DOCTOR WHO AND THE BRAIN OF MORBIUS Page 2

  Intent upon the acrobatics of his Yo-Yo, the Doctor made no reply. Sarah shrugged, and set off into the darkness.

  Left alone, the Doctor went on practising for a few minutes. But his heart wasn't in it. He was already beginning to feel rather ashamed of his childish behaviour, and even the achievement of a particularly fine backward double loop didn't make him feel any better. He put away his Yo-Yo and stood up, intending to stroll casually after Sarah. Suddenly a piercing scream split the darkness, and the distant gleam of Sarah's torch went abruptly out. The Doctor sprinted towards her.

  He found Sarah crouched at the foot of a jagged pinnacle of rock, her face in her hands, the smashed torch at her feet. Nearby lay a huddled shape. The Doctor knelt to examine it. Without looking round, Sarah said, 'I suppose... it was the crash?'

  The Doctor examined the headless body, noting the cracked carapace, the way in which the neck had been severed in one clean stroke. 'No. Not. in the crash. This happened afterwards.'

  Sarah shuddered. 'You mean someone deliberately cut off...'

  The Doctor was trying to reconstruct the sequence of events. 'It looks as if he had tried to escape in the ejection bubble, and was badly hurt in the landing. Then somebody, or something, attacked him.'

  Sarah risked a quick glance at the insect-like body. 'What was it?'

  'One of a mutant insect species,' said the Doctor abstractedly. 'Widely established in the Nebulae of Cyclops.' He was gazing skywards. 'I thought those stars looked familiar.'

  'You've been here before?'

  'I was born somewhere in these parts.'

  'Near here?'

  'Well, within a few billion miles or so.'

  Sarah stood up. As much to get away from the headless body as anything else, she climbed a little higher in the rocks. Her back to the spaceships' graveyard, she was gazing in the other direction when another lightning flash lit up the landscape. In the distance it revealed a long narrow valley, with an enormous building dominating the far end. 'Doctor, look,' she called.

  The Doctor climbed up beside her. They waited for a further lightning flash, and she pointed out the towering building.

  The Doctor nodded thoughtfully. 'I think we'd 'better take a look at it, Sarah.' He glanced down at the headless corpse. 'There's something very nasty going on here.'

  Quite oblivious to the fact that the machinations of the Time Lords had ensnared him once more, the Doctor set off towards the castle. Sarah followed him. 'Well, at least there's some kind of civilisation.'

  The Doctor looked down at her. 'There was a civilisation,' he said ominously.

  A sudden rainstorm began lashing down. The Doctor felt in his pockets. 'You're not going to start playing with that silly Yo-Yo again?' demanded Sarah.

  The Doctor gave her a reproachful look and produced a stubby cylinder. With amazing speed it expanded into a sizeable umbrella. Holding it over them both, he led the way towards the castle.

  Neither the Doctor nor Sarah saw the black-cowled figure,, watching their departure from the shadow of a nearby rock. As they moved away, it hesitated for a moment then scurried off in the other direction.

  Their arrival had been observed by the Sisterhood of the Flame.

  2

  The Keepers of the Flame

  The storm was at its height now. The night winds howled about the castle, sheets of rain lashed against its crumbling towers. In one of them a light glowed from a window. Solon was at work in his laboratory.

  Inside the room the noise of the storm was fainter, muffled by the thick stone walls. The laboratory was in semi-darkness, illuminated only by an electric globe that cast a fierce beam of light onto the bench. There, neatly wired into a complex metal grid, was the severed head of Kriz. Using a long metal stylus, Solon was delicately touching controls in the base of the grid, sending minute electrical impulses into the dead brain. With each touch the head twitched into a ghastly pseudo-life. The eyes rolled, seeming to glare wildly round the room. The mouth opened in a horrible parody of a smile.

  To anyone else the sight would have been one of sheer horror, but to Solon it was utterly absorbing. Intent upon his work, he scarcely noticed the raging of the storm.

  He turned from the grid to record the results of his experiment in the huge leather-bound ledger that lay on the bench. Just as he began to write, the electric globe flared brighter for a second, then went out. Solon cursed fluently, but the emergency was a routine one, and he was well prepared. The rusty generators in the basement seldom worked for long at a time, needing constant patching up to keep them going. Solon reserved the erratic power supply for his scientific work, making do with more primitive lighting for everyday needs.

