"He's late."
The Doctor watched one of his guards cross the room to open the door yet again. The corridor beyond was empty, as it had been for most of the afternoon.
"Relax, George. He got held up. Sheridan's a busy man."
Propping dirty boots on the desk, the speaker, a singularly unpleasant man called Melv, hand-rolled another cigarette and lit it. The smoke rose to tickle the Doctor's nose. He sneezed and sneezed again. Handcuffed to the guard rail of the telescope platform, he had a choice of breathing the poorly-cured tobacco or holding his breath.
"I don't care. I don't like this."
George stomped back and scowled up at their prisoner. The Doctor met the frown with a direct look of his own. George's scowl deepened and he looked away.
"We're talking about the Old Man here! What if we're wrong?"
"Sheridan says Masterson's up to something and to keep an eye out. That's what we did and we got ourselves a Scourge spy."
"Yeah? He don't admit it." George pointed out. "What if he's telling the truth?"
"Oh, right -- he's really from outer space. Get real, George." Melv inhaled deeply, his protruding eyes rested speculatively on the prisoner. "You're right about one thing, though -- I'd rather have a confession -- just in case the next guy who shows up isn't Sheridan. Guess I'll see if Joe Spaceman here has changed his mind about cooperating."
The Time Lord tensed, remembering the last round of "persuasion." He watched the lit end of Melv's cigarette like a man hypnotized.
"I don't know, Melv. You've been working on him awhile. Maybe we better just wait . . . "
"The Scourge razed Antuck, man! We got no time to be squeamish!"
"I know. But what's the Scourge got to do with the Old Man, I want to know? Hell, those rat bastards burn 'stones alive! Why would he go over to them?"
"You're thinking of the Purifiers." Melv let out a long, smoky breath. "Scourge blackstones just disappear - that's what I hear. But who cares anyway? Sheridan says the Professor has his own agenda and he's usually right. Just 'cuz we don't know what it is, don't mean it ain't true."
He broke off and got to his feet. Feeling acutely vulnerable, the Time Lord straightened as far as his handcuffs would allow.
The Security officer gave the Time Lord an unpleasant smile. Cigarette in hand, he strolled up the few platform steps, his partner watching unhappily from the floor. The Doctor tried not to shrink away as Mel, still smiling, leaned against the railing beside him. Their shoulders brushed.
"Let's try this again, Spaceman." The end of his cigarette flared balefully. Swallowing, the Doctor looked away. His new body was young and strong, he told himself -- and his hearts had surely recovered from Grace's unfortunate assault. It was just a matter of outlasting this maniac.
"How'd you get through the Barrier -- LOOK at me, spy!"
"The earthquake damaged one of your transmission towers. I walked in. And I'm not a spy."
Melv ashed his cigarette. "Why don't I believe you?" he asked plaintively.
The Doctor shook his head. He had already endured two painful, if unimaginative, interrogatories at the hands of the officer. Dread settled heavily in his stomach.
"Melv!"
Ignoring his partner's objection, Melv stepped away from the railing. He tapped his cigarette against the Doctor's collar -- just close enough for the Time Lord to feel its warmth on his neck.
"You and your people sabotaged the tower, didn't you, spy?"
"No . . ."
"You and your people have a mission to infiltrate Igan -- so we don't get away like they did in Antuck!"
"I am not a Scourge agent -- Ah!"
Brutal fingers locked in his hair, dragged his head back. The Doctor felt sharp heat above his sternum - a warning. Then pain shocked the breath from him.
"Where are the others?"
Another lingering touch, this one atop flesh already blistered from Melv's previous attentions. The Doctor's knees buckled. The sudden shift of weight on his cramped muscles temporarily eclipsed reality. He caught himself before he could fall and dislocate something.
"Melv!"
Again, George was ignored.
"Please. This is pointless. . ."
The Doctor's words were thready and faint. Drawing a shaky breath, he started over. "I'm not a -- spy. I came to talk to Dr. Masterson..."
Melv deliberated a moment, then kicked the Doctor's feet out from under him. The Time Lord fell heavily, brought up short by the handcuffs. There was more pain - an absurd amount of it. Steel bit deep into his wrists. Through a rushing in his ears, he heard: "Melv, damn it! Someone's coming!"
The Doctor heard the observatory doors open. He got his feet under him again as strangers strode into the room. Three wore the same foreboding black uniforms of Igan Security, the fourth was dressed in casual, academic attire. Mel hastily abandoned the platform.
The man in the sweater and tie waved his escorts back and approached the Doctor's captors. A pair of lens-less spectacles slid down the thin bridge of his nose. In the center of his forehead, a biocrystal winked and sparkled.
