protested Amyand angrily.

‘Just a residue of hot gas,’ said the Doctor, hoping it wouldn’t take too long for the discharge of numismaton to reach them from the volcano.

There was a murmur from the crowd and all eyes turned to the entrance. Amyand and Sorasta had appeared at the top of the steps carrying the lifeless body of their former Chosen One. Turlough ran to join them and helped move his dying brother to the group of sick and wounded around the cave entrance.

Everyone in the Hall now stared into the raging flames and the Doctor prayed that he had pressed the right switches back in the bunker. Without any warning, the roar in the grotto died away. There was a hush amongst the waiting wounded and their families. The heat haze in the cave cleared to reveal the dark, stained rock. There was a gentle hiss like summer rain on a pavement and the walls were shrouded in a luminous white vapour. An eerie singing echoed in the cave as the cloud turned blue.

‘Pure numismaton,’ said the Doctor, peering at the waving phosphorescence. He nodded to the Elders. ‘It’s quite safe.’

Timanov gave the sign for the gathered sick to enter the cave, but the sad little group lingered by the platform, nervous and overawed by the shimmering presence in the grotto.

‘What are you waiting for?’ cried Turlough, and, taking his brother in his arms, walked across the platform and into the electric radiance. Encouraged by his example, the sick and the wounded of Sam stumbed forward into the light.

Afterwards, Turlough could remember very little of those moments of rare unction in the rocky cell. There was no sense of time or space, but only the certain knowledge that all things were well.

The Doctor’s companion was the first to leave the brightness–alone. The crowd gasped as the boy was followed by his brother Malkon, pale and amazed, but walking upright. Behind them came the other Sarns, miraculously restored to health, to be embraced by their weeping families and friends.

‘Praise be to Logar!’ cried Timanov.

The Doctor was silent. He, too, was moved by the power from the mountain, yet dreaded how the healing force might be abused by the Master. The release of numismaton could have been no coincidence as there had not been a Gathering for two generations. This surge had been precipitated by the Master, and with scant regard for the stability of the planet. At least he now knew where to find him.

The ground trembled and the volcano rumbled angrily, a reminder of the terrible danger they all were in.

‘Assemble the citizens in the Hall of Fire!’ ordered Turlough, in a loud voice. For a moment Timanov hesitated. ‘Logar demands it,’ the boy cried.

The Chief Elder gave a small respectful bow. ‘Of course, Chosen One,’ he replied obsequiously.

The Doctor looked towards the volcano. Somewhere near the crater he would soon confront his old enemy. ‘Can you guide me up the mountain?’ he asked Amyand. ‘The seismic control centre must be near where Timanov saw the vulcanologist.’

‘Ready when you are, Doctor,’ said the young Sarn, who had not expected a return journey to the peak quite so soon.

‘Once I’ve got the TARDIS working we’ll materialise here and take the Sarns on board.’ the Doctor explained to Turlough, wondering how he was going to cope with so many passengers.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said his companion, holding up the piece of engraved silicon given to him by the Chief Elder. ‘This keys the transmitter on my father’s ship and gives me direct access to Trion Communications Executive. They can send a transporter.’

‘Couldn’t be better!’ The Doctor was delighted not to have to live in a time-machine full of evacuees.

Turlough sighed. He was relieved to have made the decision, but frightened of the consequences. As soon as he gave his rank and identification number, the Custodians would be after him.

‘You
are
in trouble, aren’t you?’ The Doctor spoke very gently to his companion.

Turlough nodded. ‘I should never have escaped from Earth. My ten years’ exile was not complete.’

‘Exile?’

‘You see, Doctor, there was civil war on my planet.

Revolution against the Imperial Clans. We were defeated...

Barbarians!’ he muttered, scornful of the new egalitarian regime that had sent him from his homeland. ‘My father was condemned to death, but the sentence was commuted.

Transportation to this old prison planet.’

‘This was a prison planet?’

‘Yes,’ explained the disgraced Trion. ‘When the colonists left it was not immediately abandoned. For several years it was a penal settlement.’ He pointed to the mark on his arm. ‘You see, Doctor, the Misos Triangle is the brand of a criminal.’