  Fishing in the pocket of his robes, he produced a stub of candle and a match, which he scraped against the nearest wall. There was a flare of yellow light, and Solon lit the candle, holding it high above his head.

  The flickering yellow glow illuminated the rest of the room, playing across dusty benches stacked high with tottering piles of electronic equipment, most of it half-dismantled. As Solon made his way across the room, the candlelight fell briefly on a huge, old-fashioned four-poster bed that occupied one corner. Scarlet drapes on all four sides turned it into a kind of tent. Solon paused for a moment, and gazed yearningly at the four-poster. Then he made his way to the door. 'Condo, bring lamps at once! Condo, where are you?'

  As if in response to Solon's voice, the scarlet drapes around the bed suddenly billowed outwards, as though disturbed by a wildly-flailing limb. Solon called again. 'Condo, you fool, where have you got to? Lamps, I say!'

  Muttering angrily, Solon left the laboratory and began heading towards the stairs. The drapes became still again, and the laboratory subsided into darkness. Beneath the noise of the storm, another sound could be heard. On the shrouded four-poster bed, something was breathing hoarsely.

  The black-robed figure glided silently across the rocky face of Karn, seemingly immune to the howling winds and lashing torrential rain. It came at last to a dark cave mouth in the mountainside, and passed silently inside. The cave led to a tunnel, and the tunnel wound down and down, deep into the heart of the mountain. Every now and then torches flamed and smoked in holders set into the rocky walls. The torches seemed to flare brighter as the black-robed figure passed by.

  In a kind of ante-chamber, the figure paused and removed its outer robes. It was revealed as a woman, with a smooth beautiful face that had an ageless quality. The woman who stepped forward to take the cloak, younger still in appearance, had exactly the same quality in her face. So indeed did all the Sisterhood. From the moment of Initiation, time was suspended for them. They aged no further, living forever as servants and keepers of the Flame—so long as they continued to consume the Elixir of Life.

  Dismissing the junior Sister with a gesture, the woman passed through the antechamber and into the Temple beyond. Her name was Ohica, and she was a Priestess of the Flame. The Temple was a small circular chamber, a kind of amphitheatre. Its focal point was the pair of ornately decorated bronze gates set into the far wall. Behind them burned the sacred Flame of Life, so holy that it could be revealed only during the secret ceremonies of the Sisterhood. All around, black-robed figures kept a silent vigil.

  Before the gates, on a rocky protuberance that formed a natural throne, sat a small wizened figure. This was Maren, High Priestess of the Sisterhood. Her face was seamed and wrinkled with an incredible weight of years. Ironically, Maren had already been old when the Secret of the Elixir was first discovered. Time was suspended for her, as for the other Sisters, but for Maren eternal life meant eternal old age.

  She listened silently as Ohica described the square, blue object that had materialised, the two strangely dressed people who had left it and headed for Solon's castle.

  When Ohica had finished, Maren nodded slowly. Her voice was little more than a whisper. 'Two of them, you say?'

  'A male and a female, Maren.'

  Maren shook her head in dis
belief. 'Our senses reach beyond the five planets. And they were not seen.'

  Ohica's voice was firm. 'Yet they are here.'

  Perhaps because of her great age, Maren was always reluctant to accept anything new. 'No ship can approach this planet without detection,' she croaked proudly. 'Even the silent gas dirigibles of the Moothi I felt in my bones, while they were still a million miles distant.'

  'There was no ship, Maren,' said Ohica patiently. 'The last was the scout-ship of the insect race.'

  'Then how, Ohica? How did they come?'

  'I do not know, Maren. I say only what my eyes have seen.'

  Maren gazed into space, her bright eyes fiercely alive in the incredibly old face. 'Can it be as I have feared? For months I have been haunted by a premonition, that they would send someone to take the Elixir from us.'

  Slowly Maren rose to her feet. With an imperious hand she waved the other Sisters out of the Temple. Once they were gone, she turned back to Ohica. 'Next to myself, you are the senior of our Sisterhood. Come, let me show you what the others must never know.' She hobbled across to the bronze gates, unlocked them with an enormous key produced from beneath her robes, and flung them back.