"Who are you?"
"Corporal Melvin Johnson, sir."
"You're under Sheridan's command, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"What are you doing here? Who is that man?"
Melv summoned some bravado. "We were sent by Lieutenant Sheridan, sir, to investigate some irregularities."
"Such as?"
"You'd have to talk to the Lieutenant about that." Melv refused to back down. "Lucky for you that we were here, if you ask me, sir. We found this spy, sir. Making himself at home, too."
"Spy, huh?"
"He's got some cockeyed story of being from outer space. We believe he's a Scourge spy, Professor. Interesting that he would come here."
"Johnson, you're outta line!" barked one of the blackstone's escorts.
"Professor? Professor Masterson?" The Doctor croaked hopefully.
Masterson looked up. At the sight of Melv's handiwork, his mouth turned sharply down. "Bring him down here."
"With all due respect, sir, we should wait for the Lieutenant."
"Corporal?" The Professor sounded almost apologetic. "I'm having a real hard time with this. I come home -- to my personal, private living quarters -- and discover a man being brutally tortured by total strangers within a few feet of my bed."
"Sorry, sir, but I have my orders."
"Indeed? Very well. Perhaps you would like to identify the man on my left."
Melv's hubris evaporated as a tall, middle-aged officer stepped from behind the Professor.
"Colonel Vincent." Swallow. "Sir."
Masterson made a little motion with his hand. The colonel smiled. "Bring the prisoner down here, Johnson."
White-lipped, Melv obeyed. He stalked angrily back to the platform, closely followed by the Professor. While the blackstone looked on, the officer took the steps in two long strides. Jerking the Doctor around, he roughly unlocked the Time Lord's aching wrists. A hard shove sent the prisoner stumbling down the steps. Regaining his balance by snatching at the rail, the Doctor came face to face with Masterson. Blue eyes framed by bent, brass rims traveled his battered figure from head to toe.
"Terrance?"
Masterson's other Security escort stepped forward.
"In that file cabinet over there, top drawer, is a first-aid kit. Bring it over, will you?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're an alien? Really?" The Professor was disbelieving -- and slightly amused.
"Yes. . ."
Masterson came closer.
"You look human to me."
"Two hearts," the Time Lord hoarsely assured him.
"Easy enough to check."
The blackstone strolled over to a table littered with electronic devices, most in various stages of repair. Plucking a stethoscope out of the chaos, he returned.
The Doctor drew a quick breath at
the touch of cold metal against raw flesh. The stethoscope slid to the
opposite side. Masterson sat back, stared at him, then checked
again.
"And before you ask," the Doctor
said, "I'm not one of the aliens that gave you the plague!"
"More than one kind is there?" Masterson turned on a sneakered heel and went to his desk. "Sit down before you fall down."
The Doctor sat carefully on the chair pulled up in front of it.
Masterson, giving the desktop a cursory glance, froze. Looking sharply at the Doctor, he switched on his computer. The keyboard rattled. There was a long silence while he stared at the screen. The Doctor tried to guess which part of his message the Professor had reached.
"You drank my Scotch, too, bastard," the Professor said absently. "What the hell is this?"
"A connection you hadn't made."
Masterson pushed up his spectacles. Terrance reappeared with a large white box that he set down on the desk in front of the Doctor.
"Do you need help?" Masterson asked.
The Doctor shook his head, wincing as he raised a hand to open the box. He found disinfectant and some gauze. Masterson turned back to the screen.
"When did you input this?"
"Last night. Just after we -- I started in on that very excellent whisky."
A slight, sardonic grin acknowledged the slip. "Interesting theory," Masterson said finally. "It fits the facts. (Ouch.) I read your diaries, too. I do apologize, but things (uh!) are getting desperate."
Professor Masterson considered the Security presence around them. His escorts, and Sheridan's men, were watching all this with varying degrees of incredulity and suspicion.
"Gentlemen." Masterson stood up, leaned forward across his desk to face the others. "This man is not a spy. Quite the contrary, I was expecting him."
"That's not how it seemed to me, sir."
Melv was furious - but the colonel's disapproving presence kept him in check.
"This is matter of inter-Consortium intelligence, corporal." Masterson dripped cool arrogance. "This man was required to give me certain code phrases and signs - hence the nonsense about being from outer space. He has just done so to my satisfaction.
"You will be very lucky to get out of this with merely a court martial, Johnson. 'I'm just following orders' didn't work for the Nazis and it won't work for you. As for Lieutenant Sheridan -- I daresay there will be a review of his behavior in this, as well. Please accompany Captain Terrance outside." Masterson paused. "Captain, I'm expecting two more people, a woman and a blackstone. When they come, bring them to me immediately."
