Doctor Who: Planet of Fire (7 page)

‘A blue box?’ The Chief Elder shook his head. ‘That’s most unorthodox.’

But the Watchman was quite certain. ‘A blue box that came from nowhere,’ he repeated. ‘With a flashing light.’

‘There’s no recorded history of a blue box,’ complained the old man. ‘Still, I suppose all Visitations are different.’

The lookout, who had a hearty dislike of all liberals and freethinkers, gave a disparaging look across at Malkon who was staring moodily out at the view. ‘Perhaps,’ he whispered to Timanov, ‘we have been sent another Chosen One.’

Timanov gave a warning frown, but the pious, young zealot had strong feelings on the matter and was determined to speak his mind. ‘This boy is weak. The heretics walk free.’

‘No Chosen One has appeared at the Time of Fire. It can only be the Outsider.’ Timanov shared the younger man’s sentiments and would willingly have exchanged the callow boy for a more dynamic leader, but it was not the will of Logar. At least the Fire Lord had sent them his messenger.

He smiled at the Watchman. ‘You are too young to remember, but soon our storehouses will be full to overflowing with the gifts of the Outsider.’

The three of them were joined by the other five Elders, now dressed in their finest robes. Timanov took a key from the cord round his waist and unlocked a large chest of some hard metal, from which one of his fellow Elders produced a silver rod for each man. Timanov smiled. The Elders would not be lacking in dignity when they met the Outsider. He turned to Malkon. ‘We shall go to the place of arrival. In the meantime you have a chance to redeem your disastrous performance in the Hall of Fire.’

Malkon sighed. The events of the morning both frightened and bemused him. ‘The Unbelievers do no harm,’ he replied.

‘No harm?’ snorted the old man. ‘That’s the way they used to talk in the dead cities. And where are they now?

Gone from the face of the land!’

Malkon was silent. He could not bring himself to believe in the intrinsic value of death and suffering.

You must round up these Unbelievers,’ continued Timanov, preparing to leave. ‘We shall celebrate the Outsider’s arrival with a great sacrifice.’

‘No!’ protested the unhappy boy. ‘I can’t!’

The Watchman, who was looking forward to a good burning, sneered at the Chosen One. He would be more than prepared to lend a helping hand. But Timanov already had the situation under control. The Chief Elder turned to the open door. ‘Guards!’

Arnyand, Roskal and Sorasta wasted no time in the Hall of Fire. Whatever the excited Watchman had seen through his telescope, they were grateful for the diversion and, as soon as Malkon intervened to order their release they were away down the colonnade, keen to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the flames in the cave.

They met no opposition in the deserted streets of the city. The only danger was from falling stones. The ground, which had begun to tremble in the Hall of Fire, was now shaking the whole fabric of the city.

‘The earth storm is getting closer,’ cried Roskal to his two companions, as Amyaud led the way down the street of empty houses, badly damaged in a previous disturbance.

With a quick glance behind to see that no one was following them, they dodged into one of the large doorways and entered what must once have been a room in a large public building. Now it was open to the sky.

Together, they hauled back a large paving stone and Amyaud helped Sorasta and Roskal onto the spiral staircase that led through the opening, down to an underground chamber. The cave was part of a natural fissure in the volcanic rock discovered by a group of Unbelievers just after the last bad quaking. Now, it served as a place of safety both from the earth storm and the orthodox zeal of the citizens. In one corner was a month’s supply of food for the growing band of dissidents; in another there were blankets and mattresses.

About a score of men and women got to their feet as they heard the clatter of Arnyand and Sorasta on the metal staircase. Amyand, still feeling scorched from the fire, explained what a narrow escape they had just had. There was much disappointment amongst the other Unbelievers, though not everyone had agreed with Amyand’s daring plan to climb the Fire Mountain.

Roskal moved away to a far corner of the cave, curious to see the effect of the latest earth storm on the machine.

That was another reason for keeping the cave a secret from the other citizens–machines were sacred to Logar and it was a burning offence to tamper with them. Not that any of the Elders were aware of the complex mass of apparatus with its dials, levers and flashing lights that some earlier inhabitants had installed in the cavern.