They left the city together: Turlough, with Roskal for moral support. to go to the forbidden lands and locate the crashed ship’s powerful transmitter, the Doctor and Amyand to climb to the mountain control centre where the Master had his hideout.

As they walked through the outskirts of the settlement, Turlough talked bitterly of his exile on Earth. ‘I was sent to learn the ways of another planet. What can an Imperial Trion learn from Earth people?’

‘Humility?’ suggested the Doctor, rather astringently, wondering what sort of monster his companion would have become, had he continued to be brought up as the scion of an aristocratic, ruling family.

Turlough said nothing, knowing that his burst of arrogance had offended the Doctor. He felt a bit ashamed.

The Doctor saw the boy blush. ‘Are you sure they’ll know you’ve absconded?’ he asked, more kindly.

‘Oh, yes. There are Trion agents on every civilised planet. An agrarian commissioner on Vardon, a tax inspector on Derveg,’ Turlough grinned ruefully. ‘And a very eccentric solicitor in Chancery Lane, who had me incarcerated in that ghastly school!’

The tiny, black body of the Master lay on the wide TARDIS floor, like a cock-sparrow downed in a high wind.

The rebel Time Lord was exhausted. For a brief moment, he even believed himself to be doomed. Why had the slave not answered his summons when the doors were opened?

At least that girl had left the control room. The thought of Peri breathed new life into him. To have been defeated by the Doctor, his Gallifreyan peer, would have been humiliation enough; to be destroyed by an Earthling, a mere girl, an American even, would make him the laughing stock of the Universe! He must not give up now.

Slowly, he dragged himself across the endless Sahara of floor, till at last he reached the overturned laboratory, and hauled himself onto the wall which was, once again, the floor of his miniaturised workroom. Immediately he saw the reason for Kamelion’s delay. The metamorphosis projector had been damaged. The Master ran to inspect the vital equipment. To his profound relief, it was not beyond repair. Soon, his other half would revive and carry him to the blue fire. He would regain his former stature; he would be stronger than any Time Lord, he would be indomitable.

Turlough and Roskal wished the Doctor and Arnyand good luck as they parted in the fertile valley where the Sarns had their fields. It was not far over the ridge into the forbidden land, but the going was difficult as the earth tremors were getting more severe, tumbling loose rocks from the hillside and sending up great, choking clouds of lava dust. ‘Come on!’ shouted Turlough, above the ophicleide thunder of the volcano. ‘The ship!’ He pointed to the horizon.

Roskal half expected to be apprehended by Timanov’s guards as they walked up to the shattered leviathan. Such trespass was the greatest crime a Sam could commit. He followed Turlough to the intact flight-deck section, whilst all round them the structure creaked and groaned like a galleon under full sail.

‘Look out!’ yelled Turlough as a girder from the deck above them crashed across their path. ‘We haven’t got much time.’ He knew the layout of the ship by heart and went straight to the transmitter.

‘Is it still working?’ shouted Roskal over the rattle of the twisting hull.

‘Soon see,’ said Turlough, feeding the coded release key into its housing. ‘Keep your fingers crossed.’

For a moment nothing happened, and Turlough was beginning to wonder if the emergency power cells had dissipated their charge, when two green lights flashed. He quickly entered a password on the keyboard and waited anxiously while the volcano roared again. ‘I hope there’s not too much geomagnetic interference,’ he muttered.

His doubts were dispelled by a distant voice from his home planet. ‘Trion Control. State name, rank and identification code.’

The boy froze. He was about to sign the warrant for his own inevitable rearrest. His hand went bravely to the transmit key. ‘My name is Vislor Turlough. Junior Ensign Commander...’

Rescue would soon be on its way for the stranded Sarns.

But for Turlough, there was now no escape.

The Doctor and Amyand climbed higher and higher up the quavering mountainside. It was a hard struggle against the sliding shale and drifting pumice, while the sulphurous smoke caught in their throats. The Doctor paused for breath and looked down at the black panorama of cinders and tufa in the valley below him. He imagined how Sarn must have been in the days gone by: a colonial paradise with the forces of nature held in check by the technical ingenuity of the Trion settlers, until nature started to get the upper hand, and the soft life of the expatriots became threatened by a native force no army from the Imperial Clans could ever pacify–the volcano.