"Yessir."
The room cleared, Sheridan's men herded reluctantly out.
"Do you think they believe you?" Masterson shook his head.
"Probably not, but unless Sheridan pops up to discredit me, they won't say anything. What's your name?"
"I'm known as the Doctor."
"Unpronounceable, huh? "
Hissing at the sting of the disinfectant, the Doctor tended to his burns while Masterson toiled through the admittedly lengthy file.
"Why are you here?" the Professor asked finally.
"To get your help. Professor - do you have a vehicle?"
"Maybe." Masterson had refocused on the screen. "These epidemiology data are incredible. I can't believe no one noticed it, but it's clear as a bell: Viral mutations -- significant mutations -- every ten years."
"Your people did notice, but came to the wrong conclusions. Your planet is being seeded, Professor Masterson. Someone wants something very specific."
"My theory exactly! The only thing I can't figure out is what. And where the hell are they? My data is inconclusive. It's a effing drag that the Cataclysms destroyed so much . . ."
"Exactly!" The Doctor interrupted. He moved around the desk and hit a couple keys. "The Cataclysms, Professor!"
Masterson blinked. "What's that?"
"It's in your thermal data - the burst of synchrotronic energy that occurred just before the quakes started. You'll note the coordinates?"
The blackstone's mouth dropped. He shoved his face right up to the screen.
"I never saw this!"
"I'm not surprised. The entire event lasted only fifteen seconds. Considering that you've got thousands of gigabytes of raw data accumulated, you weren't likely to find it unless you were incredibly lucky - or were looking for it"
"You realize what you're saying, don't you? There's something out there big enough to wreak havoc on our gravitational field." Masterson broke off, eyes narrowing. "A ship? But that's nuts! The confrontation between the moon and a ship that size entering the same orbit would destroy this planet!"
"There was no confrontation with the moon. The moon is no longer there. They've displaced it somehow, maybe absorption through molecular re-alignment."
"Sorry. That's stretching even my credulity."
The Doctor hesitated. "Dr. Masterson, I'd like to explain everything, but here isn't time! What would you say if I told you I had the equipment you desire and you could see for yourself?"
"I'd say you were lying."
"It's in my ship."
"Ah, yes - the space ship," the blackstone sneered, but he was caught. "And where might that be?"
"In Deet, in the Slough."
"Nice neighborhood."
"We must get there as soon as possible," the Doctor urged. "This Prophet, Callifer, is apparently on the move. We may not be able to get through if we wait much longer!"
He was interrupted by a pounding on the door. It opened before Masterson could respond.
"Professor. I apologize for the intrusion." It was Colonel Vincent, grim and urgent. "There's been an accident!"
"What happened?"
"We've found a security jeep run off the road about six miles from here. There was only one occupant and we're bringing her in. It's Dr. Taylor."
***
The Witchhorde camp went on forever. Danner, who had finally reached a truce with his horse, stared about him through the gathering dark. The sun was just past setting, its fading luminescence a pale line against the western horizon. In the east, a deeper darkness was spreading.
Torches burned atop poles thrust into the soggy earth. The smoke-hazed air rang with rough voices. Shadows danced across tent walls, slid over the faces of men, making all he saw uncertain and deceptive.
Like almost everyone else in Deet, Danner had heard about the Witchhorde - the only possible defense against the Scourge. It had been a long time since he had seen so many Norms in one place. They had been riding through camp for nearly ten minutes, yet no matter which direction he looked, there were always more men, horses, wagons and tents.
Their destination was a circle of six large tents surrounding a seventh. The Witch drew back on Satan's reins as men ran to take their horses. Danner's personal nemesis, Sergeant Corwin, hauled him off and stood grinning while the blackstone discovered hitherto unsuspected muscles. Finally, sufficiently amused, he took the ropes off Danner's wrists, laid a heavy hand on the blackstone's shoulder and marched him after the Witch. Danner, who had expected to be shuffled off to a cell somewhere, was disconcerted when Corwin pushed him impatiently after her into a large tent.
There were maps tacked on the canvas walls. A long table occupied most of the floor space, more maps scattered across it. Tobacco smoke hazed the hot, close air. At least a dozen men in Horde green and brown came to attention as the Witch and her entourage walked in. One of them, a tall, handsome fellow with dark hair, moved forward, relief plain on his face. From the stripes on his uniform, he outranked everyone present.
"Captain! Nice to see you."
She smiled and briefly touched his shoulder, genuine affection in the gesture.
"No problem, Miles," she said. "Saw a couple Scourge recon units, but they were easy to avoid. Field reports, gentlemen?"