  Behind the gates was an alcove in the wall, in which was set a shallow basin carved from the solid rock. It resembled an old-fashioned drinking fountain. But from the vent in the centre of the basin flowed not water but fire. A small flame no more than six inches high flickered in the still air. Below the flame, a silver chalice rested in a stone holder cut into the rock.

  Instinctively Ohica bowed her head in reverence. 'The Flame of Life!' Then she gasped, 'Maren, what is wrong? Why is the Flame so low?'

  There was infinite sadness in the old voice. 'The Flame dies, Ohica. Every day it sinks a fraction lower.'

  Ohica's mind was reeling under the shock. 'How can this be? At our ceremonies the Flame has burned brightly, higher than our heads.'

  'Deception, my child. For many months I have secretly fed the Flame with powdered rineweed.'

  'Then we are doomed? Our Sisterhood will perish?'

  'We are but the Servants of the Flame, my child. If the Flame dies, so must we.'

  The two women looked silently at each other, both sharing the same terrible thought. To lose life is bad enoughbut to lose eternal life...

  Hesitantly Ohica said, 'Should not the others be told?'

  Maren shook her head. 'No! Not until our end is certain. I have thought long upon this...'

  Closing the copper gates that shielded the Flame, she hobbled painfully back to her seat. After a long brooding silence she began to speak. 'As you know, the secret of the Elixir of Life that we draw from the Flame is known only to our Sisterhood, and the High Council of the Time Lords. Since the time of the great destruction, when first they aided us, we have shared the Elixir with the Time Lords.'

  'And now there is none to share?'

  'The few phials that are left I have kept for ourselves. One fear now fills my mind—that the Time Lords will rob us of these last few precious drops.'

  'You think the two I saw have been sent to steal the Elixir?'

  Maren rose to her feet. 'If they have, then we shall destroy them. Summon our Sisters, Ohica. We shall form the Circle.'

  Ohica struck a gong that hung beside the throne. Silently, the black-robed Sisters began filing into the Temple.

  Since Condo failed to respond to his yells and threats, Solon was forced to go and find his own lamps. Naturally enough, the ones he found were empty, and he had to make the long trip down to the cellars where the fuel-oil was kept. He was in a savage mood by the time he returned to the great hall—to find Condo rummaging in a vast iron chest that stood by the wall.

  The huge barbarian jumped back guiltily as Solon stormed into the hall, an oil-lamp in each hand. The lid of the chest fell with an echoing clang. Solon set down his lamps and advanced menacingly on his giant servant. 'Well, and where have you been?'

  Condo hung his head, rather like a small child being told off, but made no reply.

  'Answer me, you stupid ox,' snapped Solon. 'Where have you been?'

  Condo scratched his chin with his hook, trying to think up an acceptable excuse. Finally he grunted, 'Me look for food, Master.'

  'A lie! You can't deceive me, Condo. You were looking for that arm, weren't you?'

  Condo nodded guiltily.

  'I've told you before, Condo, you'll get your arm back when our task here is finished, and not before.'

  Condo bowed his head. 'Yes, Master.'

  Solon looked at him with a self-satisfied smile. This was only the latest of many such conversations. When the slave ship carrying Condo had crash-landed on the planet, the huge barbarian had been the only survivor. However, his left arm had been almost severed in the crash. While Condo was still unconscious, Solon, for purposes of his own, had removed the limb completely, replacing it with a crude bionic arm ending in a metal hook. As soon as he became aware of this, Condo began pestering Solon to give him his own arm back. Solon soon realised that the missing arm gave him a tremendous hold over Condo. The promise that one day the arm would be restored kept the big barbarian humble and obedient.

  Even Condo realised that in escaping from the crash to become Solon's servant he had simply exchanged one form of slavery for another. In his savage heart he hated Solon, and often planned to kill him. But while there was a chance the missing arm would be restored to him, Condo was powerless to rebel.

  Solon was well aware of his servant's feelings, and took a sadistic delight in his power over Condo. 'Serve me well and I'll put it back, as good as new, but if you fail me...' He grabbed Condo's hook and held it high in the air. 'Fail me and you'll keep this hook for the rest of your life. Understand?'