As the earth storm rumbled, the great machine appeared to have a life of its own. Roskal stood fascinated by the lights and sounds issuing from the weird contraption. He was sure this thing had been made by men like them. If only they could regain the lost knowledge–forbidden knowledge as it was now–they might yet learn to control the power of the mountain, as it was rumoured men had controlled it before.

After a while the trembling and rumbling began to die away. ‘The storm is subsiding,’ said Sorasta.

‘Let’s have a look outside,’ said Amyand, joining Roskal by the machine.

There was one magical function of the mechanism that, by pure trial and error, Roskal had learned to control. He turned a switch and a view of the valley beyond the city miraculously appeared on a screen in front of him.

‘Show us the Fire Mountain.’

Roskal obliged by moving another lever. The scanner began to pan across the dark surface of the land.

‘Stop!’ shouted Sorasta suddenly, pointing to the centre of the screen. The other Unbelievers crowded forward.

Two men could be seen walking across the lava slope.

‘Strangers.’ exclaimed Sorasta.

‘Impossible,’ protested Amyand. ‘They
must
be Sarns.’

There was agreement from the others, for it was known that all the other cities had been destroyed by the earth storms and the fires. It was the one area of history where they agreed with the Elders. There was Sarn and only Sarn in the whole wide world. There were no strangers, for all men alive were fellow citizens. Malkon peered closer at the screen. ‘Look at their clothes!’ Both men were dressed as no Sarn had ever dressed.’

‘Could they really be Outsiders?’ suggested one of the younger Unbelievers nervously, to be answered by a noisy protest from his fellows at the hated word.

‘No,’ said Amyand. ‘No one just appears by courtesy of Logar. They must be survivors from one of the dead cities.’

‘We must talk to them!’ cried Sorasta.

‘You’ll never get out of the city.’

But Amyand already had a plan. ‘They’re about to pass through the western col. We’ll use the tunnel and cut them off.’

The Doctor did not like being so far from the TARDIS on such a treacherous and unstable planet. Urged on by Turlough, they had wandered further and further across the infernal landscape: white figures under a dark sky, trudging through black pumice drifts, like a negative snow scene.

The Doctor glanced anxiously at the volcano. ‘ "What if the breath that kindled those grim fires/Awakened should blow them into seven-fold rage/And plunge us in the flames?"’ he quoted.

‘What did you say, Doctor?’ asked Turlough, expecting at any moment, to be ordered back to the TARDIS.

‘Milton,’ said the Doctor. ‘Didn’t they teach you anything at that school?’

Turlough made a face.

‘
Paradise Lost
,’ continued the Doctor. ‘I was thinking of our holiday island,’ he added ruefully, gazing across a terrain that made the centre of Birmingham look habitable.

Turlough grinned. The Doctor didn’t seem too worried after all. Yet the boy felt guilty at encouraging his friend to explore so far. And he felt ashamed, now, of his cruelty to Kamelion. The robot was not involved in any plot, but had been instinctively following a distress call. And Turlough was grateful, because somewhere here...

‘We ought to go back to Peri and the professor,’

announced the Doctor.

‘Please, Doctor, just a little further,’ begged Turlough.

But there’s no one alive on this planet!’

Turlough pretended not to hear the Doctor and started to walk faster.

‘You’re in some kind of trouble aren’t you, Turlough?’

said the Doctor catching up with the boy.

‘Of course not,’ answered Turlough defiantly.

The Doctor looked his companion straight in the face.

It was time for an explanation of the young man’s strange behaviour.

‘Hey!’ In that desolate land the voice seemed, at first, to sound in their own heads. ‘You there!’ The Doctor and Turlough turned to the blackened hillside. Halfway up the slope, two human figures, dressed like Bedouins against the dust, were waving at them.

‘We’ve found them!’ shouted Turlough, rushing to the slope. He scrambled up the steep clinker like a crazed animal, scattering pumice and cinders in all directions and sending up a great cloud of dust. The Doctor waited for the shock waves to die down and followed in a more dignified manner.

Amyand stood in the entrance of the narrow hillside tunnel watching the boy’s approach. Both the boy and the man who followed him were indeed strangers to Sarn, the first unknown faces the two natives of the city had ever seen. Amyand leaned over the edge and hauled Turlough onto the hard floor of the tunnel. Turlough was breathless and choking from the lava dust. The Sarn looked at the young man with intense curiosity. He was just like himself.