Discreet, but curious stares tracked Corwin and Danner to a nearby bench. Danner sat, grateful for a chance to be still, and glared back at them. Attention reverted quickly to the Witch -- with one exception. The officer she called Miles continued to watch the blackstone, thoughtful and a little grim.
Danner tried to pay attention to the meeting, but he was thirsty, sore and very tired. The heat and sluggish air were soporific; his eyelids kept drifting down as the conversation around the table became white noise. Twice, he caught himself jerking awake, disoriented.
"You want some water?"
Corwin was holding out a battered tin mug, liberally dewed with condensation. Startled by the unexpected kindness, Danner took it and drank deeply. The water was blissfully cold. Somewhat revived, he tried to focus on the briefing. The Witch was speaking, but her eyes were distant and unfocused.
"Bill R. reports two stealth companies to our southwest. They're hiding out in the ruins of a town. Derek has the main concentration of troops at the river junction."
She was a mindreader! No wonder the Horde was so formidable. Spies all over the countryside in constant, instant communication with headquarters. No apparatus, no signals to be detected. He almost felt sorry for Callifer.
Rumor gave her four or five thousand troops. But if he were hearing things correctly, there were more on the way. The mercenaries kept referring to the "sleepers" After listening for a while, he realized what they were - secret Horde enclaves spread across the continent over the decades. In many cases, these units had apparently become permanent fixtures in the settlements they were originally commissioned to protect. The Prophet -- bless his rabid, fanatical soul, -- was marching right into a trap.
Danner set his cup down. It did a little jig across the bench. As he reached for it, the ground shook again, harder this time. The bench went over, pitching him to his knees. There were startled shouts and men staggered to keep their balance. On the table, a lantern overturned, oil running across the maps. Flames licked hungrily along the spill. Someone jumped to smother the fire with his coat.
"Beware aftershock!"
And it came, harder than the first tremor. One of the support poles tilted; men ran to shore it up. When the earth stopped bucking, they waited, but this time it stayed still. Finally, the captain nodded.
"Over, I think. For now."
A mocking peal of thunder drowned her out. Nervous laughter ran through the tent. She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "I'll take that as a sign that it's time to break this up. Anyone else have questions?"
There were none. Most of the men looked like they wanted to get the hell out into the open.
"OK. Unless I get new information, we'll mobilize at 0400 to meet their sweep across the river. Dismissed."
* * *
The quake was small, a slight shudder
through the concrete foundations of the observatory. It was followed
almost immediately by an aftershock of similar magnitude. Anna reached
out a shaking hand and rescued her bag before it could slide off the corner
of Masterson's desk. The Old Man spared an anxious glance for his
telescope.
"That's over," he said after several
moments, "for now. It's all right, Terrance!"
He waved away the officer who poked his head through the door.
Anna knew she should worry more about the quakes, but at the moment, all she felt was sick and dizzy. Her head was pounding. The cut over her right eye, solicitously patched by the enigmatic Doctor, pulsed with pain. Her sprained wrist was taped up, compliments of the Doctor as well.
And who was he? British, certainly -- that accent was unmistakable. He was in need of a haircut and the immediate attention of a comb. The white lawn shirt, its style reminiscent of another age, hung on him in filthy shreds. Angry bruises were stark on his pale face. He lifted a hand to push back some of the unruly hair and she saw more bruises braceleting his wrists. He caught her staring and smiled wryly. Quickly, she glanced away.
Security seemed to think Ron had been with her -- a logical enough assumption since it was his jeep. She let them go on thinking that. The longer it took them to start actively looking for him, the better. Masterson's security escort had questioned her -- gently -- and she had given dazed, semi-coherent replies only partially feigned. They soon left her alone.
"You should have killed him," Masterson was grousing. "We'll have to leave - and soon."
"I may have done just that," she admitted miserably. "This whole thing has me so stressed that I completely forgot about drug interactions and mixed barbiturates with alcohol."
"You mean he might have gone into respiratory arrest?" the Professor brightened.
"Damn you, Alan!"
Masterson opened his mouth to say something, but the stranger slid a question in first.
"This woman you saw, just before the crash. What did she look like?"
She was startled by the urgency in his voice. "I - I don't know. Pretty. Red hair . . ."
"Palas," the Doctor said flatly, turning to Masterson. "We have to go, Professor, and quickly."
"It's damned dangerous. I read the field reports not two hours ago. There are Scourge units everywhere between Deet and the observatory."
"Masterson!" The Doctor's voice rose slightly in frustration. "Unless I am terribly wrong - which rarely happens - you have a very short time before the Cataclysms come again, and on a scale you cannot imagine! A ship of that size makes much larger waves leaving than arriving. Think about it!"