  Condo nodded meekly—and there came a sudden jangle from the rusty bell that hung outside the main door. Solon swung round in alarm.

  'The door—someone ring,' growled Condo, never one to avoid the obvious.

  Solon glared at him. 'I'm aware of that. Answer it, fool.'

  Condo lumbered across to the main door and heaved it open. Immediately the oil lamps flared as wind mixed with rain swept through the hall. In the doorway stood two extraordinary figures, a tall man in a floppy hat and long scarf, and a slender girl. Despite the umbrella the tall man held over them, both were soaking wet. Outside, lightning flashed, thunder rumbled, and lashing rain poured down.

  Condo stared at them in puzzlement. 'What you want?'

  The Doctor smiled. 'May I have a glass of water?' Realising that his little joke was lost on the slow-thinking Condo, he slipped nimbly past him and into the hall. Sarah followed.

  They found themselves confronting a medium-sized man in flowing robes that somehow suggested the academic. His smooth face was not unhandsome—but Sarah immediately felt there was something untrustworthy about it—a suggestion of slyness, cunning, treachery. The man was staring at them. 'Humans,' he breathed. 'Humans, at last.' Suddenly he seemed to collect himself. 'Condo, what are you thinking of? Let them in, close the door.'

  Condo slammed the door, and the noise of the storm died down. Solon bustled forward, an ingratiating smile on his face. 'My dear sir, my dear young lady! You've no idea what a pleasure this is. It's been so long since we had visitors. Condo, take their things! You must eat, drink, rest...'

  Sarah broke into this flood of hospitable chatter. 'If we could shelter here for a while—then we'll be off. My name is Sarah Jane Smith, by the way. And this is the Doctor.'

  Solon wouldn't hear of their leaving. 'Great heavens, this is no night to be travelling. I wouldn't dream of letting you proceed another step. Stir yourself, Condo, our guests are cold and tired. Let me take your hat, sir.'

  The Doctor removed his hat, which by now was little more than a lump of sopping wet felt, and handed it to Solon. Solon took it and stepped back. gazing up at the Doctor in admiration. 'Your head,' he whispered. 'Oh, what a magnificent head!'

  The Doctor was a little taken aback
by this rather fulsome compliment. 'I'm sorry?'

  Solon was still staring up at him. 'Quite, quite superb!'

  The Doctor smiled modestly. 'I'm glad you like it. I've had several,' he said chattily. 'I used to have an old grey model before this one. Some people liked it,'

  Sarah grinned, wondering what their host would make of all this nonsense. 'Well, I was very fond of it,' she whispered.

  The Doctor smiled down at her. 'So were a lot of people,' he conceded. 'But I think I prefer this one!'

  Once again, Solon seemed to come to. 'I beg your pardon. What a surly host you must think me. Do please come and sit down and get warm. Condo, see to the fire. Bring food and wine!'

  Condo raked the smouldering logs with a massive poker and a sulky flame appeared. Solon waved him away, and ushered the Doctor and Sarah to a table near the fire, dragging forward heavily carved chairs. Sarah stretched her hand out to the flame. 'You're very kind,' she said, feeling a little overpowered by Solon's effusive hospitality.

  'Not at all, not at all. I am honoured to offer such comfort as my humble abode can provide. Though as you can see, the amenities here are somewhat primitive.'

  As Sarah looked round the huge draughty hall, she was inclined to agree with him, though she was too polite to say so. 'Oh no,' she protested, 'I think it's all very nice.'

  Solon beamed at her. 'Now, I want to hear all about your adventures. I have so few visitors here on Karn.'

  The Doctor nodded. 'We're on Karn, are we? I should have known.'

  Solon looked puzzled. 'You mean you arrived here without knowing?'

  The Doctor frowned, reminded of the Time Lords' intervention. Hurriedly Sarah said, 'Sometimes we go on a sort of mystery tour, don't we, Doctor?'

  The Doctor was looking at the clay bust that stood on a nearby side-table. 'You seem very interested in. heads, Mr... ?'

  'Doctor, actually. Doctor Mehendri Solon.' Solon spoke quickly, and Sarah felt the title was very important to him. He hurried forward and flung a cloth over the bust. 'I dabble in modelling a little—this one's not very good, though.'