‘You’re safe,’ gasped Turlough. ‘We found your beacon,’

he added, still helplessly out of breath.

The words made no sense to Amyand who helped Sorasta to haul the second stranger up into the entrance of the passage. Neither of the two Sarns had any experience of talking to people they did not know. ‘You are welcome, strangers,’ said Sorasta haltingly.

Turlough got to his feet. ‘Are there any more of you?’ he asked anxiously.

Amyand nodded. ‘Our group is sheltering in the bunker.’

‘Why didn’t they send a rescue ship from Trion?’ asked Turlough indignantly.

‘Trion?’ said Sorasta uncomprehendingly.

‘The home planet,’ said Turlough impatiently. ‘You
are
from Trion?’

Amyand and Sorasta looked blankly at the boy. ‘We are from Sarn’ said Amyand, suddenly finding the obvious amazingly difficult to explain.

Turlough looked at the two inhabitants of the hostile place in acute dismay. Who were they if not his own people? And where were the Trions? The man had spoken of a group. Perhaps they would know something of his fellow country-men. ‘There must be Trions here
somewhere
,’ he protested.

The only answer came from the volcano which rumbled ominously in the background. The Doctor was starting to get worried. He wanted to get well clear of the place before the inevitable cataclysm. But there were people here who faced certain extinction if they were not helped. Why did he always have to get involved, he wondered for the second time that day.

They hurried through the dark cracks of the hillside like rodents navigating the secret byways of the skirting board.

The underground tunnel was damp and smelt faintly of rotten eggs. As they walked, Amyand and Sorasta tried to give an account of life on Sarn. ‘The Elders manipulate Malkon,’ explained Amyand.

‘He’s our Chosen One,’ added Sorasta.

‘Free thinkers are persecuted, contact with machines is forbidden.’

Turlough shook his head, unable to understand what these primitive people were doing in the old Trion colony.

‘Timanov and his friends live off their tithes without an honest day’s work in the fields,’ continued Amyand.

‘Logar pays well,’ said Sorasta bitterly.

The Doctor was sorry, now, that he had left Professor Foster in the TARDIS. This would be right up the archaeologist’s street: the power of the mountain turned into a fire god, human sacrifices... The ground trembled very slightly and the Doctor turned his attention to the more immediate problem. ‘Unfortunately,’ he explained to their guides, no amount of burnings are going to prevent the destruction of your city.’ He looked around the tunnel and whispered to Turlough: ‘Of course you realise we’re actually walking in one of the vents of the volcano.’

There was a light ahead of them and in a few moments the Doctor and Turlough stepped from the narrow fissure into the cave which sheltered the other dissidents. The new arrivals, shading their eyes from the sudden glare of the torches, were instantly surrounded by the Sarns, like missionaries amongst a group of South Sea Islanders.

The excited Unbelievers first stared, then touched, and, as they lost their shyness, fired salvo after salvo of questions at their unexpected guests. The Doctor tried to explain to the awestruck Sarns that there were worlds beyond their known world, civilisations beyond the city of Sarn, a whole universe of
other people
.

There was a sense of exultation amongst the Unbelievers. Their doubts, their speculations, their intuition, their inchoate struggling towards the truth had been validated by the testimony of this Doctor. The stranger also shared their fears of the volcano, but not unfortunately their choice of hiding place.

‘When that volcano blows,’ said the Doctor, looking round the cave and wishing he had taken a more accurate reading of the TARDIS seismic scan, ‘molten lava will pour in here and burn you alive.’ There was consternation among the Sarns. ‘I have a ship...’ said the Doctor rather hesitantly, wondering how many more Sarns there were above ground who would need to be evacuated in the TARDIS. He needed Turlough’s help.

The Doctor’s companion, who had ignored the previous conversations, looked up from his examination of the machinery in the corner of the cave. ‘A seismic energy converter,’ said the boy. ‘For powering the city.’

The Doctor was very impressed. `Built by your people?’

Turlough nodded.

‘Very old,’ observed the Doctor, examining the controls.

‘Your fellow Trions have long since abandoned the city.’

Turlough said nothing.