Masterson did and, from the expression on his face, was not happy.
"What are you talking about?" Anna asked, politely under the circumstances.
Before he could answer, a knock sounded on the door. The three of them exchanged looks.
"Yeah?"
It was Captain Terrance.
"Professor, there's someone coming up the drive. Looks like some more of our people. It might be word of Sheridan."
"Good." Masterson's voice was steady. "See to it."
As soon as he was gone, the Professor retrieved a long, heavy board gathering dust against the wall. It slid neatly through the door handles, bracing them shut.
"That'll slow them down. Dr. Taylor? Are you coming?"
"I'm not sticking around to face Ron," Anna replied promptly.
"But how are we going to get out of here, now that you've blocked the only exit?"
"Who said it's the only exit?"
The Doctor reached to help her to her feet. Standing brought on a moment of distress. He kept his hold on her until it passed. Then they joined Masterson on the far side of the room.
"Through the air ducts?" she exclaimed, staring with disbelief at the tiny rectangle of vent.
The Old Man grinned at her and hit the wall. There was no mark, no depression, nothing to suggest a mechanism, but a portion of paneling promptly slid aside, revealing a small room that, in turn, led into a narrow passage running between the walls.
"A little something I dreamed up a few decades ago. In with you now."
Someone tried the door in the outer chamber. "Dr. Masterson!"
A new voice, loud and aggressive. Anna felt her face whiten, recognizing it.
"Sounds like Erikson," the Old Man said calmly. "Sheridan's right hand. They've found the bastard, I guess. Don't dawdle, kiddies."
And so saying, he stepped into the secret room. The Doctor pushed Anna after him. Behind them, the panel slid back into place. They were in darkness alleviated only by the light coming through the small vent.
Masterson reached over and pulled her into the tunnel The Doctor brought up the rear. There was a soft click. A beam of light bounced over concrete walls.
"This'll take us to a passage dug under the observatory. It comes out two hundred feet from the main building. There's a shed nearby - head for that!"
It was still possible to hear what was happening in the observatory chamber. A splintering noise signaled the end of Masterson's brace. Anna heard a loud bang as the doors were thrust open, and the thud of booted feet.
"Time to leave," the Old Man whispered.
She moved away, the Doctor coming behind. The passage through the walls was short. A hole was roughly cut into the floor with a rickety ladder descending into the earth.
Hunkering down in front of a very small hole, Master crawled in. The tunnel was too low to let them walk, even stooped. Anna's bruised knees objected painfully to this insult.
The noise faded altogether as the passage turned and turned again. After about thirty feet, they reached the foundations of the building; a hole had been knocked through the concrete brick and another tunnel led away through the earth. They were able to walk upright here, covering the last hundred-plus feet quickly.
The tunnel ended, a trap-door overhead. Masterson clambered up and pushed the trap over.
"All clear," he called down softly. "But not for long, I reckon."
Anna had a brief view of swinging feet as Masterson pulled himself up and out. A hand reached down for hers. A moment later, she was standing in the sweltering dark. It took her vision a few moments to adjust. Trees and bushes crowded in around them. Thunder rumbled. The entire world seemed to lie motionless in the oppressive night.
"There," Masteerson whispered, pointing off to the left. The silhouette of a tilting shack, its roof sagging, stood against the darker blotch of forest.
"Hold!"
Suddenly there was light in Anna's eyes. Masterson swore and grabbed her, pulling her with him into the nearest bushes. She saw three men, the distant lightning glancing off gun barrels. One of them had a high-powered flashlight. He played it over the surroundings.
Masterson ducked down beside her. Anna felt him scrabbling in the dirt. He straightened and let fly with something. There was a crack, a shout of pain, and the light was gone. The action startled one of the other security men so much that he fired. The shot went wide, but it kicked Anna's heart right into her throat.
In the clearing, a fourth figure erupted from the deeper shadows. She recognized the pale smear of white shirt, the gleam of tousled hair. The Doctor ran straight into the midst of the panicking men, knocking one down, spinning and flipping another over his shoulder. Anna flung herself to the ground as the third fired wildly, bullet whistling past her cheek. Masterson muttered something unintelligible. There was a rustling of leaves and he was gone.
Anna pushed aside two branches as Masterson reached the Doctor and their adversaries. Never hesitating, the blackstone lashed out with a right and a left. Fists connected and the third cop was history.
She scrambled out of the bushes. The Doctor was rubbing his knuckles while Masterson bent down, searching the unconscious security agents, helping himself to their weapons.
"I recognize two of these guys -- Atkins and Phillips from Sheridan's inner circle," he announced over his shoulder. "There will be more."
No kidding. They ran the last few feet to the shed. The door was locked.
"No!" Masterson pounded on the wood angrily. "I forgot the key!"
"Allow me." The Doctor inserted himself between the padlock and Masterson. Anna heard a high-pitched, whirring noise, then a click.
"Nice tool," Masterson congratulated. "What is it?"
"Sonic screwdriver. After you."
Inside, Anna smelled must, age - and motor oil. The Doctor's flashlight was on again. It bounced around the room.
"Oh," said Anna, stunned. Then: "You have got to be kidding!"
"Neat, huh?" Masterson sounded like a sixteen-year-old.
"I don't believe this! It's a Monster Truck!"
The body, one of the larger Ford pick-ups, was painted black with garish orange and yellow flames shooting back from the grill. "Born To Be Wild" adorned the door in elaborate curly-cue lettering. The behemoth was mounted atop tires as tall as she. It was an easy five feet from the ground to the running boards.
"She's a beaut, isn't she?" There was reverence in Masterson's voice. "Five-hundred and fifty horses on a bad day, triple steel suspension. I personally hand-cast and hand-manufactured every piece in her engine."
"What kind of engine is it?" the Doctor wanted to know.
"Ford 6840 DL Solar - well, a replica, of course. They came out around 2005 - only a thousand of them made, you know and they kicked ass!"
"Speaking of engines," Anna interrupted. "I think we have more company."
"Everyone in!"
The roomy cab fit them all comfortably, but Anna was more concerned about whether the thing would go. There was a bad moment while Masterson, swearing, hunted around for the key. He found it just as headlights swung across their path.
The truck's huge engine roared to life. A cloud of vile-smelling exhaust filled the shed. More headlights intersected the darkness in front of them. A jeep bounded into their line of sight.
Masterson yanked the truck into gear and it surged forward. "Lights!' she heard him muttering. "Where are the damned lights?"
Anna shrieked as twin, high-powered beams lit up the side of a jeep and four open-mouthed faces directly in front of them. There was a hideous crunching as the truck rolled slowly up and over the jeep, returning to the ground with a bump that sent them all bouncing into the roof of the cab.
There were more jeeps in front of them. Others were arriving from the north and south. Something hit the window next to the Doctor's face and left a web of cracks.
"They're shooting at us!"
Masterson stamped down on the accelerator. The truck leapt forward as if powered by rockets, bouncing across the rough ground. More headlights joined those lining up before them. Trees grew thickly on either side of the narrow drive. There was no escape to the right or left, and the rear-view mirror reflected more vehicles behind them.
Gunfire erupted again. The Doctor pushed her forward, head beneath the dash. The windshield shattered, a glitter of glass showering down around them. Swerving, the truck bounced off some trees.
"We're not going to make it," Masterson shouted. "There are too many of them! We're cut off!"
"Keep going!" she screamed Pushing the Doctor away, she sat up. The wall of headlights filled her vision.
"Anna!"
She ignored Masterson and reached.
For the second time that day, the power Anna had tried so hard for so long to ignore exploded through her with nuclear force. Jeeps flew, tossed like toys in all directions. Bright flowers of flame bloomed where they fell. Bodies afire zigzagged across her vision like erratic stars.
Masterson was swearing, a steady monotone of profanity. He kept them on the drive somehow, careening through blazing, overturned vehicles. Anna fought for control, but the pent-up force, propelled by her terror, would not be denied. She thought the Doctor was shouting, but was too far gone to pay any attention. The truck lifted off the ground, sailing with slow majesty over the trees. It did not return to the earth until there was a road beneath them. The world dimmed.
They had stopped. Slowly Anna straightened, weak and dizzy. She turned toward the Doctor. He pushed open the door and jumped out, pulling her with him. On the side of the road, she was violently and wretchedly sick.
"Are you all right now?"
She lifted her head. The Doctor's face was a half-seen oval in the darkness, but it seemed that there was hostility in the gaze. Heart thudding, she nodded, but pushed his hands away. The thought of being touched made her flesh crawl.
Control. Control.
Anna returned unsteadily to the truck. Masterson looked down at her, anger in the set of his jaw. She could sense fear and revulsion, and began to shiver. The feeling of being in personal danger mushroomed. She remembered Masterson taking weapons from the fallen security men.
"My bag," she said, forcing the words. "Where's my bag?"
Something was shoved into her hands. She twisted away from the door and the Doctor's groping hands.
"Leave -- leave me alone!"
Anna fumbled at the bag's clasp, fingers clumsy as the dreaded, too-familiar panic began to set in. She got it open, brain screaming at the delay. Using the power had been a mistake -- a huge mistake. As usual.
Her fingers closed around the rigid leather packet. She pulled it out, opened it. The hypodermic caught the light from the truck's cab, refracted it.
"What's that?" The Doctor asked, suspicious.
Anna spared him a glance. His eyes were cold, sinister. She heard herself say: "Neuroleptic. Should never, never have done that."
"Doctor?" Masterson's voice rose ominously.
"It's all right. Just wait a moment."
Anna slipped the guard from the needle with a practiced flick of her finger. Depressing the plunger gently, she watched as a single drop of clear liquid oozed from the tip. Then she flipped it over and stuck it into her thigh.
The injection site burned. She pulled the needle out, replaced it in the box. Heat diffused through her veins. Her anger, fear and suspicion abated slightly. Only then did she trust herself to look up again.
The truck had come to rest diagonally across the road. Lightning divided the sky, showing them fields on either side. A breeze teased her hair. It was damp and filled with the smell of rain.
"Relapse?" the Doctor asked.
She nodded, startled.
"How long will the drugs last?"
She shook her head, amazed at his understanding. "A few hours. I can take three more injections. After that..." she lifted her eyes to Masterson.
Crouched in the glass-littered cab, he stared back at her.
"I'm very close to relapse. When I use my powers, it accelerates the energy drain. I warned you, Alan. You should have left well enough alone. You may end up dead before this is all over."
"Not necessarily," replied the Doctor. "Dr. Taylor?"
Her eyes did not leave the Old Man. In spite of the drugs' alleviating effect, his attraction was stronger than she liked. Sensing this perhaps, the blackstone edged back into the driver's seat.
"Anna?"
She licked her lips and forced her attention away from the bright spot in her mind's eye that was Alan Masterson.
"I'm all right. It just takes a little while for the drugs to be completely effective." She met Masterson's appalled expression candidly. "You're safe for the moment, Alan. Quit looking so scared."
"It's what's coming after us that scares me," he snapped, starting the truck. "Are you getting in, or do I leave you two here for Sheridan to play with?"
He said nothing more to either of them. Staring straight ahead, he focused grim attention on the road. The Doctor had closed his eyes, small deep lines etched around his mouth. He seemed to be in pain, and Anna filed another black mark under Ron's name. Leaning back, she tried to relax. She could smell the storm - wet leaves and ozone.
The wind was picking up. It blew bits of grass and dry weeds across the road, flattened the wild, waist-high grain that grew right up to the pavement. Lightning, nearly continuous now, illuminated boiling clouds that swept west, moving fast.
"What the . . .?"
She looked over at Masterson, a flicker of panic making its way through the drugs. He slowed the truck, leaning across the wheel to peer up through the open windshield. She followed the direction of his gaze and saw only storm clouds and lightning.
"There!" He stomped on the brakes and the truck skidded to a stop. "Did you see it?"
"What?"
"There were lights, damn it! In the sky!"
Leaving the engine idling, he jumped out and ran a few feet up the road, face tilted skyward. Anna stared until her eyes burned, but still saw nothing.
"There!" cried the Doctor - and finally, she saw it.
Two small lights darted across the strobing sky, paused, hovered, and zipped on.
"Lightning," she said to the Doctor. "Some weird optical thing caused by the storm?"
"Maybe," he replied. "Masterson! Get back in here! Let's go!"
* * *
It was raining, a relentless downpour that drowned the torches, sent man slipping and cursing across treacherous mud. The kind of night a man could sneak away. Several feet ahead, the Witch was talking with another of her officers, oblivious to the deluge. An aide with a storm lantern hovered around them. He and Nelson were forgotten. Just to test the waters, Danner slowed, tried to fall back.
The Witch turned and looked straight at him.
It was the rain, Danner told himself, that gave him that chill. She turned back, resumed her conversation. He heard Nelson's chuckle through the thunder.
The new tent was much smaller than
the first, and clearly living quarters.
There was a cot, a footlocker, woven grass rugs across the
damp earth. A lantern held the shadows back. He wandered
into it while McAllister stopped a few
steps inside the door.
"Thanks, Miles," she said.
"Get some rest."
"You, too."
The Rider left, reluctantly, swallowed up in the wet night. Alone with the Witch for the first time, Danner did his best to pretend she was absolutely not scaring him. A waste of time, probably.
"Your tent?" he asked finally, because the silence was too nerveracking.
"Guest quarters."
"We're pretending I'm a guest, are we? By all means. Do come in."
"No thanks. I have work to do. Let's just lay the cards out, shall we?"
He had been waiting for this. "Good idea. You don't mind if I sit down?"
She ignored that. "I promised the Doctor you were safe as long as I wasn't desperate. I meant it. But I will tell you this. I've had to use my powers more than is usually healthy these past two days. It's very likely I'll have to use them a lot tomorrow. The odds of my relapsing within the next forty-eight hours are high."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
Danner sat down on the cot. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was about to learn something he did not want to know.
"I caught the plague right about the time you did."
"Impossible."
"I survived. Like you did. But instead of superb physical senses and a super immune system, I got psi abilities. Instead of a return of plague symptoms, I become . . ."
"A vampire?"
She shrugged. "If you will. The bottom line is this. When I relapse, blackstones die. Whether or not I can help myself or how I feel about it are irrelevant. What is relevant -- blackstones die. Always. Without exception -- until you."
"Would you please sit down?"
She shook her head. "I promised the Doctor -- if I hadn't, you would be coming to the front with me whether you agreed or not. But as it is, you have a choice. To come and risk death in the morning, or postpone it."
Danner got to his feet abruptly. A wild gust of wind shook the tent. "Every time you relapse, you kill one of us?"
Her mouth tightened, but she nodded.
"And if I don't go with you, someone will go in my place?"
Another nod. He heard thunder, receding. The storm was moving away.
"How is the Doctor?"
Off balance, she almost laughed. "Just fine. I'm expecting him, actually. He and I . . ."
"Captain?"
It was Nelson's voice, urgent. A moment later, he pushed into the tent, scattering raindrops everywhere. "Captain. We have visitors."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Palas, it's Cardinal Lermor and some priests from Deet."
"Is the man crazy? We're fighting Deet's frickin' war in the morning. He can turn around and go home."
"With pleasure!"
"Wait! No -- never mind. Show the idiot in."
So, cursing under his breath, Nelson disappeared briefly, returning with a tall, emaciated man in rich, ecclesiastical robes. He was followed by three shorter, brown-robed priests, hoods pulled well down over their faces. Danner felt a shiver of apprehension.
"Captain McAllister?" The voice was soft, rich, and reassuring.
McAllister stood up and inclined her head. "Cardinal. Why are you here?"
"To give you the blessings of the Church, my daughter."
"Very kind, although not at all necessary."
"Ah, but indeed it is." The Cardinal smiled in what Danner assumed was meant as a kindly fashion. "The good will of Our Lord will carry you to victory, Captain."
"I'll bet the Prophet thinks he has that angle cornered."
If the Cardinal caught the amusement in her expression, he did not let it irritate him. He continued to smile gently. Danner's flesh crawled and, without thinking, he moved closer to the Witch.
"Callifer is a false prophet. The Lord will punish him for his arrogance. In the meantime, if you will allow us, Captain, I would say a blessing on your behalf."
"Very well," she said wearily, "but make it quick - and I not kneeling."
"Here."
"What is this?"
"A token of God's love and good will, my child."
She opened her palm, looking down in surprise at the small cross. It glowed with an unnatural blue brilliance, reflecting across her face. Her eyes narrowed. "What is this? I've never seen anything like it."
"I imagine not. Does it please you?"
Danner's danger sense quickened. In the Cardinal's face an unholy light had appeared. He made a small sign with one hand; the accompanying priests shifted until they were blocking the door.
"Wait a minute . . ."
"It's all right, Miles . . ."
Still smiling, the Cardinal raised his hand in benediction. On one finger a ring, gold with a scarlet gem, glinted in the lamplight. She broke off and the cross slipped from limp fingers. The red glint became a ray of bloody light. It illuminated her face, reflected off suddenly blank eyes.
"Hey!" Miles shouted, starting forward.
One of the priests lifted a hand, something metallic clasped in it. Another light-ray, white this time, struck the Rider full in the chest. Miles' strangled cry gurgled into silence and he pitched face first to the ground.
Danner moved before he thought, avoiding another eye-searing flash. Shouting for help at the top of his voice, he dodged toward the map table. Dropping, he rolled underneath it while the tent lit up around him. Outside, the welcome sound of raised voices and footsteps running toward them grew louder.
The Cardinal shouted in a language the blackstone did not understand. He poked his head out and saw the priests gathering tightly around the cleric and blank-eyed captain. A rumble rattled him to his teeth. The shouts outside turned from anger to fear.
Wind blasted out of nowhere, seized the tent and sent it whirling into a blaze of white light. Brilliance blinded him, filled his eyes with tears. The hum became a roar. There was a sense of unbearable pressure, a strange, dull explosion -- and Danner lost track of everything.